Emery felt the heaviness of the ocean weighing on her thoughts, her vision, her sense of hearing. She woke slowly from the depth of unconsciousness to hazy awareness. A lazy feeling of utter displacement washed through her – the sounds were wrong, the smell was wrong. The touch of the blanket was wrong, come to think of it, the mattress was... mattress? Where was she? What had happened?

Hard pressed to lie still, not to open her eyes in panic, she took inventory. What was the last thing she remembered?

The children… and Mary Schuler. The silent fight in the night with the guard who had wanted to pull the woman from the shed… the knife in her belly. Ah – that's where the dull pain originated from. Right, but then? She had carried little Freddy, leading the horses down the mountainside, out the valley… Finding the campsite, Cade, the assembled men, and Micah Torrence. While relief had washed through her, anxiety rose – one tall quiet silhouette was missing. Mark had greeted the older man exuberantly, and asked the question she was fighting with. Torrence nodded toward the dense firs, asking questions of his own. She had hurried ahead, driven by the horrific picture of Lucas buried under those masses of stone.

Ah… she should have waited. Her mind shied away from the memory.

She had fled, unseeing, uncaring through the dark forest, following the valley floor blindly – flight and solitude the only thing on her mind. She did not remember where she had come upon Spirit's fresh trail, but could surmise that he had answered to her whistle. She remembered the insistent pain in her side becoming unbearable riding on her trusted friend, remembered the climb upwards, away from civilisation, away… She must have been close to loosing consciousness several times during that ride.

The cave… she remembered that dimly. A fire… shadow's dancing on the wall. But here things got feverish – how could she trust the impression of the square jaw, of the piercing blue eyes pulling her from the darkness? Surely that was wishful thinking, her brain working through the impressions of the last days…

But then where was she? Her senses wanted to persuade her…

Good God, she could feel a strand of her hair touching her cheek… the braid by her ear.

Her eyes flew open then, her breath painful and short, first impression a window covered by white drapes.

Despite herself, one hand reached upwards, searching for the bandages on her chest – and encountered bare skin. She was wearing her leather shirt. And she was weak as a kitten. The hand in front of her eyes seemed translucent.

Scared now, the young woman turned her head – and almost whished she hadn't. She knew where she was, though she'd never set foot in the room.

It's usual occupant stood leaning against the doorframe, his presence filling the room, overbearing, stifling until Emery fought to draw breath. Blood rushing in her ears, she felt light-headed, unreal.

Lucas McCain stood with his arms crossed in front of his chest. He returned her gaze with a calmly measuring, unreadable expression.

Time seemed to stretch to eternity. A thousand things passed through the young woman's mind, foremost the thought that should he intend to carry out his threat, she'd gladly die this moment.

The words that tumbled over her lips after she had managed to swallow finally were:

"Now you know."

Her voice sounded wrong to herself – high pitched, artificial, rough. Her mother's accent coming through again.

How had he found her? Where was Mark?

That last question answered itself immediately – the door opened just enough to let the small head poke through, blue eyes searching the room until they settled on her with the wide, curious, and so innocent expression she had come to love so much. He seemed unfazed by the adventure he had endured.

Emery's heart gave a sudden twitch. She would have to leave all this behind…

"Hey there." The boy's eyes searched her face with pure, undisguised intent. "You're awake!"

She forced the shadow of a smile. "Mark."

The boy swallowed, too. "I'll bring you a drink of water, shall I?"

"That would be kind."

Thirst, hunger, none of that mattered. The tall rifleman was staring down on her with narrowed eyes, his mouth a thin line. Her heart was beating in her ears. She clasped her hands together to hide their shivering. Her head was too heavy for her neck. Emery made to sit up a little, but fell back against the cushion with a small sound she could not suppress. The twofold pain in her side reminded her most insistently of her humanity.

She began to draw a breath, but faltered. Did she still own the right to call the tall man 'Lucas?'

