Author's Notes

Hi everybody!

Yes, finally, I return...

I want to give a very late but heartfelt thank you for all the delightful reviews on the last chapter! :) Thank you Guests and Members. As always, your response is a massive help to me and it lets me know what you guys like, what works and what I should try to do more of. I will be raising the "hotness level" in future Adam/Madeline romantic scenes, and we'll see how it goes!

I realize this update is disgracefully late coming to you, but I do hope you're up for a bit of reading. As A dear Reader once pointed out in a review, I like to sneak in little sub-plots around the main story line and you might have noticed there have been a couple of "loose ends" hanging about in the last few chapters. A little reminder since I've taken so long with this: There's mention of some missing cattle in chap 37 and there's the aftermath of the picnic/disastrous fishing trip in 42 which still needs to be dealt with. Some of these things will be addressed now. This chapter picks up the morning after Adam's risky midnight-visit to Madeline's room.

I hope you're all having a wonderful weekend and that you get some enjoyment out of this chapter. And more is coming tomorrow! :)

Chapter 44

It was almost breakfast time when Madeline stepped out of her bedroom holding an armful of mended clothes. She had overslept, much to her dismay, and the scent of freshly baked biscuits floating up the staircase told her that it was too late for her to help Hop Sing In the kitchen. She hadn't intended to sleep so long, but after Adam's unexpected visit to her room last night she'd been lying awake for a long time, too full of thoughts to sleep. She only hoped he had gotten some decent rest during the night. After the day he'd had yesterday, she knew he'd needed it.

Pushing down her ever-present worry for him, Madeline hoisted up her pink checkered skirt with her free hand and hurried down the staircase. Everything seemed quiet downstairs but when she reached the landing, she spotted her uncle sitting in the blue chair by the fireplace. A slight smile came to her lips as she paused to watch him. His journal lay propped upon his crossed legs and his head was bent, his face set in deep concentration. He was wearing his glasses today, she noted, and it was clear he was far too engrossed in his writing to have sensed her approach. She descended the last steps and walked straight to him.

"Good morning Uncle Paul," she said, bending down to place a little kiss on his cheek.

He stopped scribbling and blinked owlishly up at her through his spectacles. Then he smiled. "Why, good morning, my Belle."

She touched his shoulder lightly. "Are your eyes troubling you again?"

"Pfft, nonsense." He dismissed her concern with a flick of his hand. "My eyes are in excellent condition. I'm merely humoring Ben. He had the preposterous idea I was squinting at my notes while I was writing earlier."

Madeline suppressed a smile. "I see . . ."

He closed his journal with an annoyed grunt. Pushing the glasses down the bridge of his nose, he peered over the tops of the rims at the grandfather clock across the room. "You certainly slept in today, didn't you?"

"Oh, yes, I know, I—" She halted and flushed. "I . . . it took me a little while to fall asleep last night," she hastily finished and focused intently on the pile of clothes in her arms. In the back of her mind, she made a mental note to come up with some way of controlling these untimely blushing spells. Her face seemed to be turning red with alarming frequency these days.

Before he could question her about her difficulty sleeping, she quickly held out his charcoal vest to him. "Here you are, Uncle. As good as new, just as promised."

The doctor took the vest, unfolded it and held it out in front of himself. "Thank you, dear." He squinted at the fabric. "My . . . you can't even tell it was torn . . ."

"That's right." Tilting her head, she eyed him for a moment. "So, you see, it really wasn't worth making a fuss over . . . was it?" she asked gently.

"Hmpf. I suppose not."

Grumbling under his breath, he began folding the vest again and Madeline watched, feeling a mixture of affection and exasperation. It was very hard to stay displeased with him when she loved him so dearly. She did shake her head at him—an act he either didn't notice or chose to ignore. The latter was more likely the case. Deciding to change the subject, she glanced around the room and asked, "Where is everyone?"

As if on cue, Hoss came lumbering out of the kitchen with a biscuit in hand. He smiled broadly at her. "Mornin' Miss Madeline!"

