Author's Notes

Hello guys! Thank you for reviewing on the last chapter, it's so much fun for me to read your questions and thoughts about what will happen and I can feel how "on edge" you all are (which was what I was hoping for, sorry! :) Well, hold onto your hats because this thing is going down! The events in these chapters (29, 30 and 31) are very closely connected which I hope comes across—there are a lot of characters involved and twists and turns that affect how the drama unfolds. It has taken me a long time and a whole lot of rewriting to get this right but I hope it works and that you enjoy the confrontation between the good guys and the bad guys after all this drama-build-up.

I must admit, I'm quite excited to see what you think of this chapter... and I will do my best to get chapter 31 posted as SOON as possible.

Okay, go Adam, go!

Chapter 30

12:30 p.m.

Robert Wickworth gulped down the last of his drink and set the brandy glass on the shelf of the drinks-cabinet with a smack. Dead-quiet. Everything was dead-quiet in the hotel room except for when he moved about. He looked at the door, listened for any noise coming from the hall on the other side of it, but there was nothing. He wiped the already wet handkerchief across his sizzling face and stuffed it back in his jacket pocket. These days, the little cloth never got a chance to fully dry before it was put to use again. He poured himself another drink—his third in the half an hour that had passed since his partner had left after their late morning coffee. An excruciatingly long half an hour. Sipping the drink, he combed his short sausage fingers through the wisps of hair that had managed to cling onto his egg-shaped scalp.

Suddenly, the silence of the room was broken by three deliberate knocks to the door. Wickworth set his glass back down. He straightened his suit jacket around the white shirt which was stretched tightly across his round belly and went to the door. He drew in a breath—the buttons of his shirt threatening to pop—and opened the door. As he came face to face with his partner, he froze in total shock.

"What's the matter, Robert?" Barns asked. "Were you expecting someone else?"

"No . . . I, no," Wickworth stammered, his eyes darting over to a very large, dark-haired man standing to his partner's side. "You were . . . weren't you supposed to be out for the day?"

Barns smiled. "You won't mind if I come in."

Whether he minded or not, Wickworth didn't get a chance to express his opinion either way because Barns pushed past him and into the room. He stood uncertainly, wondering if the large man still out in the hall was supposed to join them as well—which he wholeheartedly hoped wasn't the case. When the man simply looked at him, emotionless, hands folded by his front, Wickworth slowly closed the door.

The temperature in the room had suddenly skyrocketed and as he turned around to his partner, he pulled at his silk-tie to loosen the collar around his thick neck. Barns was standing over by the drinks-cabinet, pouring himself a drink. Watching his partner's back in nervous anticipation, Wickworth saw Barns' arm lift as he held up a little yellow envelope.

"The sheriff? Really, Robert?"

His stomach lurched and Wickworth felt like a trapdoor had just opened under him.

"I . . . Chris, I can explain—"

"Did you really think I didn't have someone watching you too, you fool?!" Barns hissed, spinning around.

"Now, Chris it isn't what—"

"What it looks like? Oh, I see. So you didn't write this message to the sheriff asking him to meet you here, hmm?"

Wickworth's mouth produced neither denial nor confirmation, instead it just flopped from open to shut and back again. Barns downed the drink, then gestured to him with the empty glass.

"I'm curious, what sort of story had you conjured up? Oh no, let me guess . . . You play the part of the innocent, well-meaning businessman who got ensnared into a railroad scam and the moment you became aware of the swindle, you called on the sheriff to . . . what is it people say out here—" Barns snapped his fingers in quick succession to summon the expression. "Spill the beans?"

Wickworth gulped and unknowingly moved backwards towards the door.

"Something along those lines then," Barns said, smiling again.

He started moving closer then and a glint of something utterly terrifying flashed in his eyes. It was a glint that no sane person would be able to spawn.

"I believe you noticed my associate out in the hall? Frank is . . . a very loyal man. Very pleasant too most of the time although sometimes, he lets his temper get away with him and he can be . . ." Barns chuckled, coming closer. "I'm afraid I don't quite have a word for what he can be."

Wickworth walked backwards, right until his back hit the door with an awful, muted thump.

"Chris . . . let's . . . talk about this . . ."

"Why, there's nothing to talk about, my friend. You betrayed me, Robert. And no one gets away with that."

xXXx

12:35 p.m.

The second he could make out the doctor's house down the street, Adam's nerves flared up again. Last time he'd seen her had been that night when he'd stumbled drunk to Paul's home—another prime example of his extraordinarily reckless behavior lately. The thing he remembered most from that whole awkward affair was her voice. It was the last thing he had any recollection of before he'd passed out, that sweet voice whispering to him like a constant, relaxing background sound, although he'd been too out of it to actually understand what she'd said. The rest from that night was pretty hazy now and frankly, he was grateful for it because he'd obviously behaved and looked terrible enough for her to be gone the next morning when he'd woken up.

