After he had sent Mark to school, Lucas walked down to the lower field to check on the young bulls he'd corralled there. And to straighten out his mind. He'd be glad to see Emery Donelly leave, he told himself. To have the secret gone from his land, to be rid of the lies he'd been telling the people in town.

Could this hare-brained plan of the three male contributories even work? Send Eirik Donelly to the north with nobody the wiser, and Emery Donelly to Albuquerque, with again nobody the wiser?

Curiosity slowed his step. If any of the town folk 'Eirik' had interacted with more commonly saw her now – hair undone and wary restraint… not shed, but applied differently, would they recognize her? If she wore the same clothes, probably, but in – the hairs on his arms rose – a dress? A skirt and blouse? Her hair done up…

Startled beyond recall, he tried to summon up the anger and betrayal he had felt, the fury of her lie, of how easily he had been deceived… He quickened his steps.

…

Coming up to the farm from behind the house, he grew aware of the sinking sun. He'd lost a bit of time. The question if Buckhart had already returned from town was answered by the low murmur he picked up on. One more step, and words would be discernible.

"… understand, but…?" The deep voice held warmth.

"Lucas and Mark. These two, here… Gods, I never had to put this into words."

"I have some idea how your family came together."

A grateful chuckle. "Then you'll understand if I tell you that the connection between Lucas McCain and his son … the way he treats his surroundings… is quite unique to me."

"Reminded you of home?" the lawyer asked gently.

He could hear her shrug in her voice. "I could let go of something here, I can't even name it, something I'd held on to since my brother..."

"And Lucas?"

Why would his old friend ask this? But it were the next words that made him freeze in the step that would have taken him to the corner.

"Lucas can be… overwhelming."

Overwhelming?

"… mentioned the accident."

"… could as much leave them to it as, I don't know…." The wind blew the rest of her words away.

Consternation washing over the tall man, he realised he was eavesdropping. Taking a few silent steps back, he made sure to scrunch his boots against the hard floor and clear his throat to warn them of his coming. When he turned the corner, the two speakers were sitting down on the steps of the porch. Though Lucas did a double take – Emery had wound the heavy braid high over her forehead, a few errand strands framing her face. It gave an impression of intensely female practicability, a softness to a face that was not used to it.

He had miscalculated – the wind had hidden his approach from them. Both turned with a start and stood with alert faces. It was his turn to startle – Emery was wearing the wide, long riding-pants many women wore for skirts in these parts, with a tight vest over a cream coloured, simple blouse. The clothes accentuated a narrow waist, the emphatically female figure. Suddenly aware he was staring stupidly, a heavy frown on his face, Lucas swallowed and looked away. His glance fell on the packed contraption that was Eirik's – no, damn it – Emery's saddlebags. A stone seemed to settle in his stomach. "You're packed?" he croaked.

Sam Buckhart answered calmly: "It is best not to delay any longer."

"What about… in town?" the rifleman fumbled for words.

Emery opened her mouth for the first time. "I left letters on the desk. If you or Mark would be so kind as to deliver them…"

Their eyes met, and a maelstrom roared in Lucas' ears. Eye contact was a dangerous, dangerous thing.

He heard himself say: "I can do that." And saw the minute shift around her mouth, at the corners of her eyes. He clamped his mouth shut and – there were hoofbeats thundering onto the yard. Mark was coming home.

With him… Sherriff Micah Torrence.