Madeline returned the smile, full measure. "Good morning, Hoss. Oh, I have that shirt for you here . . ." She shifted the pile in her arms and looked for the white wool shirt he'd given her the previous evening.

"Gee, thanks Ma'am."

He took a large bite of biscuit and headed over to her but just as he was rounding the settee, the front door opened and Adam and Joe walked in.

He stopped and waved his biscuit at them. "'Ornin' Follas."

Adam immediately landed a hard stare on him. "Tidy up after yourself when you're finished in the barn, will you?" He threw the door shut behind him. "This is the second morning I'm putting your tools away for you."

The bite of biscuit went down with an audible gulp. "Sorry Adam." Hoss winced. "I plumb forgot."

"What the heck are you up to anyways?" Joe asked, crossing the room while shrugging out of his green jacket. "You've been sneaking around out there every morning these last few days."

"Don't you worry none about that, shortshanks." Hoss jutted out his chin at him. "And l ain't sneakin' around."

"Well, you're doing somethin' out in that barn." Joe slung his jacket over the back of the settee and poked a finger deep into his big brother's belly. "And it sure as heck isn't mucking out stalls, I know that much."

Madeline was only half-listening to the brothers' conversation as she attempted to get a proper look at Adam. Quite a challenge since most of him was hidden behind Hoss's bulk in front of her. From where she stood, she could only see the back of his head as he went over to hang his jacket up on one of the wall hooks by the front door. It didn't seem like he'd noticed her yet. Rearranging the clothes-pile in her arms, she stepped up next to Hoss who was now full-on scowling at Joe.

"Why do you gotta poke yur nose in my business all the dang time, Joe?"

"Because you're being sneaky—that's why. You big oaf."

"Boys, boys . . ." came her uncle's tired voice from behind her. Madeline remained politely quiet.

"I ain't bein' sneaky and I ain't no oaf neither." Hoss jerked his biscuit at his younger brother. "You better quit bein' so dang nosy or ya might end up breakin' that latest black-eye record of yours sooner than you think."

Joe held up his hands in a gesture of peace. "All right, all right, whatever you say. But I know you're up to something. And I'm gonna find out what it is . . ."

His eyes took on a wicked glimmer. Then, moving faster than a speeding bullet, he snatched the half-eaten biscuit right out of Hoss's hand and popped the entire thing into his mouth. Stunned, Hoss gawked at him. Madeline lifted a hand to her lips to hide her smile.

"Dadburnit Little Joe!"

Chortling and choking on the biscuit, Joe barely evaded Hoss's lunge and spun around, rushing towards Adam who still had his back turned. Grabbing him by the upper arms, Joe jerked him around—evidently opting to use his oldest brother as a human shield as Hoss came charging towards them like an enraged bull.

"WHAT THE—" Adam jolted free of Joe's grip, almost losing his footing. He whipped a hand out and grabbed him by the collar, eliciting a strangled squeak from the younger man. "HOLD IT!" he snapped, halting Hoss at the last second with a palm square against his massive chest "All right, you two nitwits—that's IT!" He gave Joe a rough shake and glared back and forth between his siblings. "It's too early for this kind of idiocy. You either take this outside or I swear I'll—"

His voice cut off when his incensed gaze swung and caught on Madeline. It was obvious by his surprised expression that he hadn't known she was there.

"Oh." He let go of Joe's collar. "Good morning."

Madeline regarded the three brothers fondly. Joe's eyes were watering—his mouth crimped and his cheeks puffed out with biscuit—Hoss ducked his head, looking like a guilty schoolboy and Adam licked his lips, staring at her.

She smiled at them. "Good morning."

From behind her came a long, weary sigh. "You three . . ."

There was some ruffling of papers followed by pencil scribbling, indicating her uncle had returned to his journal.

In the blessed, bicker-free silence, Madeline took the opportunity to assess Adam. Thankfully, he didn't look as tired today and he was less pale, probably because of being out in the sun yesterday. She bit down on her bottom lip. Goodness . . . he did look handsome this morning. A little scruffy with his unruly hair and whiskers but decidedly handsome. What particularly caught her eye was the red shirt he was wearing. She couldn't recall ever seeing him in anything other than black and white . . .