He stopped outside the white-painted house and slid a look over it. For the last one and a half months, he'd felt so welcome there. Madeline had made him feel like this was his second home, despite Paul's little interventions. And now he was nothing more than a stranger who had no right to expect either warmth or hospitality. All he could hope for was probably civility.

As he climbed the stairs to the front porch, he had a sudden memory-flash when he noticed the broken porch swing lying on the floor and a wince crossed his face. He really needed to fix that thing, it was the least he could do.

He paused at the front door, and the next natural step would be to knock on it. Only, he couldn't. Here he was, feeling all weak again because in spite of his efforts to reassure Hoss just a little while ago, he wasn't sure if he could take another rejection from her. There was such a confused mix of emotions going on inside him and the shame and guilt slowly got overwhelmed by irritation and bitterness. Deep down, he resented the fact that Madeline had such a power over him. He resented her for having it and he resented himself for giving it to her. Because in return, she'd given him just a taste of the blissful wonder it was to be loved by her, and then she'd taken it away from him without explanation. She'd left him out in the cold—confused, naked and raw. And he still wanted her. Like he'd never dreamed he could ever want a woman—he wanted Madeline. He didn't know how to cope with it if she didn't want him back.

The door was still there just in front of him, the only barrier between them and he felt nowhere near ready to breach it.

But then it hit him—the whole reason why he was even there. This wasn't about him and Madeline, it was about Joe. The thought of what had been done to his kid brother revived his anger and he forced himself to turn hard, raised his hand and gave the door a round of powerful knocks.

He held his breath as the seconds went by. But just as he'd feared, and on some level expected, nothing happened. He knocked again, but there was still no response and he knew that Paul definitely wasn't home then. His mind struggled to come up with a good excuse for her—maybe she was asleep if she wasn't feeling well? It was better than the heartbreaking explanation that she was simply ignoring him.

"Madeline, we need to talk, open up."

His knocks grew considerably louder. But that door wasn't going to open, and he couldn't keep fooling himself because nobody would have slept through the last blasting hammers he'd delivered. Releasing a curse, he barely suppressed the impulse to punish the door with an aggravated kick. He turned on the porch and looked down at the street as he descended the stairs. Then, he ducked his head.

Anyone watching him, would see Adam Cartwright adjusting his hat to shade against the sun better. They would see him step off the porch stairs and assume an unhurried gait back up the street—they might even notice the slightly disappointed quality to his bearing. But what no one could see, was the fact that his heart was pounding wildly. Because he'd seen something that wasn't right. A man across the street who wasn't supposed to be there.

xXXx

Madeline stuck her head out into the hall and peeked down to the foyer. He must be gone now. When he'd first knocked, she knew it was him straight away and she'd stood paralyzed in the kitchen, first relieved, then terrified. Initially, the fact that Adam was in town today had made her think that he was feeling better—hence the relief. However, as she'd considered it, she worried that he was here because of Joe. Not knowing what had happened to the young man was a torment that took her to the point of despair and beyond that. If she was ever going to find out and put a stop to this horror, she needed to stick to her plan, although now, there were more holes in that plan than in the aged cheese her uncle liked on his bread in the mornings.

She had expected both of the men she loved most in the world to be out of town and out of danger—Adam was supposed to be at the Ponderosa and her uncle should have been doing house-calls outside of town. But she couldn't change things now. Selfishly, she was a little bit happy that Adam had come by because she had gotten to hear his voice again for what would maybe be the last time. She only wished she could have seen his face too, just to make sure that he was really better after what her uncle and Joe had told her about his condition.

Stepping back into the kitchen, she went over to open the back door.

Her uncle had left just under an hour ago and the letter she'd written to him was now lying in his desk drawer, simply signed "Belle". If her plan ended in the worst way and she wasn't around to tell her story after today, it was all written down in that cream-colored envelope, ready for him to read and share with the people who mattered.

She left the back door wide open and walked stiffly back to the kitchen table. Even lifting a kitchen chair was taxing her drained reserves and her bruised arms were so weak, she ended up just dragging the item across the floor, the chair legs scraping along the floorboards. After getting outside and closing the door behind her, she made it down the doorstep and halfway across the little back garden before taking a break. She let go of the chair and stood on the yellowed grass, eyeing the close-boarded fence that surrounded the garden.

It now seemed a lot higher than she remembered. She knew that on the other side of it was a narrow passage separating her uncle's home from the neighboring houses. It was lined by fences on both sides, so nobody would see her in that little alleyway and it ran parallel to the main street out by the front of her uncle's house. All she had to do was follow the passage and at the end of it, she would come out somewhere on C street. It was still some way from the sheriff's office, but it was the best chance she was going to get. Still, first she had to actually get over the fence . . . Well, Ray had done it several times and so could she.

