Eerie Saloon: Seasons of Change -- Winter
By Ellie Dauber and Chris Leeson

Part 2 -- February

Sunday, February 4, 1872

Theo, Elizabeth, Laura, and Arsenio moved into one of the empty rows of chairs set up in the school for the Sunday worship service. They picked up the hymnals that were placed on two of the seats and sat down.

Elizabeth tugged on Laura's sleeve. "Who is that young woman up there in front," she whispered, pointing to the group seated on either side of the altar, "and what is she doing sitting there with -- those _are_ your church elders, aren't they?"

"They're the board, all right," Laura answered. "And Trisha -- Trisha O'Hanlan, there -- is one of them."

Her sister made a face. "But she's so young. How could she be an elder?"

"She wasn't that young when she was elected to the board," Laura explained. "She wasn't a she, either. Miss O'Hanlan also got a taste of Shamus' special brew."

"Great Heavens, does the man give it away to anyone that asks?"

Laura shook her head. "Not hardly. The way I heard it, her boy, Elmer, got hurt real bad. He was dying, and Doc Upshaw couldn't do anything about it. Then somebody got the idea of trying Shamus' potion. Only, Elmer said he'd rather die than be a girl."

"Why that impertinent little snip. How dare he say something like that?"

Theo patted his wife's hand. "He's only a young boy, my dear. He'll grow out of it, I'm sure."

"He _was_ a young boy." Laura started again. "Anyway, Trisha -- she was Patrick then -- Patrick told Elmer that he'd drink the stuff if Elmer would."

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. "Why didn't he just hold the boy's nose or whatever one does when a child won't take his medicine? That's what I would have done."

"Not everyone has your insight in raising children," Laura said sarcastically.

Elizabeth missed her sister's tone. "More's the pity. I assume that you'll tell me next that they both drank it."

"Actually, Trisha was just going to pretend to drink it. Only she accidentally swallowed some and..." Laura made a sweeping gesture towards the front of the room. "...there she is."

"Excuse me, ladies," Arsenio said, cutting in. "I think the service is about to start."

"Sorry," Laura whispered, just as Reverend Yingling rose to announce the first hymn.

* * * * *

"Would you and Theo like to meet Trisha?" Laura asked Elizabeth as they were leaving the schoolhouse.

Elizabeth shook her head. "I don't believe that's truly necessary. I've no doubt that she'll just tell me the same story that everyone else has."

"You believe it, then, Elizabeth?" Theo asked.

Elizabeth frowned. "I still have some doubts. It is a rather hard story to believe, after all. Still, 'if a dozen people tell you it's raining, go get your umbrella', as my father used to say."

"That was Pa, all right." Laura smiled at the memory.

Elizabeth frowned, pretending not to hear. "After hearing it from your Reverend Yingling -- and he is a fine minister, by the way. His sermon this morning was as good as any I've ever heard. After hearing the story from him yesterday, I'm inclined to believe that it's true. That, somehow, you are my brother, Leroy."

Laura started to give her sister a hug, but the other woman took a step back. "I _am_ Leroy, Elizabeth," Laura said. "You'll see the final proof tomorrow, when Shamus has that new batch of potion ready."

* * * * *

"Good afternoon, Seá±or and Seá±ora O'Toole," Dolores said, walking over to where the pair were seated, finishing their lunch.

Shamus clambered to his feet. "And t'ye, Dolores, but if ye'll be working for me, I'll be asking ye t'be calling me Shamus, if ye please."

"And I'm Molly," his wife added.

Dolores bowed her head slightly. "Si, Shamus and Molly then, and I thank you, _Shamus_, for letting me start so late in the day."

"I'm hardly the most observant son of Mother Church," Shamus said. He gently placed his hand on Molly's shoulder. "Me darling wife here takes care of that for us both." Molly smiled and put her hand over his.

"But I'll not stop a lass who is observant -- not on Sunday, anyway," Shamus continued. "So long as ye work hard when ye _are_ here, ye can go to the early Mass and even be having the Sunday meal with yuir family."

"I still thank you." She looked around. "And where do I start this hard work?"

"Ye'll find an apron for yuirself in the kitchen," Shamus told her. "After ye put it on, ye can bring a tray of clean glasses over to R.J. at the bar. Thuir's already a few customers about. Ye see what they want t'be drinking, then ye get that from R.J. and take it over t'them. If ye have any questions, ye just ask him."

Dolores curtsied. "Si, Seá±... Shamus."

"We ain't that formal, lass," the barman said with a laugh. "Around here, ye just show yuir respect by working hard and acting square t'me, t'Molly, t'them others that work here, and, most important, t'me customers." He gave another laugh. "O'course, that curtsy ye made was nice -- for a one time thing. Now off t'the kitchen with ye."

* * * * *

Wilma stuck her head into Lady Cerise's office. "You wanted to see me, Cerise?" Her employer's message sounded serious to Wilma. Was she in some kind of trouble?

"Come in, Wilma." Cerise waited until Wilma had stepped into the room. "I did not wish to see you; these two did." She pointed to her couch against the far wall.

Wilma turned. "Rosalyn and Beatriz; what d'you want?"

"We, uhh, wanted to say that, uhh..." Rosalyn frowned and her voice trailed off.

Beatriz tried. "We want to say that we will accept you as the Lady's assistant."

"And..." Cerise prompted the pair.

"And we're, ahhh, sorry about what happened before," Rosalyn added, still frowning.

Wilma smiled. "I don't know if you're sorry 'bout what you done or sorry that it didn't work, but -- what the hell -- an apology's an apology." She stuck out her hand. "And I'll take yours, if..."

"If what?" Rosalyn raised an eyebrow.

Wilma's smile grew even wider. "If we're at an end t'the fighting between us."

"We are." Rosalyn said the words as if they tasted of vinegar, but she shook Wilma's hand.

Beatriz nodded. "Si, me too." She didn't sound any happier than Rosalyn had.

"Good," Wilma said, shaking Beatriz's hand in turn. "Then we can get back the important stuff."

"And what is that, Wilma?" Cerise asked, pleased to see the matter resolved and her choice vindicated.

Wilma's smile grew into a full grin. "Why being with men and having fun, o'course." She let out a laugh. "Or is that saying the same thing twice?"

* * * * *

Molly put down her teacup. "So tell me more about this 'petishyun de man-o', Carmen." The three couples, Shamus and Molly, Whit and Carmen, and Ramon and Maggie were in the O'Toole's parlor.

"The 'peticiá³n de mano' has four parts, four meetings," Carmen began. "The first part was last week when Ramon asked for Margarita's hand. Today, we talk about reasons why you should agree. Next week, if all goes well, we talk about the _muhul_, the bride gift. The last is a public meeting where you formally accept the proposal by accepting the bride gift."

Shamus cocked an eyebrow. "And do we have to be going through all that nonsense?"

"To us, Seá±or Shamus, it is not 'nonsense,'" Carmen answered, her voice stiff. "It is the way that such things are done."

"Please, Shamus," Maggie said softly. "This is the only way I know. This... this is how I-I did it when I was... courting Lupe."

Shamus took Maggie's hand in his own. "All right, Maggie. If that's how ye want it, that's how we'll be doing it." He turned to Ramon. "Why should we let ye be marrying with Maggie, Ramon?"

Ramon stood up. "First, the formal answer: because I am Ramon Luis Simon Francesco de Aguilar, an aristocrat. My great-great grandfather, Alonzo de Aguilar, was a conquistador who was granted 200,000 hectares -- almost 800 square miles -- of this territory by Charles III of Spain in 1785."

"Aye," Molly answered, "but ye don't seem t'be having much o'that land now, do ye? What're _yuir_ prospects?" To an Irish nationalist like her, land and titles given by a far-away king meant very little, at least little that was good.

"Much of the grant was stolen by the gringos, as happened to many of us. My family is a part of the suit in the American courts to get it back. What _is_ ours... is Carmen's house, which was built by our great-grandfather in 1787, and the lands where our older brother, Gregorio, raises cattle, far to the west of here."

Ramon took a breath. "My own prospects are that Aaron and Rachel Silverman have just made me the partner in their store. You know how well that store does, Shamus. From all the clothes you bought when Maggie and the others were... in your care, you were our best customer."

"Those are all good reasons," Shamus said with a nod. "And Molly and me know the sort of good man ye are." He chuckled. "Which ye're too modest to be telling us, it seems. Is there anything else ye want t'say?"

"Ramon," Maggie burst in when Ramon didn't answer. "You did not say that you loved me."

He looked shocked. "Of course, I do, Margarita. I love you with all my heart -- so much that I ache to think of it -- and I want so very much for you to be my wife."

Maggie smiled and stepped closer to him. "That is muy good to hear because I love you also, and I cannot think of anything I want more than to have you as my husband."

Their eyes met, and they slipped into each other's arms. Ramon lowered his head and kissed her. She raised her arms up around his neck and returned the kiss.

The other two couples watched the pair kissing. Shamus put his arm around Molly. Whit took Carmen's hand and gently raised it to his lips.

"And _that's_ surely the best reason of all," Molly said with a laugh. "I'm thinking that this part of the 'petishyun' is over."

* * * * *

"Here you go." Kaitlin placed a large cup of coffee down where Trisha was sitting at the kitchen table, going over some bills from the Feed and Grain. She walked over and sat down opposite her former husband.

Trisha added a spoon of sugar to the cup. "Thanks," she said and took a sip. She frowned and added more sugar. "Better," she said, taking another sip. Lately, she'd been finding that she liked her coffee sweeter. Sometimes, she even added milk.

She was about to go back to bills, when she saw the expression on Kaitlin's face. "You want to talk to me about something, don't you?"

"I do. Have you thought any more about what I said, about a... a divorce?" It was after 10 PM, and Emma was surely asleep. Still, Kaitlin kept her voice low.

Trisha sighed. "I have," she said sadly. "And I hate the idea."

"So do I." She reached her hand across the table. "But..."

Trisha nodded and took Kaitlin's hand in her own. "I know. I still don't agree with Rev. Yingling, but he'll never change his mind. And he can make a lot of trouble for me -- for all of us -- if he wants to."

"Then our marriage is over," Kaitlin said it with a sense of dread.

"As far as Yingling's concerned, it's been over for months. Like you said, though, we need to make it official..." She sighed again. "A divorce."

"So we go see the Judge tomorrow?"

"I'd like us to talk to Milt Quinlan first, to see what the law says. But could we wait until the end of the week, until the Board meets, to actually go see the Judge?"

"Is that more important?" She sounded -- she _was_ hurt.

"No, but... this is a small town, Kaitlin. The word'll get out when do we talk to the judge -- you know it will. And it could -- I _know_ it would distract me. It could affect how the Board votes, too." Trisha gave Kaitlin's hand a gentle squeeze. "Please..."

Kaitlin squeezed back. "I... you're right. I know how important that vote is, and I mean to everyone, not just to you. We'll see Milt Monday or Tuesday and the Judge... after."

"Thank you, Kaitlin; thank you very much."

"Can-can we talk about what happens when we... when we get the divorce."

"You stay here, of course. I'll not turn Emma -- or you -- out."

"Where will you go?"

"Liam lives in a room above the store. I-I guess I can fix another up for myself."

"But... but this is your house, too. Do you want to stay?"

"Do you want me to stay? I can sleep on the couch, I guess."

"You can sleep right where you've always slept. That bed is more than big enough. I slept in a smaller bed with my sisters before I got married." She paused a moment. "But you have to promise: no more funny business, no grabbing or touching or anything like that."

"I promise," Trisha said. "If I'm not your husband, I --" She stopped for a moment. "I guess I'm already coming to terms with not being your husband. It..." She shrugged her shoulders. "...somehow, the last few days, being... being intimate with you... it doesn't seem as important to me as it was."

* * * * *

Monday, February 5, 1872

"Is this potion of yours ready, Mr. O'Toole?" Elizabeth asked, walking over to where Shamus stood behind the bar. "Or have you found some other way to stretch this farce out?"

Theo hurried over to the bar where his wife was standing. "I'm sure you, ah... understand, Mr. O'Toole... Shamus. Elizabeth is just anxious to have the matter resolved."