Her attention was diverted when Adam broke his stare on her to flick a glance at his brothers. Brief annoyance flashed in his eyes and he wriggled his shoulders as if to dislodge his irritation with them. Then he straightened his back and stepped away from them like they were some unpleasant thing of the past. He crossed the room and her heart, which seemed determined to act unpredictably whenever he was near, started doing that strange fluttering business in her chest. He stopped right in front of her, wearing an almost bashful smile. It did peculiar things to her insides.

"Did you, uh, sleep well?" he asked, scratching his ear.

"Oh, yes. Incredibly well," she lied. And very convincingly if she did say so herself.

He slipped his hands into his back pockets. "That's good . . ."

"Oh, yes, very."

Their gazes stayed locked two seconds longer than propriety allowed. Madeline looped a curl behind her ear and nodded at his shirt. "Red . . .?"

He glanced down at himself. "Yeah, I ran out of black ones. I guess Hop Sing's fallen behind on the laundry."

She nodded. "Well, I think it's . . ." She trailed off, gesturing with a hand in the air, searching for an appropriate word. "It's really very . . ." Without thinking it through, she reached out to touch the fabric and, for some unfathomable reason, her hand decided to settle on his upper arm. Of all places! Her stomach dipped as she felt his hard muscle hidden beneath the soft cotton of his sleeve. Adam glanced down to where her hand seemed quite happy to remain, then he looked back at her face. There was a flicker of heated interest in his eyes as if her touch had awakened something in him. Her pulse sped up. She finally regained enough sense to withdraw her hand from him, but she was unable to tear her gaze free of his. The slow intensity building in his hazel depths suddenly had her pinned in place. Again, she made an attempt at speech. "I . . . I think it's . . ."

Adam quirked a brow ever so slightly. "Nice . . .?"

"Yes!" she blurted.

Very loudly. Dear Heaven. Madeline forced herself to blink hard twice to get her brain back in working order. But when she looked at him again, her mind betrayed her in the cruelest of ways by presenting her with the image of him standing outside her bedroom door—hair rumpled, shirt untucked, and, oh, barefoot. To her utter dread, she felt heat creep up her neck and seep into her cheeks. Every indecent thought she'd had about him in the night now came flooding back and it felt as though they were on full display. Did he know what she was thinking? Goodness, she prayed not. The growing silence around her was drowned out by the thunder of her heart. She continued to stare deep into his irresistible eyes, amazed at how dark they had become—dark with some emotion she now recognized but still couldn't quite read. Those eyes were the only thing keeping her from glancing down to the other part of him she'd fantasized so much about last night. His lips . . .

"Thank you," he murmured in a deep, rough voice, breaking the spell.

Good gracious. She was fairly sure Hop Sing could walk out, crack an egg on her face and fry it if he so pleased.

"Well . . ." she breathed after an excruciatingly long while. They stared at each other a few seconds longer. Then she pasted on an overly bright smile. "I have some mended shirts for you gentlemen!"

She jerked away from him and looked to Hoss and Joe who were smiling. Well, smirking, rather. Even more flustered, she focused on her armload of clothes and began sorting through it. Not an easy task with hands as unsteady as hers currently elected to be.

"Hoss, here is yours . . . and these are for you, Joe."