Come on, Madeline . . . you can do this.

There was no point in delaying so she dragged the chair the rest of the way, and set it by the fence, steadying it as best she could on the grass. She lifted her lilac skirt with one hand and climbed up onto the chair, feeling it wobble under her. It really wasn't an easy thing to do, especially not with the heels on the shoes she was wearing, and she considered taking them off. Running into Sheriff Coffee's office barefooted would just be another absurd addition to this bizarre situation she found herself in. The fence was definitely higher than she'd thought—even now, standing on a chair she couldn't see over it.

She blew a frustrated puff of air out and upwards to move a curl from her face. Then she hoisted her skirts higher, leaving her petticoats on full display there in the back garden as she stretched out to the fence. Her hand had only just touched the top wooden board, when suddenly, the fence shook, and she stared in bewilderment as one black-clad arm appeared, followed by a bandaged one and then finally, the captivating face that had taken a special place in her mind since that fateful day at the county fair.

The strain vanished from Adam's expression and his eyes widened as he stared at her in a way much the same. A delayed reaction set in as she startled and let go of the fence, but she immediately lost her balance and Adam swiftly caught her hand to keep her from falling. Her heart leaped high into her throat as he pulled her back and she seized hold of the fence again. She opened her mouth, but he fixed her with a narrowed look.

"Madeline, there is absolutely nothing you can say or do to stop me from coming over this fence."

Her appearance radiated unmitigated disbelief as he grimaced, hefted himself up, and swung himself over the top of the fence. He landed smoothly on the grass and straightened up. His features drawn tight, he put his hands on his hips and looked up at her.

"I want to know what's going on. Now."

Madeline hadn't fully left her staring-dumbly-stage, so no response from her.

"What exactly are you—" His eyes trailed down the length of her body—then very quickly up again. ". . . doing?"

Her mind seemed to come back to life and she regained enough awareness to at least let go of her skirts, so they could fall down and cover her undergarments. She still couldn't speak though.

"Listen, Madeline, I'm done with—" He cut himself off with an annoyed head-shake.

Apparently deciding that it was ridiculous, speaking to her this way, he reached up to take her by the waist and lifted her down to the ground. As he did that, two things went through her muddled mind; one—it was lucky that he didn't touch her back because then she would have cried out in pain and two—he was being awfully careless with his injured arm.

"Now, what's going on?"

"Adam . . ." she said with strange detachment. "You . . . you can't be here."

Her words broke through her daze as she came to grips with the fact that he was actually here. Thankfully, he seemed to be all right but . . . he was here. Panic set in.

"You have to . . . you have to go . . ."

Quite calmly, he said, "I don't think so."

For the longest moment, he held her captive with his darkened gaze, shadowed under the brim of his Stetson, so impossibly intense. Not intense in a good way though and she was now having a hard time breathing. She wrenched herself free, spun around blindly, and headed for the house.

"Madeline, just tell me one thing . . ."

He said that from behind her, but she kept walking. She focused on the kitchen back door, it was the only thought she had—getting back inside that house. She grasped the door-handle but before she could press it down, Adam grabbed it too and with seemingly no effort, he applied enough pressure with just one hand that she couldn't open the door with both of hers. He was standing right next to her now. The left side of his chest was actually touching her, and she could feel the heat emanating from his body—searing through the cotton of her blouse. His scent washed over her, overtook her, sent her pulse out of control. When he bent down just a couple of inches from her face, his warm breath touched her cheek when he spoke.

"I asked you to tell me one thing . . ."

Her lashes drifted down as she tried to hold back a shiver.

". . . Why is there a man outside watching this house?"

An iciness surged through her and she put a palm against the door to brace herself. She couldn't believe that this was happening, the shock of everything was rendering her mind ineffective. Her other hand moved by its own will and tried to press the door handle down again and this time, Adam allowed it. She opened the door and floated rather than walked into the kitchen and in her turmoil of thoughts, she heard Adam follow behind her.

"I know a look-out when I see one, Madeline."

She stood by the work-bench and faced him as he threw his hat on the kitchen table and approached her. The hard look he was giving her was one she'd seen him deliver a few times in the past—but she had never been the recipient of it before.

"I noticed him when I was out on the porch. I walked back down the street, but he didn't follow me. He's still out there," Adam said, waving a hand out towards the front of the house. "Which means that it wasn't me he was watching, but this house . . ." He came nearer. "You."

She gripped her elbows as though it would help her hang onto some composure.

"I-if you leave now, I'll explain everything later . . . but I . . . I need to do something first . . . then I'll explain . . ."