"Oh, I understand. Theo. I understand better than ye know, I'm thinking. And, yes, Mrs. Tate. It is ready." He reached down under the bar and brought out a glass bottle filled with an odd, green- colored liquid. "Here it is."

"That's all there is?" Elizabeth did nothing to hide her disdain. "No flourish of trumpets? You don't put on wizard robes or anything? Just pull some bottle off a shelf."

"I didn't think it needed anything more," Shamus answered, beginning to get angry. "I could go get me _bath_robe, if ye really think it's needed."

Elizabeth shook her head. "No, just get on with it."

"Theo, would ye be good enough t'be getting the pup I need. He's tied up in the yard. Just go to the kitchen..." Shamus pointed to the kitchen door. "...and ask Jane or Maggie for him." The man nodded and headed towards the door.

"While we're waiting, might I see this so-called magic elixir of yours?" Elizabeth asked.

"O'course." Shamus handed her the bottle. "Just be careful with it."

She unscrewed the top and took a whiff. "Smells like absinth, an unusual drink but hardly magical."

"And when would a proper lady like yuirself ever meet up with absinth?" Now it was Shamus' turn to be sarcastic.

"I, ah... not that it's any of your business, Mr. O'Toole, but I had a small taste of it when Theo and I went to Chicago for our honeymoon." She lifted the bottle and held it so that light from the open doorway shone through it. "Yes, from its look and its smell, I should very much judge this to be no more than absinth."

"I'll be telling ye again: Be careful with that bottle, lass."

Elizabeth set the bottle down on bar, but she didn't let go of it. Instead she stood on tiptoe and tried to lean over the bar. "What were you planning, Mr. O'Toole, some magician's trick to substitute a female dog you have hidden back there for the male one you sent my husband to fetch?"

"Ye just wait and see if it's true magic or not."

"And I suppose you'll tell me next that if I drank it, I'd turn into a man."

Shamus laughed. "Ye're already too much like a man t'me thinking, but, no, the potion won't do that."

Elizabeth stepped back from the bar and out of Shamus' immediate reach. "Then let's just see what it _will_ do -- besides giving me an upset stomach the way that _other_ absinth did in Chicago."

"Don't do it, lass," Shamus yelled. He hurried to come around from behind the bar.

She hesitated a moment when she saw Theo coming back towards her, carrying a small, spotted brown and white dog, then she said, "Watch this, Theo." She raised the bottle to her lips and drank.

"Elizabeth!" Elizabeth was staggering slightly, as if the draft had been a powerful one. Theo dropped the dog and ran over. He gripped his wife's upper arms to support her.

"I'm fine." She giggled, not quite knowing why she did so. She felt an unusual warmth, the absinth, no doubt, spreading through her from her stomach.

Theo's eyes widened. "Your... your hair, Elizabeth. It's getting darker."

"What?" A dizziness washed over her. "Oh... oh, my." She closed her eyes and sank down onto a barstool.

* * * * *

Elizabeth found herself back in Chicago, back in that little hotel room. It was her wedding night, and Theo -- and she and Theo were doing what a couple did on their wedding night.

This time she wasn't afraid, as she had been then. She gloried in the sensations of Theo's lips on hers, of his hands touching her body, touching her in places that her mother had told her to never touch herself. Then, she felt him inside her. It hurt -- just for a moment -- but the pain faded quickly. It was replaced by something, an energy, an exquisite pleasure like she had never felt before and that she never wanted to end. The pleasure grew; it flowed across her like the blessed rain after a long drought, better and better and better still, until there was no Theo, no Elizabeth, just a joining, a moving, and... and an _explosion_ of purest joy.

She was in their own house, in her... in _their_ bed. Theo was with her. They were naked -- _gloriously_ naked. She could feel his body against hers, his manhood _in_ her. Time, after time, it happened, and, time after time, she felt the incredible pleasure of the act. She wanted it. She _needed_ it. The need was a hunger that had to be sated.

She... she was dressed. She was back in that saloon with that sneaky, Irishman, and someone, someone who had that wonderful... _maleness_ that she craved, was holding her.

* * * * *

Elizabeth opened her eyes. Theo was holding her, a strong male hand on each shoulder. "Are you all right, Elizabeth? I was afraid --"

"I'm fine," she said, her voice softer, almost a purr. One hand shot down and cupped Theo's crotch. "Mmmm, and so are you."

"Elizabeth!" Theo's eyes were twice normal size, and surprise raised the pitch in his voice.

Elizabeth smiled, but she didn't move her hand. "Let's go upstairs and see just how... fine we both are." She put her other arm around his neck and pulled him down to her. Their lips met in a kiss.

Theo broke the kiss. "What in the world has gotten in to you, Elizabeth?"

She pouted. "Nothing yet, but I have every hope." She squeezed his crotch again, and he felt himself getting stiff. "Mmm, yes, every hope, indeed," she added.

"Ye might as well be taking her upstairs, Theo." He could hear Shamus behind him. "I've seen this before. It's me potion at work, and there's nothing for ye to do but enjoy it."

* * * * *

Jane came into the kitchen from the yard, her arms piled high with packages wrapped in green paper. "Where you want I should put this stuff?" she asked Molly.

"Those are the sheets and tablecloths for the saloon, Jane," Molly answered. "Ye can be taking them straight upstairs to the store room." She took a sip of coffee. "And bring down that sack of dirty things that're by the store room door."

"Sure thing, Molly." Jane used her back to open the door into the saloon and walked through the room, towards the stairs.

Teresa Diaz had come in behind Jane with a small stack of her own, some in blue and some in yellow paper. "Is that your dog tied to the bench, Seá±ora Molly?"

"Aye," Molly told her. "Himself needed it t'be showing his potion t' somebody. Turns out he don't, but I'm thinking we may keep the little fellow anyway. That's why I tied him up outside again." She pointed to the table she was sitting at. "Ye can sit that laundry o'mine right here, so I can be taking it up t'me room."

The laundress set the packages down. "The blue ones are yours; the yellow ones belong to Margarita. The bills are pinned to the packages. You can both pay me when I come again on Friday."

"That'll be fine. Can ye stay for a cup of coffee, or do ye have t'be about yuir business?"

Teresa smoothed her skirt and sat down, while Molly poured her a cup. "I was hoping that you would ask. There is something I would like to talk to you about."

"And that is?" Molly handed her the cup and poured one for herself.

Teresa took a sip of coffee to steel her nerves. "My son, Arnoldo. I know he did wrong, but I... can you... would you help him get his job back?"

"You know what he done, don't ye? And what he said t'me Shamus."

Teresa turned away from Molly's gaze. "I... I know, and I am truly sorry. My Arnoldo is young... and stubborn. Sometimes he does things without truly thinking about what may happen."

Molly reached out and put her hand on Teresa's. "Except for the part about being 'young', ye just described me Shamus." She laughed. "Yuir Arnie, at least, has a chance t'be growning out of it with the proper help, and I'll be more'n happy t'be part of that help."

"And so'll me darling Shamus," she added, "once I'm working on him for a wee little while."

* * * * *

Theo fumbled with the key to the room he and Elizabeth were using. "Elizabeth, please," he told her.

"Mmmm, hurry, Theo, hurry," she whined. She was pressed against his back, her arms around him.

One arm caressed his shirt; the other... "Aye," Molly told her. "Himself needed it t'be showing his potion t' somebody. "Stop that." Her other hand had wormed its way down the front of his trousers. She ran a finger down the bulge in his drawers, tickling his member through the cloth with her nail.

"Nice," she said, her voice husky with lust, "nice... and big... and, mmmmm, getting bigger." She giggled.

The key turned in the lock. "At last." There was honest relief in his voice. She stepped inside quickly, almost dragging him in with her, and closed the door behind them.

* * * * *

Bridget walked downstairs and over to the bar, where R.J. was setting up glasses. "G'morning, R.J.," she greeted him, "how you doing today?"

"I'm doing better since you came down, thank you," he answered, looking her over. "Is that a new blouse? You look very nice; it brings out the green of your eyes."

"Flatterer." Nevertheless, she enjoyed his compliment.

"Just telling the truth. And what're you up to today?"

"Right now, I'm going into the kitchen to get some breakfast."

"Must be nice to be able to sleep in."

"It is." She gave him a sly smile. "I need my sleep, if I'm going to be at my best for playing poker till 2 every night, don't I?"

"I suppose." He paused a beat. "You want me to go get you some coffee or anything?"

"Thanks, but I thought I'd talk with Maggie for a bit before I set up my game and she starts making lunch." She gave a demure little smile. "You know... girl stuff."

R.J. raised a doubtful eyebrow. "Girl stuff?" He shrugged. "If you say so."

"I do. Say, can I bring you anything from the kitchen?"

"Just your company." He winked. "Go... have a good breakfast. Or is it lunch by now?"

"It's lunch, and I will." She winked back and headed for the kitchen.

* * * * *

"How long do I have to stand like this?" Laura asked. She was standing in her old bedroom on the second floor of the Saloon, wearing only her unbuttoned camisole, her drawers, shoes, and stockings.

Edith Lonnigan wrote something in a notebook. "I'm almost finished. Your weight looks about right for a woman as far along as you are." She put the notebook down and began searching for something in the oversized reticule-basket she had carried. "Congratulations by the way."

"For what?" Amy Talbot asked. Amy was wearing as little at Laura. She sat on one of the beds, waiting for her own monthly examination.

"From what Laura told me" Edith explained, "she's in her twentieth week, halfway through."

Laura kneaded the small of her back. "I wish I was all the way through it. My back's been hurting something fierce lately, and I've been having the worst heartburn." She groaned. "I don't know how women handle it."

"We do -- _you_ do -- because you have to, I'm afraid," Edith told her.

"Try a hot water bottle for your stomach." Amy suggested.

Edith nodded. "Yes, that will work. Don't stand up too long, if you can avoid it. In fact, you should rest whenever you can, so you don't overwork yourself."

"I'll try," Laura said. "Shamus is pretty good about letting me take breaks." Her eyes suddenly grew wide. "Ooh, the baby just kicked. It's been doing more of that, too."

"And it will do even more of that from now on," Edith explained. "You do have one advantage; it can hear sound now."

"It-it can?" Laura looked down at her gravid belly. "How is that an advantage?"

"You can talk to it," Amy said. "When I was carrying Jimmy, I sang to him. The song quieted him down. In fact, it still does."

Laura considered the idea. "Sing... I'll try that."

"You should; it soothes the baby and gets it used to your voice." Edith looked up at her patient. "I noticed that you're using a looser corset now."

Laura shrugged. "It's more comfortable. I don't seem to have a waist any more, but I need it for my... for on top." The weight she'd gained had made her waistline vanish. "Arsenio says the baby's getting big enough to hug now." She told the other women. "And he hugs it -- and me -- as often as he can." She giggled when she said it.

"As long as he doesn't hug you too tightly," Edith told her. "It can be very... therapeutic."

"That, it can." Laura giggled again, and the other women joined her.

"Let me tell you what to expect this next month, dear," Edith continued. "I've warned you about overworking. The baby's taking a lot of your energy. You'll find that your breathing gets heavier sometimes, and you'll perspire more."

"That's where that silliness about how we 'glow' when we're pregnant comes from," Amy interrupted. "You may get red spots on your face and arms, too, but they go away pretty quick."

"They do, indeed," Edith agreed. "The bad news is that the baby will be moving almost all the time; the good news is that your morning sickness should go away. You might get some leg cramps to go with that backache. Stand straight. Force your toes up, towards your face, and press down on your legs. You'll very likely find that your skin gets dry." She kept rummaging in the reticule. "I have some lotion for you in here. Just smooth it in -- better yet, ask your husband to do the rubbing."

"Mmm, now that sounds like it might be fun," Laura replied.

Mrs. Lonnigan pulled a stethoscope from her basket. "Finally!" She held it up like a trophy. "Now hold still, dear. This may feel a bit cool." She set the two end-pieces in her ears.

"_May_ feel cold," Laura squeaked when the midwife put the diaphragm against her abdomen and slowly moved it back and forth.

After a while, she stopped. "Here." She quickly took the end-pieces out and handed them to Laura. While the mother-to-be inserted them in her own ears, Edith was carefully held the diaphragm in place.

"I-I hear something." Laura's eyes grew wide. "Dub-dub... dub-dub. Is it..."