"How did I get here?" Would he even answer? She turned her head to look at him again, and startled to see he had moved two steps toward her. Now he stood in the middle of the room, tension to his shoulders, hands half-curled by his sides.

Too close, too close, her senses screamed.

His voice was hoarse. "I followed your trail."

He'd found her? He'd brought her back? How? Those shadows against the wall…

"The cave?" her voice was toneless, husky.

"Aye. I bandaged your wound." His words were hard, clipped. "In the morning I put you on the horse and rode home. You've been out of it for half a day and most of a night."

"…and half a day again. Its after school." Mark stuck his head into the room again, following up with his whole body, carrying a cup of water in front of him.

"Oh." So much to process, and there were spots of light dancing in front of her eyes.

Lucas had not moved at the entrance of his son, his eyes never leaving her face.

Her hands shook so badly from her efforts to sit up that she threatened to spill the water. Lucas took one heavy step and put an arm behind her back.

His touch seared her, but she managed to swallow a few blessed sips of cool liquid. She closed her eyes. Gently pushing the offered from her, she let herself sink back against the cushions.

"Mark, I think we should let her rest now."

"Yes, Pa. Will – will she be all right?" There was that moment of hesitation, Emery noticed.

"We'll see, son. Take this back?"

The boy padded out of the room, the door gently bumping against the frame.

"Emery."

Her eyes flew open for the second time, and found the angular face bent over her. She felt disembodied, floating, loosing her sense of self to the blue eyes.

McCain's face changed subtly, a trace of bewilderment entering his gaze.

"You know my name?"

Her fright must have relayed itself to him, for his expression gentled. "You told me."

The young woman found herself shivering all over, all her composure shattered. How could she have told him? It had not been her name for almost ten years.

A broad hand reached out to cup her cheek, startling her and forcing her gaze back to his. His expression had changed, softened. He looked almost pensive.

"Doc said you should only drink water till the evening. He's worried about that wound. You've got a couple of broken ribs, too. Though not much can be done about those. If you feel all right, tomorrow you can eat. Sound ok?"

The deep voice flowed over her, the meaning of his words not reaching her. One hand crept up to touch the fingers resting against her face – was this real? Was she dreaming?

Lucas started at her touch and withdrew, eyes hard suddenly. "Rest. Mark and I are outside – you can call if you need anything."

He left without a backward glance.

The young woman could not tear her gaze from the door after it had closed behind the tall, broad-shouldered form.

Her chest compressed by the iron bands of fairy tales, she managed to turn to her side, circling her arms around herself. Biting down on her knuckles, she gave in to the wretched, silent sobs the exhaustion and desperation tore from her. The tears though had one thing working for them – they quickly carried her over to the darkness.

….

She woke the second time to the sun low above the horizon, painting orange lights in the room. So it was a few hours later. She felt more herself, even though it scared her how weak she was. Biting down against the pain, she sat up and inspected the bandages on her belly. The wound was sewn closed, and was beginning to heal. There was no putrefaction, but redness and swelling prove of an infection as would be expected from a wound left untended for a day. It hurt, a pain that went deep, but as long as she did not rip anything internal, it would be manageable. The room spun around her, her hands shook. Exhausted, she sank back onto the bed. This was not good. But it would have to do.

The door opened to quiet quick pads – Mark.

His eyes widened. "You're awake! How are you feeling?"

This boy treated her just as if nothing had changed. "A little better, thank you." Her voice shook.

"Are you hungry?"

"I think I could eat." God, why had Lucas brought her back here? Why not leave her downtown with the Doc? She had no words to offer to the boy.

Mark straightened, tilted his head. "You look different. I like your hair."

"Mark." That was Lucas from the next room. "Clean the table, please."

The boy gave her a small smile, and scampered off.

Her hair… both hands reached up to her wild tresses, barely confined to a crude braid. She managed to tame them into a slightly more dignified do before the tall rifleman stuck his head in, carrying a bowl.

"There's some stew."