He stopped right in front of her and some of his harshness eased up, but his tone was still firm. "All you need to do is explain now. To me."

"If . . . if you leave, I'll e-explain . . . "

"I'm not going anywhere," he said, his words now soft. "You know that."

Yes, she knew that. But her mind was like a windmill spinning too fast, fears going around and around, rotating in her mind. Feeling queasy, she suddenly needed to hold onto something and began turning towards the kitchen work-bench.

"Damn it, Madeline, don't turn away from me—" He gripped her arm and a gasp of pain escaped her before she could contain it. He instantly yanked his hand back as if he'd touched a hot stove and their eyes clashed. The shift in his attitude was palpable when it dawned on him that his grip hadn't been near forceful enough to elicit such a reaction from her.

". . . What's wrong with your arm . . .?"

"N-nothing . . ."

She held her arm to herself, and he wavered. But then, he got to her in a half-step—seized her hand and moved her sleeve up with one vigorous tug. He went slack-jawed at the sight of the blue-purple bruising along her forearm.

"What the—" His eyes shot to hers and they sparked with comprehension. "My God . . . he found you . . ."

And that was it, now it was out. He knew.

She felt the tears coming as she tried to speak. "I'm . . . oh, Adam . . ."

Her legs refused to hold her up any longer and she fell, but he caught her—pulled her to him and they both went down together—down to the kitchen floor. After one and a half weeks of the hell she'd gone through, she wouldn't have thought she had any tears leftover at that point. But the tears were there, running like unstoppable currents down her cheeks as she wept against his shirt. Vaguely, she heard his deep voice saying things to her, soothing and calming things that contradicted the fierce pounding she felt in his chest.

As he rocked her back and forth, she realized that not all her tears stemmed from her ordeal. Most of them came from the relief of being back in his embrace—the safest, happiest place she could ever imagine being. Sitting in his lap, she clung to him like she couldn't get close enough, soaking up the comfort she'd been denied for so long, and his hold around her tightened.

They stayed like that for a long time until she felt like a little, aching puddle of exhaustion in his arms. When her head started to clear, the panic crept up on her all over again and she sat up with a lurch, half of her words getting swallowed up in rapid breaths.

"He is here Adam . . . Ray is here in Virginia City! He wants to take me away with him and he . . . they're watching me, and he said. . . said that if I told anyone he would . . . kill you, and I was so, I couldn't—"

"Shhh, slow down, just breathe honey," Adam said, brushing a few curls out of her flushed face. "It's all right, I'm here now . . ."

She forced herself to do as he said, concentrated on his hand touching her face.

"All this time . . . he's been here?" he asked.

"He came the day uncle Paul left . . . that night after you rode home. He made me write that letter to you." The memory triggered a new flow of tears and her fingers clutched his shirt with more strength than she thought she had left. "Oh, Adam I didn't mean it, any of it . . . I never wanted . . . please believe me!"

"Okay, okay, I believe you, I do, just take it easy . . ." he murmured.

It struck her that she sounded hysterical because he must have had a thousand questions going through his mind just then, but he didn't ask anything, he only pulled her against him again and told her to calm down. She searched for his voice in between the wheezing sounds that were filling the kitchen, coming from her, and he kept talking to her.

It was another endless few minutes before her fright began to subside and as it did, she was left feeling so very tired. But it wasn't the kind of tired that could be cured by a good night's sleep. It was more a physical and mental exhaustion like an extra, dreadful weight to her limps, her thoughts and emotions. She did start to become more aware again, of herself and of Adam and he sensed it too, because he stopped speaking and just held her.

"Madeline . . ." he said after a while. "I know you're upset right now, and scared . . . but you need to do something for me." With a finger under her chin, he tilted her face up to his. "You need to tell me where he is."

There was the barest hint of stiffness to his shoulders, but otherwise, his posture was completely still. Deceptively still.

"I . . . don't know where he is . . ." she said shakily.

The pink tip of his tongue darted out to swipe his lower lip.

"You must have some idea about how to find him . . ." His voice became coaxing, smooth like molasses. "Come on, honey . . . tell me."

She hesitated, held onto her reply.

"Just tell me . . . I won't do anything."

He'd just lied to her and she knew it. By the way he averted his eyes, she guessed that he knew that she did too. He carefully pushed her sleeve up to expose the bruises on her arm again and she felt him tense up.

"I'm not gonna let him get away with this, Madeline . . ."

"Adam, you need to hear everything before you go off and . . . I'm not the only one at risk." Her head dropped back to his shoulder. "This whole mess is so complicated, I don't even know where to start . . ."

"Okay, I . . . okay," he mumbled, whether to himself or to her, she wasn't sure. "So, start from the beginning . . . he came here that night and what then?"