Edith beamed at her patient. "Yes, Laura, my dear. _That_ is your baby's heart beating."

"I... I never dreamed..." The words stuck in her throat, but her wide smile and the tears glistening in her eyes said all that needed to be said.

* * * * *

Tuesday, February 6, 1872

'By Thunder, that feels good.' Theo was awakened by a wave of pleasure that was spreading through his body. His second thought was, 'I'm naked; Elizabeth will --'

No, he decided, Elizabeth would _not_ have the fit she might normally have to find him naked in bed beside her. In fact, it was her hand gently stroking his male member that was causing those _very_ pleasurable sensations. "G-good morning, Elizabeth," he said, smiling uncertainly.

She smiled back. "Good morning. I was wondering how long it would take to wake you up."

"Now you know, and may I say that you're a wonderful alarm clock." She took her hand away. "Why did you stop?" he asked. "Is something wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong, but now that you're awake and so... mmmm... so hard, we can... _do_ it again." There was a passion, almost a hunger, in her voice.

"Elizabeth, you mean that after yesterday -- and last night..."

"That was yesterday and last night. It's today, and I _need_ it now, too." She threw the covers back. She wore no more than he did.

"Elizabeth, you're..." He stared at her body. Her breasts seemed firmer and a little larger, perhaps, than he remembered. Her hair, on her head and... down _there_, was a rich, dark chestnut color, not the dull, mouse brown it had been.

She laid her body across him. "Yes, I am." He felt her soft flesh on his. Her breasts were pressed against his chest, her nipples hard as pen points. She reached down, and her fingers encircled his hardness again. "Please..."

"I-I don't know." He'd daydreamed, now and then, about his wife acting the wanton -- what man hadn't? But this; it wasn't really her. It was as if she was inebriated, or, worse, as if she'd been drugged. He'd heard about women drugged into white slavery. Was that happening to Elizabeth? And by his actions with her, was he helping the process?

She pouted. "This is what _I_ know." She shifted her body, so that she was straddling him, her groin against his. She lifted her hips and guided him into her. "Ohhh, yesss!" Her voice was a sensual purr.

Theo felt her warm, wet flesh surround his maleness. She was moving her hips, now, and her tightness almost felt like another hand. His own hips began to move in reaction.

"Yes! Yes!" Her words matched her -- their actions, for they were moving in unison. He gave in to the moment and began to thrust into her.

"Yesss!" Elizabeth screamed again. She arched her back as her head rolled back onto her shoulders, her eyes wide. Then she gasped and collapsed down onto him. "That was so good," she gasped. Her voice was husky. "And, oh, my, you're still hard." She rolled off him and lay back on the bed. Her legs spread wide, exposing -- no, _offering_ her innermost self for his pleasure.

'She's an animal in heat, not my Elizabeth,' Theo thought. 'She needs help, not... not intercourse, and it's my duty to get it for her.' Reluctantly, he rose from the bed and wiped his privates with the towel on the dresser.

"Theo, what... what are you doing?" Now it was Elizabeth who sounded confused. "I... I need you."

"You need _help_," he said firmly. He climbed into his pants and buttoned up the front. He pulled his suspenders up over his shoulders and grabbed for his shirt and shoes. "I'm going to get you some."

"Theo... please." She had a desperate look in her eyes. "Stay here." She cupped her breasts. "You can play with these -- play all you want. You always liked that."

He turned away, not wanting to see the... _slut_ his wife had become. "I'll be back as soon as I can." Without another word, he walked to the door and pulled it open.

"Theo... please... stay here with me." He could hear the need in her voice. When he started through the door, she tried something else. "Theodore Emanuel Taft, don't you dare leave me."

He shook his head. "I-I have to." The next moment, he was through the door, closing it behind himself.

As he started down the hall, he could still hear her for a short while. "Please... Theo, please..."

* * * * *

Carmen looked at the letter on her writing desk.

` "Dear Gregorio,"

` "I have the most wonderful news."

` "Ramon has been courting a widow, Margarita Sanchez,
` who is newly come to town. Two Sundays ago, we began a
` 'peticiá³n de mano' for her hand. Last Sunday, she said
` yes. We meet again this Sunday to talk about the
` _muhul_, and I expect her family to accept the Sunday
` after that."

` "Margarita is a wonderful woman, and I am certain that
` you will be as happy as I to welcome her to our family.
` Do you think that you would be able to come to the party
` that we are going to have on February 18 when she and
` her family formally accept the 'peticiá³n'? Please write
` and let me know. I will make up a room for you in the
` guesthouse."

` "Your loving sister,
` Carmen"

"Perfect," she said with a satisfied nod. "I will take it to be mailed when I take the children for a walk after lunch."

* * * * *

Dr. Hiram Upshaw shook his head. "I'm sorry, but my answer is no. I've asked Shamus a number of times about the potion, and he keeps saying that there is no antidote."

He was sitting with Theo in his examination room. Theo had barged into his outer office and all but begged with Mrs. Lonnigan to see the doctor.

"Then Elizabeth will be like... like she is now forever?" Theo looked horrified. "My poor, poor wife."

"I don't believe she will." Doc paused in thought for a moment. "You know the history of the potion, don't you: how it was administered to the Hanks Gang, your, ah... sister-in-law included, when they rode into town to kill the Sheriff."

"I didn't completely accept the story, not even with all those people telling it, but if that potion can do what it did to Elizabeth..." Theo's voice trailed off.

"It can, and it did. You've probably met Bridget and Maggie and Jessie at the Saloon." He waited for Theo's nod. "They were all part of the gang."

"They were all changed? But none of them seem as... _intent_ as Elizabeth. For that matter, neither is Laura... Leroy, I suppose."

"They only had the one dose of the potion -- as men, and it transformed them into females. Only the leader, Will -- Wilma, now -- took a second dose as a woman." He smiled, still amused by the irony of Wilma's actions. "She thought that it would change her back into a man."

"She's the one that works at -- is that what happened? She chose that... place after she drank the second dose?"

"Exactly. Will Hanks was mad at the whole world and as mean an S.O.B. -- excuse my language -- as you'll ever meet. A lot of that stayed when she became Wilma. She was very easy on the eye, but was two hands full of trouble. Until that second dose."

"Then what happened?"

"For about four days, she'd bed any man that asked -- and she made them all _want_ to ask. After that, well, she wasn't quite as..." He shrugged. "...quite as frantic. Oh, she's still more than willing; she does work in a sporting house, after all. Some of the old Wilma has come back, though. She rescued another... woman from being badly burned by a... patron of the place. Kicked him in his privates, she did. And Lady Cerise -- she owns the place -- is making Wilma her assistant because of the leadership Wilma's shown."

"You seem to know a great deal about this place," Theo said, a bit of sarcasm in his voice.

Upshaw snorted at the comment. "I'm not a patron, if that's what you mean. I treated the woman Wilma rescued. Cerise also has me check the ladies for certain _problems_ every month."

"I apologize if I offended you, Doctor." Theo offered the physician his hand. "And I thank you for the hope you've given me about my wife's... condition. I just have to figure out a way to help Elizabeth get through these next few days, it would seem."

"My advice to you would be to... _humor_ her." He shook Theo's hand. "You're married. Think of it as a second honeymoon."

"That's more easily said than done," Theo answered. "I-I'll admit that I'd like to. I-I just feel that it isn't right; that I'm taking advantage of her while she... she isn't in her right mind."

The doctor grimaced and looked like he was about to give Theo a warning, but he voiced not a word. There are things that not even a doctor dares to tell a married man concerning the possible actions of an unsatisfied wife.

* * * * *

"We have received and are printing the following letter because we believe that it will be of interest to you, the readers of the Eerie edition of the _Tucson_ _Citizen_."

` "Dear Editor:"

` "The arrangement between the town council board and the
` Methodist Church for the use of the school building for
` worship services has served the people of Eerie well
` for some time."

` "But we are a growing town, and we need to consider the
` future. Can the building be expanded to meet future
` needs, both as a school and a church? Should the
` arrangement continue, or should the church be seeking a
` site of its own?"

` "These are questions that cannot be answered quickly.
` They deserve long and deliberate thought, and I am
` certain that they will receive it."
`
` "But when the decisions are made, we should be ready to
` start the work, whatever it is."

` "That takes money, and we can't wait until the decisions
` are made to start collecting it. I hope that the
` readers of this letter will consider how much money we
` will need -- whatever we choose to do -- and how we can
` begin to collect that money, and I mean right now."

` (signed) "Miss Prudence Aforethought"

"While this paper normally remains neutral on such questions, we must concur with Miss Aforethought's sentiments."

Horace Styron looked at the newspaper one last time before he cursed and crumbled it into a ball that he tossed to the wastepaper basket by his desk. "Miss Prudence Aforethought, my old maid aunt!" he cursed between clenched teeth. "I know your mischief when I see it, Trisha."

* * * * *

Shamus met Theo at the Saloon doors. "Are ye all right, Theo lad? Ye was running out o'here like all the demons of Hell was chasing ye."

"I was... Elizabeth... she needed help. I went to talk to your Dr. Upshaw about her... condition."

"Then ye know that there's nothing t'be done. The worst of it -- ye might say -- t'will be over in a few days, but I'm thinking that she'll be... changed for ever and ever."

Theo nodded. "I know that. I-I'm just not certain what to do about it."

"Maybe ye don't know what t'be doing," Shamus said wryly, pointing inside, "but yuir wife seems t'be having a few ideas."

Theo strained to look. Elizabeth stood near the bar, talking to a man in a gray work shirt and denim jeans. She was wearing her best dark blue dress, the one she'd brought to wear at Leroy's funeral service. It was unbuttoned low enough to show the lace at the top of her corset and a generous bit of her breasts. Her now chestnut hair was unpinned and hung down in thick waves around her shoulders.

When she saw Theo looking at her, Elizabeth smiled and slowly wrapped her arms around the man's neck. The man took her invitation and leaned in to kiss her.

"If you'll excuse me, Mr. O'Toole," Theo said rather formally. Without a glance back at the barman, he walked briskly over to the couple.

Theo tapped the man on the shoulder. "I'll thank you to please stopping kissing my wife." There was no response. "Excuse me, sir. Ex... cuse... me. That's my wife you're kissing."

The couple broke the kiss. Elizabeth's eyes were half-closed. Her face was flushed, and she was breathing rather heavily. "Mmmm, hello, Theo." She giggled.

"You want something, mister?" the workman asked.

"Yes," Theo answered. "That's my wife, and I want you to stop kissing her."

The man looked at Theo closely. "Maybe I don't want to. Maybe _she_ don't want me to." He put his arm around Elizabeth's waist. She giggled again and nodded. Then she moved closer to the man and stroked his chest.

"See there? She does want me." He pulled Elizabeth to him and kissed her hungrily. Her arms went up and around his neck again. His arms were around her waist. Then his hands moved down and cupped her butt. She moaned and kissed him harder, rubbing herself against him.

Theo's hands balled into fists, without his even realizing it. "Get the hell away from my wife."

He pushed at the man, who broke the kiss and stepped back, away from Elizabeth. "You better go find another _wife_, friend. This gal's with me."

"The hell she is."

"The hell she ain't." The man threw a punch.

Theo blocked it with his right arm. His left fist plowed hard into the man's solar plexus. The man let out a "whoompf" and fell backwards to the floor unable to breathe.

"Don't get up," Theo said, looming over the other man, "unless you want more of the same." The man gasped for air and shook his head.

Theo looked at his wife. "Is _that_ what you want, Elizabeth?" He pointed at the man on the floor. "To let a stranger maul you like that; to let him kiss you... have his way with you?"

"Yes," her eyes were wild. "I want it. I... I _need_ it, and you won't give it to me. If I can't get it from you, I'll get it from whomever I can." She leered and looked around the barroom. "From as _many_ men as I can."

Theo's anger turned, at that moment, to lust. "No, you'll get it from me and _only_ me." He grabbed her by the waist and hefted her up over his shoulder like a sack of grain. Without pausing, he started towards the stairs.

Elizabeth cursed and pounded at his back. Slowly, though, the anger in her eyes turned to surprise, then lust as Theo began to climb the stairs. "Mmm, save some of that energy, Theo, honey," she purred. "You'll need it."