Her hands shook, reaching for the food. "Thank you." The plate was too heavy.

He met her eyes levelly and frowned. One quick move pulled a chair to the bed, and one large paw held the bowl steady.

"Pa?" Mark appeared in the door.

"Bring the tea, son, please."

She could not eat, not with everything between them unspoken.

"Lucas…"

For a short moment he met her eyes, challenging, the stubborn set to his chin. "Eat first, then we can talk."

She could not remember the last time it had been such hard work to get a few spoons of warm food inside her. Finally the rifleman took the spoon from her fingers and fed her himself.

But her throat closed up, and she waved him away, closing her eyes. The heavy steps thundered in her ears.

"Why bring me here?"

Lucas stopped in the doorway, glancing back at her. "I owed you two lives."

"I lied to you."

He hesitated, the frown deepening, stubborn. "You saved my son."

But he had thought she had run… had left the children to their fates…

Unable to hold his stare any longer, she turned to the window. The sun had set.

"There's some questions that need answerin'."

She nodded without looking at him. Her head pounded already.

"Right. We've had a contingent of soldiers in North Fork asking questions."

That brought her head up in wary surprise. Soldiers? "Why?"

The blue eyes pierced her. He ignored her question – had she voiced it out loud? "Why didn't you tell Cade what you were planning on doing?"

"Cade?" she shook her head in disbelief. "But I did… while I was taking care of his wound…"

"Pa?"

Lucas turned his head. "Yes, son?"

"Can I stay and listen?"

Lucas motioned at the chair still standing near the end of the bed. "It's your story as much as hers."

Emery startled physically – 'her's'. Blood rushed to her face. Both McCains were watching her.

Lucas' upper lip curled slightly. "Start from the beginning. Let's hear your side of it."

She'd not gone through that day in her own mind. Sitting up laboriously, this time without the sound of pain, she clasped her hands before her.

"I'd gone fishing in the morning. Came back to find a fresh trail leading toward our clearing. So I was warned. A shot rang out – Cade getting hurt. I saw Swenson bent over his wife, they were just about to leave with the children." She swallowed. The scene came alive before her inner eyes. "They had all pulled their guns. Cade was already down – but a shoulder shot like his is not life-threatening. So I decided to stay hidden and try and follow the children, maybe a situation would arise…" She shrugged, biting her lip.

"You carry no gun." Lucas said thoughtfully from where he was leaning against the cupboard.

"They rode into the valley, the children and Mary Schuler on the wagon. I followed until the tree line."

"Why not further?"

"There was no cover. None. It is bare land, and they were on horses."

"But how did you know where they were taking us?" Mark leaned forward intently.

"They split up a few horse-lengths into the valley. Two of the men led their horses up the right side of the mountains. I climbed within the trees parallel to them, and could catch a few phrases – they talked about confusing the trail and 'el alud', an avalanche. My Spanish is thin. I caught their intention, and turned back. It was clear that there had to be a path for the rest of the group to take, 'dos cabanas' to reach over a 'paso de montana'."

She lifted her eyes to the tall rifleman's. "You know that valley. The only possibility for a pass is on its left end. I thought I was telling as much to Cade."

"After you put the Swenson's on the horse?"

"Lucy was hurt bad, and we needed to get word to town."

"Why not ride yourself?" Lucas' face was unreadable.

The young woman frowned. "Because by the time I'd have returned, they'd have been who knows where. I lost what time I dared caring for Cade, then drove Spirit off to lay a false trail."

"What happened then?" Mark had trouble sitting down.

The rifleman shot an expressive glance at his boy. "You followed the two spaniards?"

Heartbreak and anger mixed in her chest. McCain was testing her. She turned her face to the window, unable to hide the realisation. Too exhausted to keep up any kind of façade. "Had I followed them, I would be under that field of rubble. I reasoned that not only would the left crest of the valley shorten my path, it would hide me from them – even before the rockslide covered the whole valley in dust." She was too tired to suppress a shudder. Her head was throbbing. She'd been scared on the unknown mountainside, unable to see any further than a horse' length.