"He has men working for him and they have been watching me constantly ever since. That's why I couldn't tell you or Uncle Paul what was going on. I couldn't leave town, I couldn't do anything . . . Ray threatened to kill you and my uncle if I didn't do as he said." Her head lifted again, so she could see Adam properly. "Ray saw us together in town and he wanted me to stay away from you. He . . . he has been trying to make money enough to take me away with him to start a new life together."

"Well, that's not going to happen," Adam said, like he'd just settled that matter, and directed his attention at her arm again. "What about this?"

"Yesterday morning, when my uncle came home after visiting you, he told me that . . . he was worried about you . . ."

She paused to study him. The last time she'd seen him, he'd been in such a terrible state and she had been sick with worry for him since. She suddenly wanted to hear about him and ask him if he was all right, but before she could, he urged her to continue.

"What happened then?"

Without any other words, he managed to convey to her that he wouldn't give anything away about himself, not right now.

"I knew that I had to do something," she went on, "and I thought if I could only get to Sheriff Coffee, he could help me. I was on my way to the sheriff's office, I didn't . . . didn't know that Ray was there and then Joe—" Her eyes grew huge. "Joe! Is he all right?!"

"Wait . . . Ray Bradshaw did that to my brother?" Adam asked, his tone filling with dangerous intent.

"Ray ordered his men to go after Joe . . ." she whispered. "What happened to him?"

"Joe was beaten up and left on the muddy road outside of town."

Adam said it with brutal frankness and a gasp of despair rushed from her lips.

He breathed out slowly. "You have to tell me where this guy is."

"Oh, Joe . . . what have I done . . ."

She tried to free herself from Adam's hold, shaking her head, but she didn't realize that the motion made her hair bounce in waves around her neck and shoulders.

"Just say where—" He froze, squinted at the top of her blouse. "What . . ."

Moving her hair away, he hooked a finger in her blouse-collar and pulled it down before she could stop him.

"Oh my—"

He brought a clenched fist to his mouth—gaped at the horrible bruising with an expression of a man under torture. Then his eyes flew up to hers, livid hazel blazing murderously.

"TELL ME NOW—or I swear to God—I'll go out and I WILL find him myself!"

She flinched, her hand shooting up to the top of her chest, trying to keep her heart from leaping out. He stared at her, his nostrils flaring wildly but when she didn't speak, he jerked away from her, moving to stand up.

In complete desperation she grabbed at his damp shirtfront and tugged him down again.

"No, Adam!"

"Madeline, LET ME—"

"No!"

She wrapped her arms around his neck to keep him on the floor with her as she whispered in his ear. "Please calm down, please, please . . ."

His whole body shook with rage straining to be released, as if it was coiling tightly just beneath the surface of his skin. The power radiating from his strong frame almost frightened her, but then she reminded herself that this was Adam—the gentlest, kindest man she'd ever known, and he would never hurt her. The seconds drummed by, and she prayed that he would find a way to conquer his temper because she was convinced that if he left now in this mood, she would lose him.

When his arms finally folded around her, she wanted to weep afresh. She leaned back and saw that implacable something in his countenance had changed into something softer.

"I'm sorry . . . I just can't stand to see . . ." He sighed. "Look, nothing is going to happen to me. It'll be an honest duel, just me and him. No matter how good he is—I'll be better, you know I will . . ."

Raising her hand, she stroked her fingers along his rugged jawline, stopping by the faint bruise there. "I know you would . . . and so does he. That's the whole point, Adam. He knows who you are, what you are. He would never meet you in a duel. He would have someone waiting for you . . . or following you, or . . . he might even have someone shoot you down in the middle of the street! Please understand—that is the kind of man he is!"

She moved her fingers to his lips, blocking the protest he was about to make, and she mustered up her most imploring look for him. His resolve faltered, and he looked pained about what she was asking of him. But she didn't care—the only thing that mattered to her was keeping him from getting hurt or killed. She lowered her hand.

"All right . . ." he said. "We'll figure this thing out together . . . okay?"

Relaxing against him, she nodded tiredly.

"Right . . . Do you have any idea how many men he has working for him?"

"I can't be sure, but I've counted five different men watching me . . ."

"And the man out front, he always stays there?"

"Yes, unless I leave the house. Then he follows me."

". . . He followed you yesterday?"

"Yes . . . he saw Joe and I talking. Before I could get to the sheriff, Ray appeared, and he . . . caught me. He said that Joe would pay the price for what I had tried to do." Her throat welled up with guilt. "I'm so sorry . . ."

"Hey . . ." Adam cupped the apple of her cheek with his palm. "None of this is your fault, honey."

With immense gentleness, he brought his hand down to her collar again.

"Is that when he did this to you?"