The brothers came over to take the items and thanked her politely. One of Adam's black shirts was left, but rather than risk further embarrassment, Madeline kept her face down-turned and simply held it out in his direction so he could take it. There was a moment's pause as she felt his eyes settle on her. Then he took one long step towards her to take the shirt. In the process, he slid his fingers up her hand, all the way to her wrist where his thumb brushed across the sensitive underside—a feathery, soft touch that caused a startling pang in her belly. With what seemed like deliberate slowness, he trailed his fingers back down across her palm, taking the black fabric away. The brief contact left her whole arm peppered with goosebumps. Her eyes darted up to search his face. Had he meant to touch her like that, or had it been innocent coincidence? Oh, there was nothing innocent about the smug tilt of his mouth. Nothing at all. Her throat felt strangely tense, so she raised her hand to massage it. He glanced down below her chin to watch the movement and looked back up at her with a gleam of something like satisfaction in his gaze. He appeared to be rather pleased with himself. Madeline peeked discreetly at Hoss and Joe over by the settee, but they were back to bickering and, thankfully, hadn't paid mind to the interaction. Drawing an uneven breath, she faced Adam again with narrowed eyes. She wasn't sure how she felt about this little game of his. Though, it was one he played masterfully, she must admit. He answered her look with dimples and twinkles of amusement dancing in his eyes, which did nothing to help her predicament. Lord, the man could smile. She felt the effect of it all the way to her toes. It was a terrible shame he didn't smile like that very often. It was also a great pity she hadn't gotten to feel those quirking lips on hers last night . . .

His gaze suddenly flickered away, something behind her catching his attention. Whatever he saw over her shoulder, it had an immediate, sobering effect on him. His expression turned guarded and his mouth tightened. Madeline could guess why. Until this moment, she hadn't noticed the absence of pencil scribbling. Now, she was painfully aware of it. Fresh embarrassment filled her at the thought of her uncle watching them together like this. Next, the silly idea entered her head that he might somehow be able to read her mind and know about the impure thoughts she'd been having about Adam all night. Or Heaven forbid, he might know about their little midnight encounter by her bedroom. But that notion was absurd . . . wasn't it?

Her mortification was complete when she felt the prickly sensation in her cheeks once again. No, this really must stop, she chastised herself. She shook her head, squared her shoulders and tapped the shirt hanging limply in Adam's hand.

"Perhaps you would like to put that away before we sit down for breakfast?"

Ignoring her suggestion, he continued to glare over her shoulder, lifting his chin slightly as if in challenge.

"I reckon we all oughtta do that, Miss Madeline," Hoss suddenly said. His forehead was rumpled in a frown as he came over and stood next to Adam. "Smells like Hop Sing's pretty near finished with all that good food out there."

Joe was close behind him, carrying his own mended shirts. "Yea, come on." He slapped Adam on the back. "I could eat a horse, hooves and all."

Grateful for the brothers' assistance, Madeline breathed a sigh of relief when Adam finally cut off his glare. Perhaps there was hope yet of having a peaceful morning together. He gave his siblings a curt nod and followed as they led the way to the staircase. She turned and watched them, noting out of the corner of her eye that her uncle was focused on his journal now, although he wasn't writing. She waited with bated breath, hoping there wouldn't be a repeat of yesterday's confrontation on the picnic. As she'd expected, Adam went right past the blue chair without acknowledging the doctor. But just as he placed one boot on the first step of the stairs, her uncle spoke up.

"Will I be able to look at your arm today, I wonder? Or are you going to put up a fuss?" His voice was smooth and neutral and devoid of feeling.

Madeline's heart sank and the way Hoss and Joe dropped their heads halfway up the stairs implied they felt much the same.

Adam's shoulders lifted high as he removed his boot from the step. Keeping his back turned, he replied, "My arm is fine."

The doctor sat motionless for a second. Then, with neat, meticulous movements, he removed his spectacles, folded them and placed them in the pocket of his suit jacket. "I must commend you on the breadth of your vocabulary," he said dryly. "Fine indeed. Your eloquence never ceases to amaze me, lad."

Adam swirled around and, seeing his irate look, Madeline intervened.

"Uncle Paul, please," she implored and waited for him to look at her. She gazed at him for a long moment, willing him to understand the plea in her eyes.

His bushy brows raised a fraction which gave him a slightly more animated expression. "Well, tell me then—what would you have me do, Madeline?" He jerked a thumb Adam's way. "How am I supposed to do my job when he's being so obstinate?"

"I'm being obstinate?" Adam asked in a rising voice, moving towards the blue chair.

"Come on now, fellas," Hoss soothed as he made his way back down the creaking stairs.

