Many thanks to dreamsofhim and Cybrokat for their beta skills and feedback. A big thanks goes out to jenbachand for her expertise in baking, as well as pointing me to a lovely website full of spanish cursewords and phrases. I bookmarked that bad boy!

I hope you all enjoy this chapter! See you next Wednesday!

His breath traces wisps of heat along my neck. My pulse pounds in rapid staccato, adrenaline coursing through my veins. Every instinct is crying out for me to react, to scream, to fight the grip that holds me. Well, almost every instinct. One is rather pleased with this arrangement, and enjoys inhaling the masculine scent of El Vaquero.

Despite my internal chaos, his words have branded themselves into my brain. I must stay still.

"I won't hurt you," he murmurs lightly, tickling the sensitive skin along my ear. "But we need to hide. Now."

I let him guide me backwards into the darkened hallway leading into the saloon. We're in the storage entrance where many cartons of food and a surprising number of crates of liquor are intermingled around us on the dust-covered floors. We are pressed flat against the far wall, hiding in the dark corner near the door to the kitchen. The sun casts a slanted beam before us, illuminating miniscule particles in the air. I watch them drift and sparkle in the light; it seems to be all my mind can process.

I can feel his heart, the dull thud-thud defining his own fear. It's when a shadow disrupts the beam of light that I learn why he yanked me from the alley.

"Conrad? You back here?" The voice is low, heavily accented.

"Yes," a higher voice whispers, barely audible. There's the sound of footsteps shuffling in the dirt and another shadow joins the first to linger in the doorway.

"Where's Peddigrew?" the accent asks.

"Late," says Conrad, the voice clearer now that he's closer. "I really should do something about him."

"Sorry," cries a third voice as its source approaches, casting yet another muddled shadow. "I was talking with Mr. Hodges about the …" The click of a revolver silences him and makes my heart leap into my throat. El Vaquero is tense behind me, waiting … for I don't know what.

"Consider this a warning. You do as I say, or you do nothing at all. Are we clear?"

"Y-yessir," stammers the third. "S-ssorry sir."

"Now, bring me up to speed on my profits."

"Sir. Yes sir." His voice lowers and I strain to hear him. "The claims from three nights ago have brought in over $600 in pure, another $300 in mixed. The claims from last week have about $400 more, and the rest have been picked dry. Totals so far for the month are around $1500, give or take a few pennies here and there."

"Good. Document it all in my private ledger in the safe and then destroy any evidence. And make sure the monthly reports sent back east show a slight increase in expenses as well as an increase in deposits. You excel at that type of work, my boy – and I expect nothing but your best in hiding our activities from the authorities. We want the big guns back home thinking we're running along just as fine as can be."

"Yessir."

"Now Mr. Vartann, we need to discuss using your resources again. The raid you organized bought us some time and earned us some valuable claims, but there are still entirely too many independents down at Eldorado. We need them out and we need them out soon. Once they find the vein down on the south end, they'll realize how much gold is truly there and they'll dig it dry."

The high voice is serious with its authority. "We cannot let that happen. That vein and its profits belong to me, is that clear?"

"Yessir," they reply in stereo.

"Vartann, use your Indian friends in whatever way necessary to get those men away from the south end. And while you're at it, ask them why the hell that Sidle woman is still alive and walking around my town." There's a growl at the end of his words, sending a chill right down my spine.

"She is?" Vartann says in surprise. "I sent them out last night to take care of her. Just like you requested."

That chill turns downright frigid.

"Well, they failed because she's alive and well; she's currently being babysat by the sheriff and his dimwit deputy. You won't be able to get to her today. But let me be clear, I want her in the ground within the week. If she's not, it'll be you that takes her place."

"What does she matter anyway?" Peddigrew interjects. "She can't remember anything; everyone is talking about it. Amnesia. They say she's lost half her mind and she'll never be fit for more than routine work at the clinic. That the Robbins are going to be stuck with her."

I stiffen at his words and El Vaquero's grip on me tightens.

"How's that your problem, Hank?" Vartann growls.

"It isn't, but before Mr. Ecklie clonked her, she wasn't half bad. She's a looker and she's got nowhere to go and nothing to her name. A man like me might look good to a girl like her."

Conrad chuckles evilly. "A man like you. You're nothing but a bookkeeper who can barely keep a roof over his head and the clothes on his back. Why, you have about as much to offer her as that Grissom does. Which is absolutely nothing at all."

There is a slight tensing, a hint of movement behind me, but I'm not sure if it is just El Vaquero shifting his weight or if he was indeed reacting to Conrad Ecklie's slur of Mr. Grissom. I don't have time to study it as the conversation continues.

"Regardless of your feelings for Miss Sidle, she has seen and ultimately knows entirely too much about our operation." Almost to himself, he says, "I would have finished her if that Vaquero hadn't come along."

"Why didn't you just shoot him?" Hank asks. "The law would have loved you for it."

There are no words, just a dull thwack of a fist against flesh.