* * * * *

"Are we late?" Trisha asked as she and Kaitlin walked into Milt Quinlan's office." He gestured to the chairs next to his desk. "Please, sit down."

"Trisha -- _we_ didn't want to be seen hurrying to your office," Kaitlin said by way of explanation. She smoothed her dress and sat.

Trisha did the same. "I, uhh... want this to be kept quiet. You won't say anything to anybody, will you?"

"Everything said between a lawyer and his clients is strictly confidential. Don't worry." He picked up a pencil and notepad. "Now, what, exactly _are_ we keeping confidential?'

"We want -- no, we _don't_ want a divorce." Trisha began. "Reverend Yingling says we aren't married any more because of that damned potion I drank. I think that's a pile of --"

"We need to know where we stand legally," Kaitlin interrupted. "Are we still married? Do we _need_ to get a... a divorce? And if we do, how- -how do we get one?"

Milt nodded and made a couple of quick notes. "The good reverend knows his theology, I should think. If he says that you two aren't married in the eyes of the church, you most likely aren't. As far as civil law is concerned..." He shrugged. "I don't know. I want to take a look at the statutes involved before I say how the law defines "marriage." The thing is that you _were_ married. If you aren't now, a judge will have to sign the decree that says so."

He paused. "The good news -- if _anything_ in this is good news -- is that, in Arizona, it's the county judges who grant divorces. Around here, that's Judge Humphreys, and he certainly knows about the potion. You won't have to explain _why_ two women need a divorce."

"Then we can get a divorce?" Trisha didn't sound happy. "If we have to, I mean."

"You can," Milt told her. "I can have the petition for dissolution of the marriage -- that starts the process -- ready tomorrow, Thursday at the latest."

"Could we say... Thursday or Friday at the earliest?" Trisha said. "I trust you to keep things quiet, Milt, but when the Judge gets into it, people are gonna find out. I'd just as soon that didn't happen until things get settled at the Board meeting tomorrow night."

Milt agreed. "I understand completely... Miss Aforethought."

"You know, huh," Trisha said. "What do you think of the idea?"

"That's also confidential." He looked at his notes. "Incidentally, I'd suggest that you start thinking about your assets and how you want to split them up. That's part of the final paperwork, I'm afraid. So is who'll have custody of Emma."

Trisha looked overwhelmed. "All my money -- and Emma, too. I-I hadn't really given much thought to things like that."

"Divorces are all about money and children," Milt told her, "things people care about. That's why we lawyers get involved."

* * * * *

"I shall take that pawn," Reverend Yingling announced. He moved his black pawn to take Aaron's white one. With a smile, he turned over the small hourglass next to his side of the chessboard. "Well?"

Aaron studied the board a moment. "Ahah." He moved his bishop even with the pawn and turned over a second hourglass near his own side of the board.

Yingling considered the board. After a short time, he moved his queen to the same row. "Can I ask you something, Aaron?" He overturned his hourglass.

"Ask already." Aaron shrugged. "I'm still going to win."

"Or not," Yingling said. "What do you know of that potion of Mr. O'Toole's?"

"I know it works. Upstairs I was with mine Rachel when they gave it to them Hanks outlaws last summer. Them ladies've been wearing clothes from mine store ever since. As they say, you have a rose, you gild it."

"That's all very well and good, but what I want to know --"

Aaron moved his king out of the black queen's line of attack. "What you want to know is how to beat a better player. And _that_ I won't tell you so easy, Thad." He inverted his hourglass.

"That remains to be seen." He took a breath and studied the board. "About the potion, it seems to work on the mind as well as the body. Have you noticed that?"

"A blind man would have noticed. It just seems to take a lot longer, though, and it works different on each of them. At first, they hated it, wearing those nice clothes -- like clothes from mine store was so horrible to wear. Then, later on, they came in and fussed just like every other lady customer." He chuckled. "I guess they got to know what good clothes I got."

"Now if you only had a few good chess moves." Yingling moved a pawn out two squares and reversed his hourglass."

"They also buy their new clothes from me."

"Yes, well, they are both having a bad time of it at the moment. I thought that if I knew more about the potion, I might better be able to counsel them."

Aaron used his bishop to take the pawn the reverend had just moved. "So you want to help them," he asked, as he shifted his hourglass. "Ahh, that's what _He_ put us here for, to help each other."

"Yes, that's all I want, just now," Yingling answered. "To be of help."

* * * * *

Wednesday, February 7, 1872

Blushing furiously, Laura walked briskly down the stairs, though the saloon, and into the kitchen. She was carrying the tray she'd taken up the night before with dinner for Elizabeth and Theo.

Molly hurried into the kitchen to check on her. "Are ye all right, Laura?"

"I-I am," Laura replied. She was trying to scrape a dish into the garbage can near the sink, but her hands were shaking.

"Ye're face is red as a beet. What happened?"

Jane was washing the breakfast dishes. "She took a breakfast tray upstairs; said they was probably too... busy t'come down." She giggled. "Next thing I know she was back in here. You come in right after her."

"The tray was on the floor outside the door," Laura began. "I put the new one down next to it. I-I was about to p-pick the old one up, when Elizabeth screamed... something." Her face got even redder. "I pushed the door open -- it wasn't locked. They were... were in... bed. Naked. Her legs were over... over his shoulders, and he... he was..." Her voice trailed off.

"I can see how that would embarrass ye," Molly said softly.

Laura shook her head. "Not... not embarrassed." She chewed on her upper lip. "I... Ohh, Arsenio." She said his name as a sort of soft moan. Now, she _was_ embarrassed. She hated how her pregnancy got her worked up like this sometimes. She turned her head away and looked down at the floor.

"Ye know what I'm thinking, Laura?" Molly gently lifted Laura's chin until she was looking in the younger woman's eyes.

Laura shook her head. "N-no?"

"'Tis early in the day, I'm thinking, but a woman in yuir... _condition_ needs t'be lying down. Ye go on home and tell that husband of yuirs I said he should be putting ye t'bed." She winked.

Laura brightened. "I'll do that. Thanks, Molly." She rushed for the door without even taking off her apron.

"Just be sure ye're back in time t'be helping Maggie with the dinner rush," Molly called after her.

"Me Shamus said that they'd be up there for a few days," Molly said looking to the ceiling. "I'll have t'be telling them t'be locking thuir door from now on."

"You think Laura'll feel good enough to come back today?" Jane asked.

Molly chuckled. "Aye, Jane. I'm thinking that Laura'll be feeling real good in just a wee, little while. And once that's over and done with, she'll be back here."

* * * * *

Tommy Carson spun left and threw the ball to Jorge Ybaá±es, captain of the "red" team. Jorge caught it and ran towards the tree that marked the goal line. He looked to be in the clear. The only one who was close was...

"Emma," Yully, the "blue" captain, shouted, "stop him! Somebody... anybody stop him."

Emma managed to get in front of Jorge. "Hold up," she ordered, her feet planted, her arms stretched out to block him.

"Get outta my way, _girl_." He moved left, but Emma moved to match him. He could hear shouts. The others were getting closer.

At that moment, Emma looked off to her right. "Ha!" Jorge jeered and ran to her left.

"Ha, yourself." Emma turned suddenly and punched under the ball under his arm. It popped free and she grabbed for it. In one smooth movement, she took hold of the ball, shifted her weight, and threw it over Jorge's head. "Yully," she yelled as she threw.

Yully snared the ball, spun, and ran for the other end of the field, the other goal.

"Dang it, Emma," Jorge complained as he turned to chase after the others.

Emma stood for an instant and watched the play. Yully ran, shifting to avoid being trapped by the other team. He was penned in near the goal. He passed the ball to his younger brother, Hector, who ran it in to score.

"Girl, huhn?" Emma smiled with satisfaction and ran to join the others.

* * * * *

Jessie stared at the sheet of paper she had been writing something on. She moved her lips silently, as if she were reading something aloud. When she finished, she was smiling. "Hey, Jane," she called, "c'mere."

"You want something?" Jane asked, wiping her hands on her apron when she got to Jessie's table.

"You still looking for help with Milt?"

"Uh huhn. He's still blowing hot and cold with me. You got any idea what I should do?"

"Yeah, you tell him t'come to my show here tomorrow night."

Jane just looked at her. "I-I don't understand. What good'll that do?"

"I ain't sure m'self," Jessie admitted, "but you just tell him, okay?"

"Uhh, okay, I reckon."

"Good," Jessie told her, then she smiled again. "And since you asked, how 'bout bringing me a beer?"

* * * * *

Arnie walked into the house. "Hola," he greeted his mother in Spanish. "Will supper be ready soon? I am starved."

"In a half hour or so," Teresa answered. "I am making stew." She stirred the large pot, then blew on the spoon and took a taste. "How are you doing at finding a new job?"

Arnie shook his head and sat down at the table. "Not too good. Many people know that I worked at the saloon. They ask why I am looking for something else."

"And you tell them what?" She took a breath. "Are you admitting that he fired you?"

"Mama, I am not the foolish boy you think I am. I say that Shamus and I did not get along, and that is why he let me go."

"So you lie. Is that why no one else will hire you?"

Arnie slammed the table. "I do not lie! He wanted to fire me because I hate the Apaches, not because of anything _I_ did."

"You say that as if you did not do anything wrong, Arnoldo. You _stole_ from the man. Do you think that was right?"

"No, I suppose that it _was_ wrong -- even once."

'Or more than once,' Teresa thought, but all she said was, "If it was wrong, if he _knew_ that he was in the wrong, would not a man apologize?"

"I... I suppose. He... a man _might_ apologize -- if he knew that he was wrong." He took a breath. "But Shamus is a man, and _he_ did not apologize to me."

Teresa smiled. "Then here is your chance to show him that _you_ are a man, that you are a bigger man, perhaps, than he is. Apologize to him. Then you can give him the chance to apologize to you by giving you your job back."

"Mama, you are so full of..." His words trailed off when he saw the look on her face. "I will not _promise_, but I _will_ think about what you say."

* * * * *

"That concludes Old Business," Horace Styron said, his voice on edge. "Is there any -- as if I didn't know -- _New_ Business?"

Trisha's hand shot up. "Me... Me... I have some."

"Any _serious_ New Business, I mean," Styron continued, "before we get to Trisha's nonsense?"

"It ain't fair to talk about the lady's motion before she's even made it," Rupe Warrick scolded. "Give her a chance to talk." A few people in the crowd shouted their agreement.

Styron held up his hands in mock surrender. "All right, all right. What's this wonderful idea of yours, _Miss_ O'Hanlan?"

"I read that letter in the paper," Trisha began, "the one signed Pru--"

"The one signed... that letter had your fingerprints all over it, O'Hanlan." Styron snorted. "Prudence Aforethought -- hah! If you had either of those virtues, it'd be _Patrick_ talking now."

"You lousy..." Trisha tried to slap Styron's face, but he pulled back, out of the way.

"Just like a woman," Styron said with a laugh.

The Judge spoke firmly. "I don't blame her one bit, Horace. That was a low blow." He looked around. "Go ahead, Trisha, you were saying."

"Thanks, Judge." Trisha took a breath. "I'm not saying if I wrote that letter, but I will say that it makes sense. We need more space and something better to sit on. The only good thing about those hard benches is that they make the meetings go faster. Nobody wants to sit on them any long than they have to." She stopped while people laughed at her joke. "It'd be nice to have more than one room... to have a kitchen... a lot of things. And they all take money."

"So I move that we start getting that money together. I move that we start a building fund --"

"Ve got a building fund already," Willie Gotefreund interrupted.

Trisha shook her head. "We've got a fund to help pay for the upkeep on this place. I'm saying we need to set up a fund to pay for... for whatever we decide: we could add to what's here or we could build someplace new. We could start now, so when we do decide what we want, we'll have the money for it."

"I'll second that." Dwight Albertson's hand shot up.

Trisha stood up. "Now, as I was saying --"

"You made your motion," Styron interrupted. "Now we debate it. Lemme hear somebody that doesn't like the idea."

"We got a good deal here with the school," Jubal Cates said. "If we start saving up money, people're gonna think we're planning to break it. They may break it first -- or start charging us more for our end of things."