Stopping by the chair, Adam glared down at the older man. "You're calling me obstinate?"

The doctor tipped his head back to look up at him. "My dear boy," he drawled. "I'd say you were stubborn as a mule, except it would be an insult to mules."

Adam's nostrils flared, but at that instant, the escalating conversation was stalled when the front door suddenly swung open. Madeline briefly closed her eyes, grateful again for another interruption. Her relief, however, was short-lived. Within two seconds, she caught onto the strange shift in mood in the room and when she turned around, she saw the cause. Ben stood in the doorway, his features set in grim lines, his lips pressed to a harsh slash. He closed the door behind him and without bothering to remove his coat, he walked across the floor—the double-thump of his boots booming doomfully off the hard wood. Everyone's attention was on him when he stopped in the middle of the room and placed his hands on his hips. He focused intently on his sons and very calmly said, "We have a problem on our hands."

Madeline froze in place and a sense of unease shivered through her. Her hopes of a peaceful morning were rapidly dwindling. Instantly alert, Adam, Hoss and Joe made their way to their father, each of them tossing their newly mended shirts onto the settee as they passed her. They quickly formed a half-circle around him, tense anticipation evident in their postures. Madeline observed them uncertainly, trying to keep down her rising anxiety.

"What kind of problem?" Joe asked, his youthful impatience getting the better of him. "What's going on, Pa?"

Ben's hesitation was very brief, but long enough for him to aim a sidelong glance at Adam.

"Well," he said slowly. "As far as I can figure, about fifty head have gone missing from the North pasture. Harry says the men haven't been able to find them."

Hoss screwed his face up. "Rustlers?"

"It looks like it, son."

The tension hung thickly in the air while the men traded glances among themselves. Madeline looked over at her uncle to see his reaction and found him sitting back in his chair with his fingers steepled by his mouth and not a hint of expression upon his face. What had begun as a sense of unease within her, now grew to an inexplicable feeling of dread. She'd hear the term rustling before, of course, and was aware of what it meant. She also knew that cattle-theft was considered a very serious offense around these parts. What she didn't know, was how the Cartwrights would handle such a matter . . .

Needing to somehow relieve the strained atmosphere, she approached tentatively and squeezed herself in between Adam and Ben. She delicately cleared her throat and said, "Forgive me for sounding silly, but is it not possible that these . . . cows perhaps wandered off somewhere else to find some, well, some more pleasant . . . grass?"

The Cartwrights simultaneously turned to stare at her.

Ben coughed into a fist and while doing so, managed to execute a pointed look that struck all his three sons at once. Then he directed his attention at her, some of the tension leaving him as his mouth relaxed into a kind smile. "While that certainly does happen sometimes, dear, it doesn't seem likely to be the case in this instance." His eyes darkened. "You see, we've had men searching for those steers the last three days and they should have been found by now. What's more, Harry found some tracks."

"Tracks?" The word creaked out of her like a door that hadn't been used in a while. "What type of tracks might that be?"

"Let's just say it's the type that shouldn't be there."

Goodness. She swallowed. "I see . . ."

A dead silence followed, and the tension seemed even more palpable than before.

Joe's eyes flickered from Ben to Adam and back again as he said, "Well, it sure was nice of you two to tell us we've had men looking for missing steers the last three days."

There was a bite to his tone, matching the glare in his gaze perfectly.

Ever the placater, Hoss laid a hand on his shoulder. "Simmer down there, shortshanks."

Not appeased in the slightest, Joe turned his glare onto his oldest brother. Adam only regarded him blankly in response, his expression stilling into flawless impassivity.

Clearly failing to get a reaction out of his sibling, Joe focused on their father again and flung up a hand. "What are we waiting for then? Are we riding out or what?"

Ben tugged at his chin and again, Madeline noticed how his eyes drifted to Adam's. Adam, who had yet to say anything—Adam, who stood cool and casual as if this entire conversation merely involved what was for supper. He held his father's eyes steadily and she found herself fascinated by the silent communication the two were able to share through simple eye contact. They practically seemed to be having a whole silent conversation. After apparently reaching some sort of agreement, Ben turned to his other sons with a decisive nod. "Yes. We'll meet up with Harry at the North pasture. We better get going."