"How did you choose your path if you could not see?" Mark's question was innocent.

She almost smiled. "Remember the evening before, when we stretched our legs?"

"Ah! Yes, we could see to the end of the valley! But I don't think I could have found a path just because I looked at… It seemed mighty steep!"

Emery saw the frown on Lucas' face deepen.

"Go on."

She squared her shoulders against the knot in her stomach. She'd have to get this over with quickly. "Found the pass just before sun set, the huts a little later. Scouted out the horses. Eaves-dropped on the men until they were well drunk. When one came out and talked to the guard at the cottage where the children and Miss Schuler rested, I…" she trailed off then. Cold horror ran down her back. She lifted a hand to her face.

To her surprise, Lucas pushed off the wall and sat on the edge of the bed. There was grudging understanding in his eyes.

"I know about this part. You fought against them both, had to keep them silent. Knocked one unconscious. I take it the other stabbed you, and you killed him in self-defense?"

Emery bit her lip, impossibly torn between taking comfort from his words, the expression in his eyes – and the knowledge that it could not last, that she had no right... that he must hate her for her deception. How had he known? She turned her head away, fighting against the threatening tears. She had to swallow twice to find her voice again.

"The rest you know, Mark. Breaking the lock on the door would have woken the other cabin, so I made them-" she tilted her head at a happily nodding, wide-eyed Mark, "climb out through a window. Put them on the horses, walked them down." She found she was shivering – with suppressed emotion as much as with exhaustion. The pain from her wound made the sweat gather on her forehead.

"Anything else the sergeant wanted to know?"

Lucas gave her a sharp glance. "He was interested in descriptions of the goons – how many did you count?"

"Six… five." Her stomach threatened to bring up the few spoons of stew she had managed to swallow. Deep breaths… She closed her eyes, and quickly described the bearded faces to the two McCains. The leader had a telling scar through one eyebrow, the guard she had left unconscious and bound had dark hair that fell over his shoulder and a piece missing from his … right ear. One of the other ones was limping. One had a colt with ivory handles.

She let her head fall back against the headboard. Enough.

"Enough." The tall man echoed her thoughts eerily. He stood. "Sleep. We'll get word to town."

"Do you need anything for the night?"

If they'd only leave now, both of them… "No, Mark, Thank you." She kept her face turned toward the window and threw an arm over her eyes. She heard the boy pad out again, but Lucas' presence loomed still. The young woman forgot to breathe listening for the rifleman to move.

"Emery."

Why did she feel like a searing iron was being turned in her middle every time he called her by her name? Despite herself, she opened her eyes.

And was robbed of her breath for the second time. Lucas stood in the door, eyes stormy. Every inch of the tall man spoke of tension, some inner turmoil, fury. He returned to the bed with two long strides, and grabbed her arms roughly.

"Promise me, no, swear to me, on your life, that you won't steal out of here in the night." His eyes pierced hers. "And not because you would die out there without care, but because you owe me an explanation. We need to have words, you and I."

There was hurt under the anger. She'd hurt him. The deception, their friendship… she'd hurt him, and not only his pride. It overwhelmed her, shattering the flimsy defences she had managed to build again.

"Lucas…"

He shook her, none too gently. "Swear it!"

The pain in her side exploded. Emery found she had lifted her hands defensively. He was scaring her. And he would not give her time to think.

"Swear it, or I will tie you to the bed." His breath was hot on her face.

"Enough, please." She'd known the tall man was strong, but not quite how strong. She felt like straw. "I give you my word."

He let go as if burned, eyes widening in consternation.

For a moment they both caught their breath, staring at each other.

"I'll see you in the morning."

"Lucas."

He turned.

"Spirit?" she begged.

"In the corral, with BlueBoy and Razor. He's fine." His voice was husky.

"Thank you." A whisper.

…