Arsenio stood up and raised his hand. "Can I speak to that?"

"This is a board matter, Arsenio," Styron answered. "We'll answer questions from members later if you don't mind."

"Seems to me, we should let him talk, Horace," the Judge said. "He _is_ a member of the town council -- that's who we have the arrangement to use this building with -- _and_ a member of this church."

Arsenio nodded. "And I think Trisha has a good idea. Right now, all that we're talking about is saving some money. There's nothing wrong with that. It'll take time to put enough money together to do much of anything -- _and_ take time to plan what to do with it. If the church decides to build here, the school -- the whole town'll benefit. If the church wants to get its own site, then..." He shrugged. "...we'll work something out. The one thing I don't see is the council trying to stop you."

"Maybe you won't," Clyde Ritter cut in, "_if_ you're still on the council, but you're only one vote. Whit Whitney goes to that Mex church with his wife, and that sheeny Silverman doesn't go to any church."

Whit's voice came from the back of the room. "We're here tonight, Ritter, and I'll thank you to be more respectful towards Aaron and me." Anger made his Maine accent come through stronger than usual.

"This meeting is for church members only," Styron declared. "You weren't invited, Whitney."

"_I_ invited them," Arsenio answered. "Seeing as this involved the school and the arrangement we have for it. Speaking for the town council, we'll be happy to work with the church board on this."

"Can we get back to the question on the floor?" the Judge asked.

Styron banged his gavel once on the desktop. "Yes, and taking the discussion from Arsenio Caulder as a speech for, does anybody else -- anybody on the board, that is -- want to speak against?"

"I vanna know vot it's gonna cost us up front. Do the dues go up to get the money?" Willie's Gotefriend's question started murmurs from the crowd.

Trisha raised her hand. "May I answer that?" Without waiting for Styron, she began. "Any raise in dues gets voted on by the whole membership, so you folks can relax. I don't think we have to raise them, though. We got time; we can let people kick in when they got a little to spare. In the meantime -- I was going to wait till the first thing passed, but I thought we could prime the pump with a fundraiser, a... a dance."

A number of people started talking. The majority -- especially the women, from the sound of it -- liked the idea. Styron had to pound his gavel three times to quiet things down. "Folks, the question is do we set up a fund, not do we have a dance?"

"Call the question," the Judge said quickly.

"Second," Trisha added. "All in favor?"

"I'm running this meeting." Styron glared at Trisha. "All in favor of calling the question?" Trisha, Rupe Warrick, Albertson, and the Judge raised the hand. "Opposed?" Styron asked, raising his own hand. Jubal and Willie joined him.

A moment later, Trisha's motion passed by the same 4-3 vote. If it were possible, Horace Styron glared even more harshly.

"We won!" Trisha's shout was almost a squeal. "Now about the dance..."

"Wait a minute," Styron protested. "Who's gonna manage this money?"

Dwight Albertson stood up. "That'd be me, the treasurer, but I think I'm going to want some help. Anybody interested, talk to Horace or me. We'll announce who'll be on the... the building fund committee at church on Sunday. That all right with you, Horace?"

Styron nodded, seeing an opportunity. "Fine, and we can talk about the dance next month."

"Why wait?" Trisha asked. "I move that we hold a dance -- as a fundraiser -- on... on Saturday, March 2."

"Second," Jubal Cates said, " but I'm only seconding it, so we can vote it down. There isn't enough time."

Kaitlin stood up. "There certainly is, Mr. Cates."

"Really?" Jubal replied. "And what makes you say that, Mrs. O'Hanlan?"

"Ladies of the dance refreshment committee, please stand up," Kaitlin called out. Six women rose to their feet, including Phillipia Stone, Jubal Cates' wife, Naomi, and...

"Martha, you as well?" Rev. Yingling asked his wife. He sounded almost amused.

Martha smiled. "I'll be bringing that spiced lemonade you like so much, Thad, dear."

"Thank you ladies," Kaitlin continued. "Would you please sit, and would the members of the dance decorations committee please stand?"

The six women sat. Nancy Osbourne, who had been taking minutes, stood up. "The children will be helping," she told the Board. Trisha, and three other women also stood.

So did Roscoe Unger. "My store is donating the paper for those decorations. There'll be a free advertisement in every issue of the paper, and maybe a story or two."

"All in favor?" Styron asked reluctantly, knowing what would happen.

Trisha, Rupe, Dwight, and Judge Humphreys raised their hands. "Jubal..." Naomi Cates called out stiffly. Her husband looked around nervously as he slowly raised his hand.

"Welcome aboard, Jubal," Trisha said with a giggle. "And thanks, Naomi."

* * * * *

R.J. looked around the Saloon. "Kind of empty tonight, isn't it?"

"'Tis only a Wednesday," Shamus answered, wiping the top of the bar a few feet away. "Not one of our busier nights."

"You know what the problem is, don't you?"

"I suppose ye'll be telling me what it is."

"Jessie's singing over at the Long Branch, and some of our less than loyal customers went over there to listen."

"Aye, but she'll be back here singing tomorrow night." He didn't sound very encouraged.

"And will all our customers come back? Sam Duggan's going to do all he can to keep that from happening."

"Then maybe we'll be doing the same for whatever o'his 'less than loyal customers' what come over here t'be hearing Jessie."

"There's an easier way, you know --"

"I know," Shamus said through gritted teeth, "and don't ye be thinking I don't."

"I'm sure you do, Shamus. I just hope that you get a chance to offer her the sort of deal she'll take before Sam does."

* * * * *

Thursday, February 8, 1872

Teresa Diaz knocked on the half-opened door to the Sheriff's Office. "Is-is anyone here?"

"I am, ma'am," a voice said. "Please come on in."

Teresa did as the voice told her. "I am looking for the Sheriff. Is he here?"

"Sorry. Der Sheriff is oudt making his roundts. I am Tor Johansson, der deputy. Can I help you mit something?"

"Si, I am Teresa Diaz. My son, Arnoldo, did not come home last night. I am afraid --"

Tor stopped her. "Is he about 16, tall und shkinny?"

"Si, that is him. Is he hurt?"

"No, yust angry. Der Sheriff arrested him unt... Pablo... ya, Pablo Escobar for fighting in der street. Dey do it before, unt he varned dem aboudt it. So dis time he arrested dem."

"He-he was not hurt, was he?"

"No, mam. Him unt Pablo just spendt der night here -- in separate cells, so dey don't fight no more."

"Is he -- please -- say there will be no... no trial for my Arnoldo."

"Oh, no, no trial," Tor gently told here. "Der Sheriff yust wanted to scare dem, so maybe dey behave."

"When does he get free?"

Tor looked up at the wall clock. "Vell, der Sheriff say dey stay to 10 dis morning, but I tink I can let you take him home now." He reached over and took a ring with several keys from a hook on the wall. "Come mit me."

The cells were against the back wall of the building. She frowned to see Pablo in the first cell. He greeted her frown with an angry flare. Then, in the third of the three cells, she saw... "Arnoldo?"

The boy turned to face her. "Mama, what... what are you doing here?"

"I came looking for you," she said, still nervous. "Are you hurt?"

"Ain't that sweet," Pablo taunted. "Your mama come looking for her little boy." He laughed. "Did I hurt you, sonny?"

Arnie sprang at the cell bars closest to Pablo. "Not as much as I'm gonna hurt you, bastard."

"Arnoldo, stop that," Teresa ordered.

"You listen to your mama, Arnoldo," Pablo told him. Arnie reached through the bars, but the cell between the pair was too wide. He just clawed at the air. "Ooh," Pablo said with the laugh. "Big, bad Arnoldo wants to hurt me."

"I am letting dis one oudt." Tor opened Arnie's cell. "You keep making trouble, Pablo, you can stay in dere der rest of der day."

"No," Pablo told him. "I ain't like him; I got a job... with Mr. Ritter."

Arnie walked out of the cell. "Not if you're stuck in there, Pablo. I'll go tell Ritter why you won't be in today. Maybe I'll just take your job, too, when he offers it to me."

"You will do no such thing, Arnoldo," Teresa ordered. "I am tired of the bad blood between the two of you."

"You listen to your mama, _Arnoldo_. You go hide in her skirts." Pablo turned to Tor. "I'll behave, sir. I just want to get to my job." He took a breath. "He started it anyway."

"Und I vish it vas finished," Tor said. "You take your boy, Mrs. Diaz. This oder one, I'll let oudt at ten like der Sheriff tells me."

"Gracias, Deputy." Teresa put a protective arm around her son's waist and led him away. Pablo didn't say another word -- not with Tor standing by his cell, but Teresa and Arnie heard his laughter as they left.

* * * * *

"Is Wilma here?" Beatriz asked, walking into the parlor.

Cerise pointed upward. "She and Mae are with gentlemen at present."

"Good." Beatriz walked over and sat down next to her employer. "I wanted to talk to you about her."

"Nothing trivial, I hope," Rosalyn asked, looking up from her copy of the latest _Godey's_ _Lady's_ _Book_ magazine.

"Rosalyn," Cerise said sternly, "you promised to behave better regarding Wilma."

"I promised not to do anything more to cause trouble for her, and I won't. That doesn't mean that I have to talk sweet about her."

"No, it does not, but I _will_ ask that you do so when the gentlemen are present."

Rosalyn slowly traced a "King's X" over her left breast with her finger. "When there are men about, _they_ have my sole attention."

"I would hope so," Cerise said. "Now, Beatriz, why do you ask about Wilma?"

"I had an idea," Beatriz answered. "That, perhaps, the room needed..." She pointed to the picture of Cerise that hung on the wall in the parlor. The picture showed Cerise stretched out on her side on a couch, raised up on one elbow, her hair piled high on her head, wearing a blue violet corset and matching drawers, a welcoming smile on her face. "...a picture of your new second done by the same man, Ethan... Seá±or Thomas."

Cerise thought a moment. "A most interesting idea, Beatriz, and a most appropriate one. I will think about this. Please do not say anything to Wilma. I will tell her myself, if I decide to have a picture done." She looked behind the Mexican to where two men were standing in the doorway. "In the meantime, it would seem that you have company."

"And such handsome company," Rosalyn replied, slowly rising to her feet. "Do come in, gentlemen."

Cerise also stood up. "I will leave you then. Come, BonBon." She strode out of the room, the small, brown dog that was the pet of the house, scampering after her.

* * * * *

Trisha was writing up the monthly bills in the office of O'Hanlan's Food & Grain, when she heard a knock on the door. "Yes?"

"May I come in, Trisha?" It was Roscoe Unger.

"Sure, Roscoe," she answered. "You come over to talk about an ad?"

"No," he said, walking into the office, "I came for something else, but I'll be glad to talk about an ad, too."

"What did you come over for, then?"

"I wanted to... uhh, interview you -- about the building fund, I mean, and the dance, too, I guess." He paused a moment to take a pad and pencil from his pocket. "You did sort of promise, you know."

"I remember. You kept your word, so I'll keep mine." She leaned back in her chair. "What d'you want to know?"

"For a start, where'd you get the idea for having a building fund?"

"Hindsight," she replied, chuckling at her own joke. "Those benches they have in the school're hard." She shifted in her chair at the memory. "I thought we should have better, and that got me to thinking what else we could do to make the school more like a real church."

"What else _do_ you want to do?"

"A kitchen, maybe, so we don't have to use tents and fire pits for things like that chicken fry we had back in December. And I think that the reverend should have an office." She took a breath. "But it's not about what _I_ want."

"Isn't it? When you ran for the church board, you said you wanted to fix up the school, so it would work better as a church."

"Yes, and I got elected 'cause a lot of other people agreed with me. But we can take that time to decide what _all_ we want, while we get the money together. Then, when we _do_ decide, we'll have the money for whatever we decide on."

"What about the ones who voted against the fund, Horace Styron and the others?"

"I won't speak for Horace, even if he's always been awful ready to speak for --" She put he hand on his arm. "No, please don't write that. Horace'll have his say, same as everybody else, and the whole congregation'll vote on what we're gonna do. The board will make some recommendations, of course, but _everybody_ decides."

"And who handles the money in the meantime?"

"There shouldn't be too many people. Dwight Albertson, of course, since he's treasurer. He and Horace Styron will announce who all will be working with him on Sunday."