Before Madeline had the chance to inquire as to what this "riding out" entailed exactly, the men became a blur of movement. Joe loped to the settee and grabbed his jacket, Ben went to his desk in the alcove and Adam walked off towards the staircase with fluid, purposeful strides. She tracked his movement and it felt as though her stomach dropped to her knees when she realized he was heading to the rifle cabinet at the foot of the stairs. A glance to her right showed that Hoss and Joe were already over at the long dresser by the coats and hats, in the process of strapping on their gun belts. Watching the somewhat dramatic proceedings, she felt an "oh dear" making its way up her throat and barely prevented it from getting out. It would hardly help matters. Instead, she took to twisting her fingers together in a futile attempt to calm herself. In the middle of all the commotion, Hop Sing came bustling out of the kitchen and entered the dining room, carrying trays laden with bacon and eggs. He froze and took in the scene. "What happen?"

Hoss paused with his gun-belt and eyed the food regretfully. "We're ridin' out to look for some missin' steers, Hop Sing. You best pack plenty of that crispy bacon. And plenty of them biscuits too. And don't forget to butter 'em real good now, ya hear?"

Hop Sing was already on his way back to the kitchen. "I be quick."

Struggling to keep up with everything, Madeline stood by the settee to stay out of the way. She vaguely heard Ben call Hoss and Joe over to his desk, but her attention was locked on Adam when he came back across the room carrying some rifles. He leaned them against the wall by the front door, then moved to the long dresser and opened the top drawer. Her heart pounded hard against her ribs as she hoisted up her skirts and minced over to him. Standing at his right side, she observed while he pulled out a revolver and a small leather-bound box and laid them on the top of the dresser. The box was adorned with a brass US plate and he opened it, revealing it had four small compartments, all of which were neatly stored with different types of cartridges. It must have been a cartridge box he'd had with him during the war. Picking up the revolver, he opened the cylinder, checked it and began loading it.

Watching his hands move with practiced efficiency, she spoke in a quiet voice so as not to disturb him. "I'm sorry, I must have misunderstood something. I was under the impression they were going out to look for these missing cattle, but all this . . ." She gestured to the ammunition with a wobbly smile. "This . . . why, it looks almost as if there's going to be some sort of battle!"

A nervous chuckle escaped her.

"It's best to be prepared, honey," Adam replied distractedly. He thumbed a cartridge into the last empty chamber and snapped the cylinder closed.

Madeline nearly flinched at the sound. Prepared? Well, she certainly didn't claim to be an expert on the matter but riding out to look for cows with these amounts of weaponry seemed rather excessive to her. She was about to make that fine point when he suddenly grabbed his own gun belt from the dresser and swung it around his hips. Her heart gave a lurch and she sucked in a quick breath.

"You are not going with them, surely?" she said, trying and failing spectacularly at keeping the tremor out of her voice.

Adam frowned at her while buckling his belt. "Of course I am."

She stared at him. Of course he was. Really, Madeline. What on earth had she expected? That he was simply gathering ammunition and guns for his family to take with them like Hop Sing was packing lunches for everyone? Her legs felt alarmingly weak under her.

"But, but," she sputtered and motioned pitifully to his bandaged arm. "But your arm . . ."

Closing his eyes, Adam expelled a huge breath. "All right, listen here," he said loudly and easily looked over the top of her head, evidently deciding to address the entire room. "My arm is fine. There's nothing wrong with it and I don't want to hear one more word about it." His voice lowered and took on a black note of warning. "Is that understood?"

The ensuing silence signaled that, yes, it was indeed understood. His gaze dwelled darkly on some point behind Madeline before he returned to his preparations and his brows stayed pinched in lingering irritation as he began filling the empty loops in his belt with fresh cartridges. Madeline pressed her lips together at his little intimidation act. No, she certainly didn't understand.