"Yes." Her lip trembled. "I thought that . . . I thought he was going to kill me . . ."

Withdrawing his hand from her collar, Adam peered straight into her shiny green orbs.

"I have to know, Madeline . . ." He swallowed laboriously. "In the time he's been here, alone with you . . . has he . . . ?"

She quickly bowed her head when she understood what he was trying to ask. "No. No he hasn't . . . not that."

"Please look at me . . ."

Her eyes raised to meet his and they didn't waver as he searched them for the truth. When he found it, his shoulders slumped in relief and his eyelids closed as he pulled her to his chest again.

"When is Paul coming home?"

"Not until this afternoon, he is doing house calls in town."

Adam seemed to do some mental deliberating and she was content to let him, almost drifting off in his arms.

"All right," he abruptly said, "first, we need to go up and pack you a bag of clothes and whatever things you need."

Unsure if she'd heard correctly, she sat upright again. "You mean. . . you're taking me with you?"

"Damn right I am."

He shifted, got to his feet and bent down to help her up and out of her sudden daze.

"You mean . . . after everything that has happened, you . . . you still—"

"I love you sweetheart," he said as he supported her, kept her close. "I love you more than anything, more than I can ever describe."

It felt like her heart was going to burst and the feeling was so overwhelming, she almost couldn't get the words out but she had to, she needed him to know too.

"I love you too . . ." She hugged him as tightly as the aches covering her body would allow. "I love you so much, Adam."

When she drew back, her joy was swiftly banished by the perilous reality of their situation.

". . . How are we going to do this? We can't leave this house . . ."

"We'll crawl over the fence, like I did before. The man out front won't know you've left."

"But . . . but what then? Ray has more men and they're all over town. We can't be seen walking down the street together . . ."

"We only need to make it to the livery stable, so we can get some transportation." Adam's hands dropped down to his sides. "All I care about is getting you to the Ponderosa."

"No, Adam, I can't do that," she said, surprising herself with the fierceness arising in her tone. "Not without Uncle Paul."

"Madeline . . ." The distinct beginnings of exasperation showed in the way he said her name. "Paul isn't the one they're after."

"But if Ray finds out I'm gone, he will . . . No. I am not leaving without Uncle Paul."

And there it was—his full-fledged exasperation gained its release through a harsh exhale as Adam paced away from her. She watched him, wondering just how many times she could push him to his limits and still ask him to compose himself. The worst was still to come though because she'd already recognized what they needed to do. And no amount of his pacing or scowling would change it.

"There is only one thing we can do . . ."

Adam halted, whirled back around. "Don't even say it because that's the one thing that isn't—"

"You need to leave me here."

"—going to happen. No, Madeline, it's out of the question."

"We need help," she said, moving over to him. "We need the sheriff and anyone else who will help us. Uncle Paul is out there, unaware of the threat to him and you need to warn him."

"No, let's just . . ." He raked a hand through his hair. ". . . think about this . . ."

"We can't leave this house together and risk being seen by Ray's men."

He threw his arms out in the air. "So, we'll wait here together, until Paul comes home!"

"Then we will be in the same position as now, only with him in the middle of it too. Is your family in town? Wouldn't they come here looking for you if you stayed here for that long?"

She had her answers to both questions when his sight flickered away from her.

"We have no choice." She touched his good arm in an attempt to reassure him as well as herself. "I will be fine here. Ray hasn't come into this house since Uncle Paul returned home."

A pause stretched out until Adam spoke with a calm that she really hadn't expected.

"If you want me to go along with this, you'll have to tell me this." His gaze was unrelenting as he regarded her. "Is he going by his real name Ray Bradshaw here in town or something else?"

She stiffened. Something was extremely wrong with the fact that he was asking a question directed straight at the piece of information she had deliberately kept from him. Ray's other identity—the one way there was of seeking her husband out. What really frightened her, was that Adam had such an odd, anticipating look on his face—not like he was asking her to share this information . . . but more like he was waiting for her to confirm what he already believed to be true.

"Why are you asking me that . . .?" she breathed.

Adam nodded as if her question was an answer. "He's calling himself Chris Barns, isn't he?"

The simple sentence struck her very core like a bolt of lightning. "How did you know that?"

Adam didn't reply but dug into his pocket to get out his pocket-watch. She couldn't quite grasp that he would choose such a moment to carry out a task as mundane as checking the time. He snapped the clock shut and put it away again.

"My father started a business meeting at one o'clock, five minutes ago, with a man named Chris Barns."

His controlled speech didn't seem at all appropriate for that statement and she gawked at him. "Adam! You have to warn your father!"