"Do you want to be one of them?"

"Not really. Maybe Arsenio Caulder, him being on the town council and all." A thought came to her. "How about you serving?"

"Not me." Roscoe shook his head. "I-I'm not too good at managing money. It's all I can do to keep the books for my business each month." He glanced at the pile of papers on the desk. "Not like you. It looks like you know just what you're doing."

"Well..." She smiled at what seemed like a compliment. "I've been at it a while."

"Practice makes perfect, eh." He wrote something on the pad. "To get back to the... uh, interview, why a dance to start the fund off?"

"Why not? I... A lot of people like to dance. Kaitlin -- my... my wife -- she gave me the idea. We were talking about all the money the town raised a while back for those folks that got burned out up in Chicago. She said we should use the same idea for the church."

"So you had the idea last fall?"

"I did, and when I thought about it again last month, it seemed even -- it still seemed like a good idea."

"Well, you certainly got things organized quick enough."

"To be honest, a lot of that was Kaitlin's doing. She knew whom to ask. I... I just sort of went along for the ride."

"You're going to the dance, though, aren't you?"

Trisha raised an eyebrow. "Are you asking me?" And if he was, what would she do about it?

"No... I-I was just wondering. The dance _was_ your idea, after all."

"It was. I'm going with Kaitlin, I guess. We'll need people to do refreshments and such."

"You think it'll be a success, then?"

"I hope so. After all, how often do folks get a chance to have fun and do good at the same time?"

Now Roscoe laughed. "Not often. Usually, they have to pick between the two."

* * * * *

Shamus took a step into the kitchen. "Dolores, Dwight Albertson's table is ready t'be ordering their dinners." He looked around, and saw his waitress standing by the sink.

"I will be there in a moment, Shamus." She wiped her hands on a towel and hurried past him into the saloon.

"I don't know what the problem be, Maggie," Shamus said unhappily. "I don't like t'be keeping the customers waiting, and that seems t'be happening more and more these last few days."

Jane was working at the stove. "That's an easy one, Shamus. We got busier, so things take longer t'get done."

"Aye," Shamus told her, "but why, I'm asking? Ain't we always been busy?"

"Si," Maggie answered, letting some anger seep into her voice. "Before there were more people to _do_ the work. The waitress just had to take the order and bring the food. Now, she has to bring back the dirty dishes, clean them off, and put them in the sink."

"She gotta wash'em, too, sometimes," Jane added.

"Ye're telling me I need t'be hiring somebody to do all that work, ain't ye?"

Maggie nodded. "It would be the best answer, no?"

"And, let me guess, ye've somebody in mind for the job, too."

Before Maggie could answer, Jane did it for her. "Arnie done it pretty good. Maybe he could --"

"No!" Shamus snapped. "After what he said -- and done -- he don't deserve another chance."

"Maybe he does, or maybe he does not," Maggie answered, "but do my -- and _your_ customers deserve to get bad service because _you_ do not think that he does?"

* * * * *

Jessie glanced quickly about the room, while the men applauded her last song. Jane was standing near the bar. When their eyes met, Jane nodded to her.

"You know," Jessie returned the nod and began, "most songs're about something that happened long, long ago in some place far, far away. T'night, I wanna sing you one 'bout something that happened right in Eerie just a few months back. Some of you already know the story. The rest of you... well, you'll know it by the end of my song."

She looked out -- yes, while she'd been talking, Jane had gone over to where Milt Quinlin was standing. Jessie strummed a chord on her guitar.

` "Milt, he went a-hunting, and he did ride, uh huh.
` Milt, he went a-hunting, and he did ride, uh huh.
` Milt, he went a-hunting, and he did ride,
` Sam, Paul, and Jessie at his side, uh huh."

` "Now, Ozzie Pratt was sneaky mean, uh huh.
` Now, Ozzie Pratt was sneaky mean, uh huh.
` Now, Ozzie Pratt was sneaky mean.
` Worst SOB I ever seen, uh huh."

Milt looked surprised when he heard his name and realized what the song was probably about. His surprised look became a smile, when he saw Jane standing next to him.

` "Oz pulled his gun on Davy and Jane, uh huh.
` Oz pulled his gun on Davy and Jane, uh huh.
` Oz pulled his gun on Davy and Jane,
` And said, 'you're giving me your claim', uh huh."

Milt and Jane were holding hands now. Jessie caught her eye and gave her a quick wink. Jane smiled back at her and snuggled against Milt.

` "Ozzie shot, and Davy fell, uh huh.
` Ozzie shot, and Davy fell, uh huh.
` Ozzie shot, and as he fell.
` Davy yelled, 'Jane, run like hell!', uh huh."

` "Ozzie followed, looking grim, uh huh.
` Ozzie followed, looking grim, uh huh.
` Ozzie followed, looking grim,
` But Milt was waiting there for him, uh huh."

` "Before Oz had a chance to run, uh huh.
` Before Oz had a chance to run, uh huh.
` Before Oz had a chance to run,
` Milt swung and knocked him out in one, uh huh."

` "So Milt rescued sweet Jane from harm, uh huh.
` So Milt rescued sweet Jane from harm, uh huh.
` So Milt rescued sweet Jane from harm,
` And then he took her in his arms, uh huh."

` "And this is how my story ends, uh huh.
` And this is how my story ends, uh huh.
` And this is how my story ends,
` Milt's kiss said they was more than friends, uh huh... uh huh...
` _uh_ _huh_."

"Kiss her again, Milt," somebody called out.

Milt realized that he had his arm around Jane's waist. She was holding his hand tightly, and the look on her face told him better than words that she was hoping he _would_ kiss her again.

He was about to do just that, when he heard the catcalls and laughter from the crowd. "Go on, Milt. Give her what for."

"Just like on the mountain," another man yelled.

He couldn't, not while people were looking at him, _laughing_ at him. "Jane, I-I'm so, so sorry." He raised her hand to his lips and gently kissed it.

He let go of the hand quickly, turned and glared at Jessie for a moment. Then, a look of anger mixed with embarrassment on his face, he stormed out. The laughter seemed to follow.

"Well that sure as hell didn't work," Jessie whispered. "Now what do I do?"

* * * * *

Friday, February 9, 1872

Jane was the first to see Theo and Elizabeth. "Well, 'bout time you two come down," she said with a giggle.

"And a good day to you, Jane," Theo answered. "Is Laura around anywhere?"

"She's in the kitchen helping Maggie." Jane pointed towards the door. "You want I should get her?"

"That would be nice," Elizabeth said, her voice soft and inviting. She wore a green dress that was only partially buttoned. Her hand went up to play casually with a small, emerald cameo that hung from a narrow chain around her neck, nestling in her very visible cleavage.

Jane ran off. When she came back, Laura was with her. The "twins" could be told apart by the colors of their blouses and the name ribbons each wore.

"I see you two finally decided to come down," Laura said. From what Shamus had told her, she had expected them downstairs today.

"Nobody brought up food today," Elizabeth said, pouting, "and we worked up a real, _real_ good appetite." She giggled at her joke.

Laura stifled a grin. "I'm sorry. Shamus said that Elizabeth --"

"Lizzie," Elizabeth interrupted. "I wanna be called Lizzie now." She giggled again. "Elizabeth is so... so..." She shook her head. "I don't like it anymore."

Theo chuckled and put his arm around his wife's waist. "She sort of insisted. She can be very, ummm, persuasive."

"I can; I can." Elizabeth -- Lizzie giggled again and rubbed her palm across Theo's chest. "There's all sorts of things I can do. Do you want to hear what they are?"

Laura shook her head. "Maybe later... Lizzie. Jane said you wanted me for something; what is it?"

"I-I wanted to apologize to you -- and Jane, too, I guess."

"Me?" Jane asked.

"Uh huhn," Lizzie told her. "I-I remember what an old sourpuss _Elizabeth_ was. If that stuff I drank can make her into me, then I guess it could make Leroy into Laura."

"And Jake -- I believe you said her name was Jake -- into Jane," Theo added. "We came west for a dead brother and, instead, we find ourselves with two live sisters."

"I like that much better," Lizzie said. She opened her arms. "Come give me a hug... sisters."

* * * * *

Bridget looked around. It was early afternoon, and the few men in the saloon were more interested in the free lunch -- or in the beer they were washing the free lunch down with -- than they were in playing poker. She stood up and walked over to where Shamus was standing behind the bar.

"R.J. just left on an errand," Shamus told her. "He said he'd be back in an hour or so."

"I know," she answered. "It was you that I wanted to talk to."

Shamus raised an eyebrow. "Oh, and what was it that ye wanted t'be talking to me about -- if I may ask?"

"It occurred to me that I never apologized for getting you to hire Arnie Diaz."

"Ye never 'got' me t'be doing anything, Bridget. I hired Arnie 'cause _I_ wanted t'be hiring the boy."

"Why was that? -- if you don't mind _my_ asking."

"I don't. First off, I was needing the help. T'be telling the truth, I could still use some help with the place." He sighed. "And it seemed t'me that he needed the help. He was a troubled lad, Arnie was."

"Then why'd you fire him?"

"Because stealing from me, he was. He threw some less than nice words in me face when I was catching him at it, too."

"I guess you weren't able to help him then."

"No, I wasn't. That's the true pity of it."

Bridget smiled wryly. "Shame you couldn't have another chance to try." She waited a moment. "Well, I'd best get back to my table. You never know when an opportunity is going to come along." She ran her hand along the top of the bar as she turned and walked away.

* * * * *

Milt looked over his notes and began. "State law defines marriage as 'a legal state entered into by a man and a woman', but when it talks about divorce, it uses the words 'couple', 'spouses', and 'spouse'. You will need a formal divorce, but the procedure should be the same for the two of you as for any other couple."

"And what is the procedure?" Kaitlin asked.

"One of you files a petition for dissolution of the marriage --" he began.

Kaitlin interrupted. "I'll do that."

"Fine. That makes you the petitioner, Kaitlin, and, Trisha, you'll be the respondent." Trisha slowly nodded her head in agreement, and he continued. "The grounds -- the reason for the divorce -- is that you, Kaitlin, believe that the marriage is irretrievably broken."

Trisha sighed. "Reverend Yingling certainly says it is. I -- oh, hell, I didn't want to start that argument again. What do I do?"

"There are a number of other papers that have to be filed along with Kaitlin's petition," Milt explained. "A request for an injunction so neither of you can leave town -- especially with Emma or do anything about community property or joint debts, for one, and a few other things. I'll help you with those. You both need to consider who Emma will live with, who gets your house and anything else you jointly own, and, Trisha, you'd best plan on paying support for Kaitlin and Emma."

"Happy day," Trisha said, more than a little sarcastic.

"I file the papers with Obie Johnson, the judge's clerk of courts. Trisha, he'll send a copy of things to you, and you have 20 days after you get them to reply."

"What do I say?" the blonde woman asked.

"Nothing," Milt told her. "We'll have everything worked out. When you don't reply, Kaitlin files an application to move things along, and you get 10 more days to respond -- which you won't. After that, Judge Humphreys signs the papers, and you two are... divorced."

"Sounds simple enough," Kaitlin said.

Milt nodded. "It will be, if we can work everything out. One thing, though, one of the other papers that I have to file with the petition is a notice to creditors that you two are divorcing. That'll be printed in the next issue of the paper, and the whole town will know what you're doing."

"Do... do you have to file that?" Trisha asked unhappily. "It could cause a lot of trouble for me -- and Kaitlin."

The man shrugged. "The law says I do. I'm sorry, Trisha."

"Not as sorry as I am," Trisha answered sadly, "and that notice is one of the least things I'm sorry about."

Kaitlin slid over in her chair and took Trisha's hand in her own. "Me, too, Trisha. Me, too."

* * * * *

"So, Mae," Beatriz said, as she walked into the parlor, "I see you got a letter."

Mae nodded. "From my cousin, Sophie, out in San Francisco. She sent this." Mae passed her a picture.

"Sara Josephine Marcus," Beatriz read the back, "on her 11th birthday." She looked at the picture. "She is a muy pretty girl. She gonna break hearts someday." She winked at Mae.

"Thanks, Beatriz." She took the picture and replaced it in the envelope. "I think I'll finish this later up in my room."