"Adam," she said, going for firmness this time, "please be reasonable, you cannot—"

She broke off when his head came up. The grim resolve shining in his eyes sent a pang of alarm soaring through her. He stared at her long enough that she received his message loud and clear, and silently returned to his task. She knew he wasn't going to listen to her. The stubborn man. It appeared her uncle's earlier assessment of his obstinacy hadn't been entirely inaccurate.

With a huff of distress, Madeline shifted around and gazed directly at her uncle in despair. He was deep in his own thoughts but the second he caught her eye, he quickly lifted himself out of his chair. He harrumphed and held up a pointed finger. "Ahem. I want to make it clear that I firmly disapprove of this."

Adam didn't even acknowledge him. Nor did any of the other Cartwrights as they brushed passed Madeline and began donning their coats and hats.

"Firmly disapprove," the doctor repeated, shaking his head adamantly.

The men continued getting ready as if he hadn't even spoken. He looked back at Madeline, shrugged and folded his hands behind his back. She made a distraught noise and looked on, helplessly.

Joe set his hat firmly on his head and bent down to pick up the rifles. "I'll start getting the horses ready." He opened the front door, letting a gust of cool air enter the house as he disappeared outside.

Feeling a sudden chill, Madeline wrapped her arms around herself, but the gesture gave her little comfort. She was still watching Adam when a hand settled on her shoulder.

"I hope you'll make yourself at home while we're gone," Ben said kindly as she faced him. His gaze slid briefly in Adam's direction and returned to her. A faint, secret smile touched his lips—a smile that managed to convey understanding, affection and reassurance all at once, in the short time it was there. Squeezing her shoulder, he leaned down to her ear. "We'll be back before you know it."

She tried to smile back but it didn't feel all that convincing.

Straightening, Ben nodded over at her uncle. "Sorry for running out on you like this, Paul."

"Don't concern yourself Ben, we'll find ways of occupying ourselves," her uncle replied breezily. Raising his voice a little, he added, "We need to do some packing anyway, seeing as we'll be leaving tomorrow."

Adam was reaching for his jacket when that last sentence fell, and Madeline stood close enough to him to see his whole body go still. A sharp pain squeezed her heart. This wasn't how this was supposed to be. Any of it. She had intended to talk to him privately today and explain to him that she was leaving tomorrow and why. She'd wanted to make the most of their last day together.

He pulled his jacket from the hook and shrugged it on with wooden movements—his jaw clenching as he maneuvered his bad arm through the sleeve.

"Adam," she said softly and reached for his hand, but he sidestepped her, avoiding her eyes.

"I'll see you later," he muttered, grabbing his hat.

And just like that, he stalked out the front door without a backward glance at her. She moved to the doorway and hesitated, a painful lump forming in her throat as she watched him cross the yard. Sensing a substantial presence beside her, she instantly knew who it was. Glancing sideways, she saw Hoss's usually gentle countenance was marred by a disapproving frown as his sky-blue eyes bore into Adam's back. With a heavy sigh, Ben put on his hat and gave her shoulder another little squeeze before following his youngest and oldest sons. Hoss, however, hung back.

"Don't you fret now, Ma'am," he said, taking her hand and patting it. "We'll keep a real good eye on 'im. I promise ya."

She nodded and produced what must have been a very tremulous smile. With a last sympathetic glance, he let go of her hand, put on his hat and followed his family.

Madeline remained in the doorway for several minutes until the Cartwrights came out of the barn with their horses. Watching from the front porch, she kept hoping that Adam would at least look her way. But he didn't. He kept his hat low and his head bent as he mounted up and settled himself in the saddle. Ben gave a wave in farewell and within seconds, the men had spurred their horses and ridden away. The yard, which had been filled with sound just a moment ago, was now engulfed in silence. A silence, broken only by a deep, unsteady beat—the sound of her own heart. Madeline closed her eyes. Listened and breathed deeply. Then she opened them again, turned and walked back into the house. She hoped that Ben's parting words to her would prove true.

xXXx