He tipped his head sideways. "What would Ray gain by harming my father? He would only be drawing unwanted attention to himself—they're meeting at the International House. It's a game to him, he's playing with you, with me, with all of us." Adam rubbed his chin roughly. "But if he's made plans to meet with my father, he won't be coming here . . ."

With a sudden decisiveness, he stepped over to grab his hat from the kitchen table. "I'll be as quick as I can. I'm gonna find Roy, tell him what's going on and he can get some men together." Taking hold of her hand, Adam led her over to the back door and her mind was fighting to keep up with what was happening. "I'll come straight back here. Roy can send someone to find Paul and make sure he gets to a safe place."

Everything was so tense, a hundred things could go wrong and yet, there was an assertiveness to Adam's movements and a power to the way he spoke that calmed her. It made her start to believe that this thing might turn out okay after all. He opened the back door and faced her.

"You don't open the doors to anyone—and I mean ANYONE. Promise me that."

"Yes . . . yes, I promise."

He squeezed her hand. "If I'm not back here within twenty minutes, you leave the house and go down to the rodeo where there are plenty of people, okay? I will come for you."

She pressed her lips together, her lashes blinking rapidly.

"Everything is going to be all right," he said softly. "Go up and pack a bag while you're waiting."

She wanted to tell him to be careful, wanted to say she loved him again. But she couldn't speak. The plan was set and ironically—out of the two of them—she was now the one hesitating. Luckily, Adam didn't allow himself to. He released her hand, jumped down from the doorstep and she was expecting him to use the chair to get back over the fence. But he loped across the grass, gaining speed as he neared the fence, then he leaped up, his boots kicking against the wooden planks to give him the last boost he needed to grab the top board. He climbed up and swung himself over the fence and out of her sight.

She remained standing on the doorstep for a bit, wondering if these last twenty minutes of her life had been real or a dream. But she realized it was real because she could still feel him. She felt his arms around her, and his hand on her cheek, like the ghost of his loving touch lingered on her skin.

Adam would come for her just like he'd said he would. Concentrating on that thought, she walked out into the garden to retrieve the lone kitchen chair.

xXXx

1:10 p.m.

Ray marched down the street, rather pleased that the boardwalk was quite deserted in this part of town because of the rodeo. Even though he was under a bit of time pressure, this was as fast as he would go. Despite the situation, he wasn't about to break into anything as uncivilized as a run.

Once he arrived at the white house, he jerked his head at the man across the road who quickly came over to him.

"There has been a change of plan, Ned," he said. "We're leaving now."

"All right, Mr. Barns. I'll alert the others."

"Frank is already gathering them, they're meeting us at the livery stable." Ray inclined his head at the house. "Has she left today at all?"

"No, sir. The dark Cartwright fella came by, but she didn't open when he knocked so he left again."

Ray's lips curled back in distaste. "One might admire the man's tenacity if it wasn't so exceedingly bothersome."

After doing a swift glance around to make sure they weren't being observed, he gestured for Ned to follow him up the porch stairs. He walked along the deck, past a porch swing in need of repair, and went to the right side of the house where he crawled over the porch railing. There was no time to go through the alleyway and over the fence to get into the back garden and although it was a tight squeeze between the side of the house and the boarded fence, a man could walk along there. He went through the passage and came out in the garden.

"If she isn't in the kitchen already, we'll gain entrance by ourselves," he said as his employee followed him to the kitchen back door.

Standing on the doorstep, Ray peeked in through one of the eight window sheets that decorated the top half of the door. The kitchen was empty. With no time to waste now that the front of the house was unguarded, he stepped back.

"If you will, Ned."

"Yes, sir."

Ned was a tall man of a strong build, another of Ray's employees who'd travelled with him from Georgia. One of his most trusted men too, Ned had been the one with the main responsibility of watching Madeline while they'd been in Virginia City, so it was fitting that he assisted in collecting her.

He effectively broke through one of the little sheets with a thrust of his elbow and the glass-shatter was surprisingly muted due to the small size of the window sheet. Reaching his hand inside, he felt for the bolt on the door. Once the door was unlocked, Ned backed away, and Ray opened it. He had only just walked into the quiet kitchen when he heard a sound from the hall which he recognized was his wife coming down the stairs. He got to the hallway in the same instant Madeline descended the last step of the staircase. It was clear that she hadn't noticed him. She was busy fiddling with the buckle of the carpet bag she was holding.

"What's all this then, dear?"

She jumped as her head shot in his direction. The bag landed on the floor with a dull thud. She looked particularly pretty today, he thought. He'd always loved the color purple on her and how perfect it was, that she would wear that for their travelling. Like she'd worn it especially for him.

"Look at that . . . you packed a bag already," he said tonelessly as he walked towards her. "How foreseeing of you."