Rosalyn picked that moment to walk in. "Finish what?"

"I got a letter from my cousin," Mae told her. "You want to see the picture she sent of her daughter?"

Rosalyn shrugged. "Later, perhaps. Right now, I wanted to ask Beatriz something." She looked around. "Cerise and Wilma aren't about anywhere, are they?"

"They're in Cerise's office, going over bills or something," Mae told her.

Rosalyn smiled. "Better them than us, eh, Beatriz?"

"Si, and how. What did you want to ask me?"

"I wanted to know why you told Cerise to get that Mr. Thomas back here to paint Wilma's picture." She looked hard at Beatriz. "Isn't it a little early to start sucking up to the woman?"

Beatriz smiled. "It was not Wilma I wanted to 'suck up to', as you say. Ethan Thomas, he is muy, _muy_ wonderful in bed, in _my_ bed."

"Better than Sebastian Ortega?" Mae asked wryly.

"Mmm," Beatriz answered. "Sebastian is handsome, he is rich, he is... _big_, and he gives me such lovely presents, but, good as he is, he... he is not the man in the bedroom that Ethan Thomas is."

Rosalyn looked surprised. "You mean, you asked Cerise just so you could have another quick romp in the hay with the man."

"Who said anything about 'quick'?" Beatriz said smugly. "It took him four weeks to paint that picture of her." She sighed. "It is four _weeks_, and perhaps more, of such romps that I am thinking of."

Mae cocked an eyebrow. "That good, eh. If Cerise does get him back here, maybe _I'll_ have to give him a try." She saw Beatriz' expression turn to anger, her fingers curl and seem more like claws. "Or maybe not."

* * * * *

"Supper's ready," Kaitlin announced, putting a steaming bowl of stew on the table. "Come 'n get it."

Trisha and Liam had been sitting on the couch, talking business. They both stood up. "I'll call Emma down," Trisha said as she started towards the steps.

"Don't," Kaitlin told her. "She came home from school absolutely filthy. I've warned her too many times about that, so I sent her up to her room."

"Without supper?" Trisha asked. "That doesn't seem fair." Trisha took her seat.

Kaitlin shook her head. "I'll take a tray up to her later. I want her to think about what she did." Kaitlin sat down, and Liam pushed her chair gently in towards the table.

"What's to think about?" Trisha said. "It's just a little dirt. Boys get dirty."

"_Emma_ hasn't been a boy since November."

"Tomboys get dirty, too. You're building a mountain from a mole hill."

"The only mountain I see is the pile of Emma's dirty clothes. Today was the third time it happened this week, and she'll spend Saturday -- or a good part of Saturday -- doing laundry."

"She came home just as dirty just as often when she was Elmer, and I don't recall you getting this upset about it." Trisha took a breath. "I'm glad she's still acting like that."

"Elmer was a 10-year old boy," Kaitlin argued. "I expected him to grow out of it eventually."

"So will Emma... eventually. Just let her be."

Liam loudly cleared his throat. "I think I see Kaitlin's point, Trisha. Emma's a 13-year old girl now. She can't keep acting like Elmer, and we -- you and Kaitlin, especially -- shouldn't let her try."

"Well, I'm glad to see that at least one O'Hanlan has some sense." She poured him a glass of iced tea. "Always a pleasure when you come over for supper, Liam."

* * * * *

Saturday, February 10, 1872

` "Phil Trumbell
` Arizona Territorial Penitentiary
` Yuma, Arizona"

` "Dear Phil,"

` "I'm sorry, but there ain't no photographer hereabouts,
` so I can't send you them pictures of me like you asked
` for."

` "I probably wouldn't of been able to get 'em done,
` anyway. You wanted one of me naked, and when I get
` naked 'round a man, the last thing I want to do is just
` stand still and smile."

"Ain't that the truth," Wilma said with a giggle. "I like the smiling part, but I like having the fun that makes me smile more." She dipped her pen in the inkwell and began writing again.

` "Since I ain't got no picture to send you, I'll just
` tell you what I'm wearing. Then you can picture me for
` yourself."

` "I got on my best silk drawers. I put 'em on just for
` you. They's pure white with a satin finish. I love the
` way they feel, soft and cool like a gentle breath on my
` skin. Like your breath, when you get outta there and
` come visit me next summer."

` "I got on my favorite corset, too. It's all I got on, on
` top. It's sea green -- matches my eyes. It feels tight,
` like a man's arms, around me, and there ain't nothing
` that feels better than that. Except, maybe, the way it
` holds up my tits, cupping 'em like a man's big hands —
` like _your_ hands are gonna do. There's green lace at
` the top, and that tickles my nipples sometimes. It makes
` 'em stick out and get tight and crinkly-like, all ready
` for you to play with."

` "I brushed my hair just a little while ago. It's all
` shiny and full of curls, hanging down loose 'round my
` shoulders waiting for you to run your fingers
` through it."

` "I got on lipstick, too, bright red. It'll look real
` good on your mouth when I kiss you, or on your chest,
` or -- gee, now where else would you like me to put
` my lips?"

` "I gotta go now. You keep up your spirits, and
` everything else."

` "Wilma"

Wilma carefully lifted the paper and pressed her lips against it, leaving a perfect print. "That'll keep him hard for a while." She giggled and sprinkled some perfume on the paper before she folded it and put it in the envelope, ready to be mailed.

* * * * *

Shamus held the door while Jessie walked ahead of him into his office. Once he had joined her inside, he closed -- and locked -- the door behind him before he walked around the desk.

"All right, Shamus," Jessie asked as he sat down, "what's this all about?"

Shamus frowned. "Ye're still singing for Sam Duggan. I don't like ye doing that."

"Are we gonna have that fight again? You said I could sing where I wanted."

"I know what I said -- _exactly_ what I said, and I know how ye're --" He stopped and waved his hand in dismal. "Oh, t'hell with it. I didn't ask ye t'be coming in here so's we could fight again."

"Then, what did you ask me in here for?"

"T'be making ye a better offer. I want ye t'be singing _here_, just for me customers, two shows every night -- excepting for, umm, Wednesday's off... and Saturdays when we have the dance."

"How much you offering?" A haggle; this was going to be fun. "Sam pays me $8.50 a night. That'd be... umm, $60 a week."

Shamus turned beet red above his collar. "Sixty! Of all the... why not just be asking for me to sign me saloon over to ye?" He thought for a moment. "$30."

"Between you and Sam, I'm making more than that now. Fifty-five."

"Thirty-five... and ye'll just be singing. Ye won't have t'be waiting tables no more."

"I wasn't planning to. Fifty."

"Forty, and... and ye can be having that back room, the one Laura's kin is using, as soon as they leave. Ye'll have it all t'yuirself..." He leered. "...excepting when ye've got... company."

Jessie considered the offer. And the possibilities. "Throw in Maggie's cooking, and we got us a deal." She spit in her palm and held her arm out to him. "Done?"

"Done." Shamus spat in his own hand. He smiled and they shook hands. "Just one last thing."

"We already shook, Shamus."

"Och, thuir's no money involved. I just want ye t'promise that ye'll be telling me what the look was on Sam Duggan's face when ye tell him ye ain't gonna be singing for him no more."

* * * * *

Bridget moved the 9 of spades together with four other cards. "Done," she announced. "How about you?"

"Finished and waiting for you," R.J. answered. "What've you got?"

"Five good, fighting hands. The best one is a straight, 7 of clubs through to Jack of diamonds."

"Pretty good," R.J. said with a wry smile. "I've got a straight, too, but it only goes from 4 of spades to 8 of spades."

Bridget's own smile of victory soured. "They... they're all spades."

"Why so they are," R.J. said, acting surprised. "I guess I win after all." He waited a beat. "What was the bet again?"

"If I win, I get a kiss from you. And if you win..." She giggled. "...you get a kiss from me. Not much of a bet."

"Enough for me. I think I'll collect my winnings now." R.J. walked over and stood next to her.

Bridget got to her feet. "Okay." She leaned over to kiss his cheek. At the last second, R.J. shifted his stance. His arm went down around her waist, pulling her in close.

"Wait --" Bridget started. Her arms started to push him away, then slowly moved up and around his neck. Their lips met. She felt a warmth flow through her. She closed her eyes and pressed her body against his. The feeling grew stronger. She moaned softly.

His tongue slipped in to play with hers. His hands roamed about her body, awakening even more happy sensations, especially in her breasts and down... down in her loins.

R.J. broke the kiss. "Still think it wasn't much of a bet?"

"Maybe not," she said softly, "and maybe I didn't exactly lose."

* * * * *

"Ah," Shamus sighed, "there's nothing like a bit of a rest now that the work's done for tonight." He and Molly were taking a short break up in their small apartment on the second floor of the Saloon, before it was time for tonight's dance.

Molly took a mass of yellow yarn from a bag on the floor next to her chair. "Would ye mind helping me, Love?"

"Anytime." He held out his arms. Molly took one end of the yarn and began looping it around his hands.

"What're ye going t'be knitting?"

"Booties for the baby, little ones for when it's first born, then a few more in the same style but larger. That way, it'll be having the same booties the whole time it's a wee babe."

"That's me Molly, always thinking ahead."

Molly finished looping the yarn. She took the end of it and began forming it into a ball. "I been thinking about some other things, too, Shamus."

He raised an eyebrow. "And what, exactly, is it ye been thinking about?"

"Jessie. Ye was telling me about that offer ye made. If she takes it -- and I'm thinking she will --"

"She already has, Love. It'll be costing me a bit of money, but she's enough of a draw, that I expect t'be making it back. And a good bit more." He laughed, "and it'll be worth something just t'be thinking about the look on Sam Duggan's face when he finds out."

"Aye, Love, but I'm thinking how short of help we'll be, if she ain't waiting on the customers no more. Jane spends half the time in the kitchen cooking with Maggie, and Laura... she wants t'be working, but how much heavy work can she do as the baby gets closer? That leaves a lot of work t'be asking of Dolores."

"I know where ye're taking me, Molly," Shamus said slowly. "Ye're saying I should be hiring someone -- one particular someone, in fact. Arnie." He sighed. "Are ye all in it together?"

"All who?" Molly asked, as if totally unaware.

"Bridget apologizes for asking me to hire the lad. Then she says, I should give him another chance." He smiled. "Give meself another chance, too, she says."

He counted off on his fingers, as he spoke. "Dolores gets almost teary-eyed when she talks about how her family is doing, and Maggie and Jane -- even Jane -- are saying we need him to give the customers the service they should be getting."

"True," Molly said, "every last word of it." She tucked the end of the thread into the ball and secured it in the bag. "And what're ye going t'be doing about it, Mr. O'Toole?"

Shamus laughed and held up his hands. "Surrender in the face o'overwhelming odds, Love. It's against me best judgment -- and Arnie may not _want_ t'be coming back and working for me. He may even have found himself another job, but, come Monday, I'll be going over t'have a talk with the boy."

* * * * *

Milt was standing at the foot of the steps, when Jessie came down dressed for the dance. "Hey, Milt," she greeted him. "Jane's almost ready. She should be down in a minute or three."

"I didn't come here tonight to see Jane -- well, I _did_," Milt told her. "But right now, I want to see you."

"Me, well, now, I'm flattered. What can I do for you?"

"You can tell me what in the hell you had in mind singing that song about me the other night."

"You didn't like it?"

"I most certainly did not." He took a breath. "Jane asked me to come to your show. Did she put you up to it?"

Jessie shook her head. "Don't you go getting mad at her. It was all my idea. She didn't even know I wrote that song. If she had, she'd probably have asked me not to sing it."

"I wish she had. It was a damnably foolish thing to do."

"Seems t'me the only one acting foolish 'round here is you, Milt."

"What do you mean? I've done nothing wrong."

"You haven't? I was watching you 'n her. I think you was ready to kiss Jane when I finished."

"And if I was," he asked uncertainly, "what business is it of yours?"

"'Cause Jane's a friend of mine. You was thinking of it -- I know that much -- but you didn't. How come?"

"I-I didn't; leave it at that."

"You didn't 'cause a few rummies and barflies that ain't worth a pail o'warm spit put together started laughing at you. That's the truth of it."

"And if it is? -- and I'm not saying it is."

