"Pa, I'm home, and Micah came with me. He wants to see Eirik…"

If his brain were working right, Lucas would have known how to answer, how to defuse the situation that was going to explode into their faces. He would have stepped into Micah's path, asked his old friend for patience and a moment to explain. With his head pounding as if he were under the influence of a glass of brandy too many, he only stood numbly, unable to move, to do more than meet his excited son's questioning glare. Helplessly he watched Micah unmount, recognized the determination in his old friend's movements.

"Lucas. I thought I'd have a look at your farmhand. Not much could be gotten out of the Doc."

Slowly his thoughts started to work again. So Doc had tried too hard to keep Emery's secret, and gained the sherriff's suspicion. Micah was good with people. The creased face smiled up at him with sharp but disarming reproof. "It hit me today after I spoke with Doc that neither you nor Mark have been very forthcoming about the young man's recovery. So. May I see him?"

Unable to summon an answer, Lucas scratched his neck. His mouth closed.

"Pa!" Mark was trying hard to draw his father's attention. Meanwhile Micah turned toward the house, finally acknowledging the two silent figures. Lucas tore his glance away from his son's tortured face and watched the older man.

"Mr. Buckhart. Well met again."

"Sherriff Torrence." Sam had taken a half step in front of Emery, as if trying to shield her from… from what? Lucas' insides twisted.

Micah's glance moved on. "Miss." He tipped his hat politely, but clearly had lost his patience. This was Micah on a mission. "If you'll forgive me…" he turned and walked toward the stairs. One step up, another. His shoulders tensed slowly, but his feet carried him up until he stood in front of the door. His hand reached for the knob, but his head was moving sideways.

Micah Torrence turned. The words came slowly: "What in the devil's name is going on here?" His eyes shifted from face to face mechanically until he had the young woman in his line of sight. "Miss?" he spat the word, cynic disbelieve on his features.

Lucas had seldom seen his old friend this torn between anger, dismay, disgust … the anger won. Micah stepped down onto the top stair.

It took Mark's sudden intervention to loosen the dangerous tension. "Well, that cat is out of the bag." He grabbed the two nervous horses' reigns and led them resolutely toward the paddock, saddles and all. Locking the gate behind them, he grumbled: "Go have fun. This is gonna take a minute." Turning back, he found all eyes trained on him. He shrugged self-consciously. "They're not sweaty. We took it slow coming up." His absolute disregard of the adult's stony silence worked its way. Too slowly, it must have seemed to the boy. "This seems like a coffee moment." He marched past his frozen father, saw the packed bags, and stumbled. Mark was less upset than his father, Lucas acknowledged on a subliminal level. Eyes wide and sad, he exchanged a glance with Emery. And winked at her – the girl's face had lost all the weary, restrained composure of earlier, and was expressing a heart-breaking mixture of fear, pain, horror and acute embarrassment. Mark threw a glance over his shoulder at his father and gave him a brave smile. Then he offered his arm to Emery, the way he had done once before. "Em'ry?"

Still pale, the young woman's face shone with her sudden grateful smile. She broke away from behind Sam Buckhart gracefully, skirt swinging gently against long legs.

Lucas felt his throat constricting – he didn't know if from laughter. Meeting Sam Buckhart's eyes, he shrugged minutely. The native lifted a single eyebrow.

There was a tense moment, with Micah effectively blocking the door.

Mark did his best squaring his shoulders, while Emery stood very, very calmly. Lucas could only see her face from the side, but in this moment he had a sudden insight that this girl had indeed lived with natives – had native blood, come to that. Micah lifted his face and met Lucas' eyes. The rifleman grimaced at his old friend, shrugging again. A little apologetically, maybe.

Micah stood aside, and the whole group returned to the McCain's increasingly stuffy living room.

…