He had really hoped she wouldn't, but she did—she tried to get away. She ran for the front door, so he had to stop her. Such a shame that she did that because he felt that it was a bad way of starting off their new life. He peeled her fingers from the door latch and hugged her, but he must have done it with too much force since she shrieked in agony. He gazed at her perfect face and now he could see that she'd been crying. He hated when she cried. There was that odd rushing sensation in his ears and he couldn't hear what she said but she looked upset and she was trying to push him away. Everything would get better once they were far away from this place.

"Now that you're all packed, we can leave, Madeline." He smiled at her and kept his arms caged around her, lest she fall and hurt herself.

"Ray, I don't want to go with you!"

A profound hurt crashed in and filled the nothingness inside him.

"I've had . . . a somewhat trying day so far," he mumbled, stroking her hair. "I need you to be a good wife for me now."

"Let me go!"

He couldn't understand why she was making things so difficult and it really was her own doing when he towed her back down the hallway to the kitchen where Ned stood waiting.

"Take her bag."

Ned went to retrieve the bag and Ray felt better then. At least someone would do what he said. Madeline continued to fight with him and his anger was building. They couldn't go anywhere when she was like this. When Ned came back with the bag, Ray gave his wife a shake.

"Stop it or you know what will happen!"

The admonition seemed to echo in the kitchen when a distinctive noise down the hall froze the room's three occupants to their respective spots.

"It's only me, Madeline," a voice called from the foyer. "I just forgot some medicine for Mrs. Bills."

Sharing a quick look with his employee, Ray was going to whisper a warning to Madeline, but he realized she had no intention of screaming for help. She looked more like she was about to faint. They stood like three statues in the kitchen, able to hear the distant rummaging about as it went on down the hall in the doctor's office. Things got quiet, presumably because the doctor had found what he was looking for and then his steps became louder as he reentered the hall.

". . . Madeline? Are you there?"

Ray kept Madeline in his grip and nodded at Ned who slid over to stand on the left side of the doorway. Footsteps came down towards the kitchen. Three sets of eyes stared at the doorway. Then the inevitable happened and the doctor appeared.

Ray couldn't remember ever seeing a person look so stunned and to be fair, the three of them standing there like that must have made quite a sight. On the doctor's face was surprise, disbelief, shock—showing in that order. He held a brown vial in his hand which fell down as his arm did.

". . . What . . . in the world is going on here?!"

As the doctor's eyes landed on him, Ray saw them flash with recognition. A handshake, in the middle of the night, on the front porch.

"You . . ."

His gun drawn, Ned began approaching the older man.

"No, please!" Madeline cried and frantically curled her fingers into the fabric of Ray's suit jacket. "Ray, please don't hurt him, I'll do as you say!"

Staring down at his wife, Ray held up a hand to make Ned stop. If he had her uncle killed it would probably take her a long time to forgive him, she would be most distressed. Besides that, it was simply impractical at this moment because the sound of a gunshot would not aid their escape.

"Ned," he said, his eyes still on Madeline, "find something to tie the good doctor up with."

Before anything else could happen, the doctor in question suddenly strode past Ned and his raised gun and headed for Ray.

"You are even more despicable in person than I imagined you to be—"

"No, Uncle Paul don't—"

"GET AWAY from my niece and get OUT of my house RIGHT NOW!"

The last two words ended with a roar and left the doctor fury-red as he glared at Ray with sheer hatred that had developed over time. And Ray knew then that Madeline had lied when she'd said that she hadn't told her uncle about her marriage to him.

Everything erupted as Ned swung himself at the doctor who attempted to fight back, and Ray looked on with gritted teeth, struggling to restrain Madeline as she screamed for her uncle. Kitchen chairs knocked over and the vial of medicine fell to the floor where it smashed, spilling out thick, chocolate-brown liquid. The commotion ended after just a few seconds when a violent push from Ned sent his older opponent flying towards the wall. The doctor hit the edge of a shelf head-on with a sickening noise and dropped to the floor.

"UNCLE PAUL! NO, no oh, no Uncle Paul!"

Madeline stopped trying to get free and Ray held her up as she covered her mouth with her hand.

"Check him," Ray ordered, and Ned strolled over to where the older man lay. He nudged the lifeless body with a boot-tip and there was no reaction. They all saw the spots of red covering the floor where the doctor's head rested, face-down.

Madeline heaved a few heartbroken sobs and Ray let her while he addressed his employee. "Get his keys and take her bag. Let's find the others and get out of this abysmal place."

His wife didn't resist as he led her out of the house and Ned locked the front door with the doctor's house key. Side by side, the three started down the boardwalk towards the livery stable, and Ray held Madeline to his body, telling her repeatedly to stop crying. She kept whispering the same words over and over again.

"Uncle Paul, I'm so sorry . . . I'm so sorry . . ."

xXXx