"You fool," Vartann hisses. "The last thing we want is the law down in that valley. And I'm sure Mr. Ecklie will repay that cabrón. He will pay with his life."

"Yes, I will. And thank you for at least attempting to understand the delicate nature of our situation. At least one of you has half the brain I assumed you had when I hired you. Now go. Secure my gold and do something about that woman!"

The three men disperse, leaving me a shivering mess with El Vaquero as my only support.

"They want to kill me," I whisper. "What did I see down at the mines?" I try to turn towards him, but he takes my head in his hands, holding it still.

"Careful, Miss Sara. No need for you to see things you shouldn't… well, wait a second." One hand rests against my cheek while the other rustles around. Before I can protest, or turn around, a soft cloth is covering my eyes. He's blindfolded me.

"There. That'll keep you innocent."

"I'm not as innocent as you think," I blurt, startling myself. Where did that come from? It must be the stress. Yes, I'm in a state of extreme distress. People are plotting to kill me!

He chuckles, his lips dangerously close to my collarbone. "I'm sure you aren't m'dear. But that should be the least of your worries."

Good point. "They want to kill me. Last night, I saw a man in the woods. Annie and I were bathing…"

"Where?"

"About a quarter mile past the barn, down in the stream. It was late and we didn't think anyone would be there. I was bathing… I was almost done actually and there across the bank was this… savage. Watching me."

He takes in a sharp breath. "What did you do?"

"I screamed like a banshee and went for my gun. He ran off and was long gone by the time Annie showed up."

"From now on, take your baths indoors. That goes for your penchant for nighttime rides as well. You aren't safe and I can't always be lurking in the shadows to protect you."

My anger flares at his patronizing, but the reality is starting to sink in. I'm in danger. Surprisingly, my brain is not writhing in agony over this. Perhaps it is used to being in mortal peril. If that's the case, I'm in way deeper than I thought.

"So," I say, still leaning against him as if this was normal behavior for us both, "what did I see that is so important that this Ecklie character wants to kill me?"

"Honey, I don't know."

"You don't?"

"No, and I've been over that valley a hundred times this past week. There is absolutely nothing there. Whatever they're hiding, they're hiding it well."

"They think I will remember. That's why I'm a threat."

"Yes."

A sound from inside the saloon startles us both. "Look," he says hastily, "I need to go. I'm going to leave you here and you are going to wait a full sixty seconds before removing that blindfold, okay?"

I realize then that I could learn his identity. Once he lets me go, I could remove the blindfold and see the face of the man that melts my insides into pudding.

"Please," he says softly. "Trust me when I say you do not want to know who I am."

Oh but I do. "Why not?"

"Some things are best kept private. And besides," he says as he takes a step away from me, "I'd have to kill you."

That halts my hand's journey towards the offending blindfold. Or maybe it is the sound of his gun's hammer cocking.

"That's a good girl. Now wait quietly for a moment before you go and enjoy yourself at the festival. Keep close to your friends and don't go anywhere alone. Heed my words, Miss Sara, and take care."

I hear him leave, exiting into the alleyway. Once his footsteps start to fade I yank the cloth from my eyes while running full bore to the doorway. I look in both directions but the alley is empty.

I hear steps behind me as the kitchen door opens. "Miss Sara," Warrick says in puzzlement, "what are you doing out here?"

"N-nothing. I…" I was what? Looking for one man, snatched by another, and privy to some seriously dangerous eavesdropping? "I was just on my way out."

oooooooooooo

Annie meets me as I round the corner. "Sara, where have you been? Lunch is ready and the bake-off starts right after that!"

I'm still half in a daze but I follow her back to the tables. A place between David and Greg is open and a plate of food already sits there waiting for me.

"We know you don't care for meat much," David says, "so Greg and I made up yours beforehand and kept it cool."

What they made is some concoction of greens, carrots, nuts, and what look like blueberries. There are white blobs within it that I eventually identify as goat cheese. I sample a bite and it is actually rather tasty.

"Thank you guys. This is delicious." They both beam at my praise and then help themselves to their hunks of semi-raw meat and potatoes slathered in butter. I've learned that if I just focus on my own plate, I can get over the complete disgustingness of what others eat. Today is easier than most days since my mind is still replaying the past fifteen minutes.

After I finish my makeshift salad, I look down in my lap at the blue handkerchief resting along my thigh. I don't remember placing it there, but I blink when I realize what it is. I fiddle with the fabric lightly, wondering if El Vaquero would want it back. It's clean – thank God – and rather fancy, silk with a dark blue stitching around the edge. No farmer owns this hankie, that's for sure. Neither does a miner.

I don't know what to do with it, so I tie it around my neck like a scarf. It's a little small and the tails of the knot are pretty skimpy. But it's soft against my throat, and it matches my dress.

I'm busy making a fashion statement, so I'm not paying attention to the conversation around me. Greg pokes me in the side when I neglect to answer his question. "Hey, you with us?"

"Uh yeah, I'm sorry. What did you say?"

"I asked if you were going to wait around with Annie or if you wanted to come watch the horse races with us."

Annie is studying her knife with great intensity, giving me the freedom to choose. But I'm not about to let her go this one alone. "I'm going to wait with Annie. I helped bake those pies, you know."

"You did?"

"Yeah," David chimes in, "she and Annie were up half the night working on them."

"Oh. Well, good luck then." He seems displeased, but I'm not sure why. Isn't a domesticated Sara a good thing?

It's then I notice Doc Robbins is missing. "Hey, where's Al?"

"He went back to the clinic to check on everyone," Annie says. "Plus, the constant standing hurts him after a while. He'll hang out at home until the cookout and dance this evening."

I hadn't thought of that. Doc Robbins is usually seated and treating the various patients in the clinic. He does move around, but it isn't for a long time and it isn't long distances.

Greg and David have left us; most of the other townsfolk have dispersed as well. Some are gathering around the bake-off tables, but the majority are heading for the desert behind the dance floor. I frown slightly, wondering if I was originally entered in the race with Pista.

Annie reads my thoughts. "Women aren't allowed."

"You're kidding."

"Oh, no, I'm not. Ladies ride side-saddle and never go above a trot. That's if they ride at all."

As I think about it, she's right. I haven't seen many women riding horses through town. Most are either a passenger in a wagon or cart - or they are walking.

We join the crowd milling around the bake-off table. Brass is there with Mr. Grissom and an older man who looks very official.

"Sam Braun," Annie murmurs in my ear. "The town's mayor. He and the sheriff and Mr. Grissom are the judges today."

Catherine is stationed up front while the young lady with the ledger and another with mouse brown hair are starting to slice the cakes and quickbreads. There are quite a few, making me wonder how three men are going to eat all this food.

It turns out that they don't – they each take a bite of the goodie being judged and make notations on their notepad. This takes longer than I could have ever imagined and my feet start to ache from standing in place for so long.

"Is it always like this?" I whisper to Annie.

"Yes, isn't it exciting?"

Umm… not really. But I'm getting good at the fibbing thing. "It is. I wish they'd hurry up and get to our pies, though!"

Finally, after the cakes are judged and an extremely elderly woman accepts a blue prize ribbon, it's time for the pies. They're about halfway through the entries when they get to my pie.

Boy they look nice. Our pies sliced nice and clean; Catherine's were crisp but a tad runny. The judged are sampling one of Annie's and are quite pleased. Excitement builds deep in my belly. When they get to mine, they are smiling and happy – I know they're going to love my pie!

They each take a bite. Sam Braun is first, and his face is neutral as he passes the slice of pie to the sheriff. Brass takes a large bite and stuffs it full into his mouth. Mr. Grissom takes the plate from Brass's hands and starts to cut himself a taste with his fork. That fork stops right in front of his lips when he sees his judging companions' faces.

Sam's is red, and he's chewing so fiercely he'd put a cow with her cud to shame. Brass hasn't started chewing yet. He's just frozen, his cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk. Mr. Grissom wisely puts his sample down on the table. His eyes flicker in humor as he asks "Is everything okay?" to his cohorts.

Giggles start to break out in the crowd and my face feels hot. What did I do wrong?

"What did you do to that pie?" Annie quietly barks in my ear. Sam Braun finally swallows his down while Brass is rooting through his pockets for a handkerchief.

"I don't know!"

Brass is spitting into his dirty hankie in a rather ungentlemanly fashion. Annie's tone is harsher. "What did you put in it?"

"Pie ingredients." I take a moment to remember last night when I was making the pie filling. "I put in the apples I sliced, cinnamon, nutmeg, a pat of butter, a little flour… .and oh, the powered sugar. You had the regular sugar over with you and I could see there wasn't much left. So I figured I'd use the powdered sugar."

Annie's voice takes on a strange tone. "What powdered sugar?"

"Uh… the powdered sugar in the canister with the little corncob on the front?"

Annie coughs, shakes her head, and then coughs again. "Oh sweetheart," she says, "That wasn't powdered sugar. That was cornstarch."

I look at my pie. "Uh oh… I take it cornstarch is bad for pies?"

"Corn starch is a thickener. And it doesn't taste very good. How much did you put in?"

"Two cups."

Annie screeches, "Two cups of cornstarch! Heavens, child! What were you thinking?"

All eyes are on me now. The ones I feel the most are a mild shade of blue, but the others are almost as humiliating.

Catherine adds fuel to the fire. "Sara! This is your pie?"

The giggles turn to laughter. Annie tries to stand up for me but it's a lost cause.

You know, for a supposedly fun-filled occasion, I'm really not having very much fun at all.

A/N #2: Okay so I have to apologize for not including the hoedown in this chapter. The above chapter is a little over 3000 words, and the hoedown is probably going to be another 3000 at least. I figured a 6000+ word chapter was pretty long to read - so next week will be the hoedown. Many apologies to those who were expecting it this week - I got a little wordy wrapping up the whole plot reveal and the bake-off.