"'Course you ain't. You're a lawyer, and you won't point west at sundown if it won't help you. Well, let me tell you something, _Lawyer_ _Quinlan_. Them men was playing with your head. It's fun t'get a man riled up over nothing; I been doing it all my life."

"So I've heard."

Jessie grinned. "And it's true, every last word of it. But what _you_ gotta decide..." She poked her finger at his chest. "...is which is the game you want t'play: the game where they mess with your head or the game you _could_ be playing with Jane."

He looked like he was about to say something, but then scowled and glanced away.

Jessie smiled. "If it's anything like the games me and Paul play, it's a whole hell of a lot more fun." She winked and walked past him towards Shamus' office, where her guitar was waiting.

* * * * *

"Well now, that dress just looks better on you every time I see it."

Lizzie turned to look at the speaker. It was the same man she'd been flirting with on Tuesday, the man Theo had knocked down. "Thanks." She saw the lust in his eyes. A warmth grew in her, and she turned slowly to show off the dress, her blue one. "I'm glad you like it."

"I surely do, ma'm." The man nodded. "It just makes me wonder 'bout something?"

"It does? What?" Her hand fluttered to her bosum, drawing attention to it. At the same time, her lips curled in a mischievous grin, as if encouraging his leer.

"You look so pretty _in_ that dress that I can't help wondering how you'd look out of it."

Theo stepped up next to Lizzie. "That's something you'll never know, friend." He had gone to get drinks, but he'd come back quickly when he saw the man talking to Lizzie. He braced himself for trouble.

"Seems to me, that's up to the lady." The man stepped back, but no more than a foot or so.

Lizzie's eyes trailed down the man's form. "Mmm, nice."

If Theo thought that she lingered far too long at the man's crotch, he didn't say it.

"Very nice," Lizzie continued, "but I think Theo's is... nicer." She said the last word in a low, husky tone. "And he _is_ my husband." She stepped in close, her breasts poking against Theo's arm.

Theo put his arm around her waist. "I think that settles the matter, don't you?"

"I guess it does." The man smiled ruefully and walked away.

"That was interesting," Theo said, breathing a sigh of relief. "Thank you for choosing me, Lizzie."

She kissed his shoulder. "I know who I want." She giggled. "And _what_ I want. Do you think we have time to go upstairs for some _fun_ before the band comes back from their break?"

* * * * *

Sunday, February 11, 1872

Reverend Yingling stepped over to the altar. "Before we conclude, Horace Styron, the president of the board of elders, has asked to make an announcement." He turned and gestured towards Horace, who was sitting to the right of the altar, with Willie Gotefriend and Jubal Cates.

Horace stood up and walked over to stand next to Yingling. "At last Wednesday's board meeting, a motion was passed -- barely -- to create a fund for possible expansion of this building, _if_ we ever think that we want to."

Trisha was sitting to the left of the altar. She turned slightly in her chair and nudged Dwight Albertson with her elbow. "Why aren't you the one making this speech?" she whispered. "He's making us sound foolish."

"Because _he's_ board president," Dwight whispered back. "He didn't give me a choice."

Styron turned and looked directly at Trisha. "If I may continue," he said firmly.

Trisha knew she was caught. She gave him a slight smile and gestured for him to continue.

"As I was saying." Styron turned back to face the congregation. "If we _do_ need such a fund, then somebody will have to oversee any money we _might_ take in. Dwight Albertson is our treasurer, so he's the head of that committee."

"Might as well be him," someone yelled. "Money'll be in his bank, anyway." A number of people laughed.

"Yes, it will," Styron said, trying to keep control." And I'm sure that he'll do his usual excellent job with it." He nodded slightly towards Dwight. "I don't think that we'll need much of a committee besides Dwight, so I'm only naming two other people: Clyde Ritter and Patrick -- excuse me, my dear..." He nodded slightly to Trisha and smiled, a cat about to pounce on a mouse. "...and _Liam_ O'Hanlan."

* * * * *

"Uncle Ramon," Ernesto asked, pointing ahead, "who is that at your door?"

Ramon looked. A man was standing near the entrance to Whit and Carmen's house. Ramon grinned and broke into a run. "Gregorio!"

"Ramon!" The man took a few steps forward, then stood with his arms outstretched. When Ramon reached him, the two embraced, slapping each other on the back. The other man -- Gregorio -- was dressed in work clothes. He looked quite a bit like Ramon, except that he was a bit taller and more muscular in build.

Carmen was walking with Whit, Maggie, and the children. "That is Gregorio," she explained to Maggie. "He is Ramon's and my older brother." She took her son, Jose, by the hand and hurried towards the two men.

Gregorio saw her coming and swept her up in a bear hug. "Pigtails! Hola, little one," he said with a laugh.

"I do not wear pigtails any more, Gregorio, and you know it," Carmen said, breaking loose. "I am a married woman now, with children of my own."

The man laughed. "You will always be 'Pigtails' to me, little sister." He hugged her again, then looked down at Jose. "And who is this great, big boy?"

"I am Jose," the four-year old answered, "Uncle Gregorio, you know that."

"I thought it was you, Jose. You just grew so much since my last visit that I was not certain."

Whit was carrying his younger son, Felipe, when he reached the group. "Speaking of which, Gregorio, what brings you back this way?" The two men shook hands." Not that you aren't welcome, of course, but we weren't expecting you."

"I told him about Margarita," Carmen confessed. "I guess he came early to meet her."

Ramon put his arm around Maggie's waist and steered her towards the other man. "You can do that right now. Margarita Sanchez, this is my older brother, Gregorio de Aguilar. Gregorio, this is Margarita."

"I-I am pl-pleased to meet you, seá±or." She offered her hand to him.

He took her hand and gently raised it to his lips." As am I to meet you, seá±orita." He released her hand and turned to his brother. "But that is _all_ I am pleased about."

"What are you saying?" Ramon asked cautiously.

Gregorio's smile faded. "I am saying that I have just met this woman. I do not know her, and, until I do, I do not consent to your marrying her."

"I do not remember asking for your consent," Ramon replied stiffly.

"No, you did not, and, as the head of the family, it is my _right_ to be asked. And," he added ominously, "my right to refuse my consent, to refuse to provide you with the share of our family's wealth that you will need to _be_ properly betrothed."

"You would not," Ramon countered, trying to keep the anger out of his voice.

"I might," Gregorio said firmly. "I am not saying 'no'; I am saying '_wait_'. I can stay for a week." He turned to Maggie. "We will talk, seá±orita, and I will inquire into your character. Next Sunday, I will give Ramon -- give you both -- my answer, yes _or_ no."

Carmen glared at her brother. "Gregorio, how can you do such a thing?"

"How can I not? The honor of our family --"

"Honor?" Ramon spat the word. "There is nothing -- nothing! -- dishonorable here except the way that _you_ are acting."

Gregorio shook his head. "Then you do not understand the way of the world, my _little_ brother."

"I know enough." Ramon's hand formed into a fist. Gregario was glaring at his brother. Carmen let go off Jose's hand and braced herself, as if for a fight.

Maggie could see the two men glaring at each other 'like angry dogs,' she thought, 'teeth bared and ready to fight over which will rule the pack.' It was a horrible image. "No!" she shouted suddenly, surprising even herself. "Let... let him have the week."

Whit put a hand on her shoulder. "Are you sure, Maggie? My brother- in-law's one hard-headed man."

"No, I... I am not sure. But I... I will not have two brothers coming to blows over me." She looked back and forth at the three siblings and saw only anger. Her own face showed a mix of anger and deep sorrow.

Ramon took her hands in his and forced a smile. "You do not have to do this, Margarita. I love you, and I will marry you whatever my brother says."

"And I love you, Ramon, but if you defy him in this, it will cast a dark shadow over our happiness. For the sake of our future life together, I am willing to give him his week."

Gregorio half-bowed towards her, smirking. "And _that_, seá±orita, is a point in your favor."

"Gracias," Maggie said icily.

She kissed Ramon on the cheek. "Come, children," she told Ernesto and Lupe. "We must tell Grampa Shamus and Grandmother Molly that the Whitneys and Uncle Ramon will not be joining them this afternoon."

The children took her hands. "Goodbye," Lupe called back hesitantly over her shoulder as they walked away.

* * * * *

"Let me have your balls, boy." Pablo Escobar slapped a nickel down on the counter of the carnival booth where Arnie was working. Raquel Gonzales was with Pedro, and she giggled at what he had said.

Arnie wasn't as amused. "Are you sure?" he asked as he took the coin and put three carved wooden balls on the counter. "You never were that good at handling your own -- and I know how much you have tried."

"Keep your place, _boy_. I'm the one with the money to spend. You're the one working the booth." Pedro picked up one of the balls and prepared to throw." You just be ready to give Raquel the prize I win."

"A blue doll," Raquel said eagerly. "I want a blue one."

Pablo grinned at her. "Then you shall have one." He wound up and threw the ball at the pyramid of wooden cylinders carved to look like bottles and set up on a small table near the back wall. The ball hit one of them in the second tier. The pyramid wobbled slightly, but it didn't fall.

"You won't get one throwing like that," Arnie taunted.

Pablo muttered something under his breath and threw the next ball, then the third, all with no success." Again," he demanded, pulling a handful of change on the counter. "I've got money. I can pay." He glared at Arnie. "Not like some people."

Raquel stood silently waiting while Pablo threw six more balls. He managed to knock down two of the bottles, but the pyramid didn't fall. "Enough, Pablo," she finally told him. "There is so much more we can do here at the Carnival." She took his arm and murmured, "You do not have to prove anything to me."

"Very well," Pablo said. He pushed the remaining coins to the edge of the counter, then over it and into his hand. "Those bottles are probably nailed down, anyway. It is like the boy there, a cheat."

Arnie reached over and swept his arm against the pyramid, toppling it. "As you say, Pablo." He took a small blue doll from the bottom shelf of prizes and handed it to Raquel. "But it would be a shame to disappoint so lovely a lady because of your lack of skill."

"Gracias," she answered, hugging the doll and giving Arnie her best smile. Pablo took her arm and quickly led her away.

Arnie laughed. He picked up the bottles and began arranging them again, as the owner of the booth had shown him. It was a special way of stacking that made the pyramid far harder to knock over.

He laughed at how easily Pablo had been tricked, until he considered how much the doll he had given Raquel would eat into what he was going to be paid.

* * * * *

"A most excellent meal, Carmen." Gregorio took a final sip of wine and leaned back in his chair. "Even," he added sourly, "if the conversation was lacking."

Ramon glared back at him from across the table. "Conversation? Believe me, Gregorio, you do _not_ want me to say what I am thinking."

"Not if you are going to argue about what I said. That woman ---" Gregorio replied.

Ramon looked daggers at his brother. "That woman's _name_ is Margarita. She is the woman I love. The woman I intend to marry. How dare you treat her that way?"

"As the head of the family, I must protect our interests."

"Interests? You mean the ranch, don't you?"

"That is a part of it. Besides the ranch and this house, what else do we have, thanks to the gringos? I am just..." He sighed. "Ramon, I am just trying to protect you, even if you do not think that you need to be protected."

"From Margarita?" Ramon laughed sourly. "If I need protection from anyone, it is from you."

Gregorio shook his head and sighed. "Ramon... little brother, I am not forbidding your marriage to this... to Margarita. I am only saying that I want to know her better before I give you both my blessing." He tried a smile. "Can you not grant me that much?"

"Considering what has happened so far, I do not seem to have much of a choice." Ramon stood up. "I will talk to her and try to apologize for you."

"Tell her to think of it as a warning of what she gets by marrying you," Carmen teased. "She loves you enough that Gregorio should not matter, but she does deserve to know what an..." She looked closely at Gregorio. "..._idiota_ of an older brother we have."

Gregorio frowned. "That is not a nice thing to say to me, Carmen. I was only trying --"

"You are _very_ trying, Gregorio," Carmen said, cutting him short. "Go, Ramon. Whit and I will stay here and talk sense to this one." She stared icily at Gregorio. "And, maybe -- just for once -- he will listen."

* * * * *

Jane turned at the sound of the back door of the kitchen opening. "Hey, there," she said as Maggie walked in. Ernesto and Lupe were right behind her. "How're you all doing today."

"Did you have any trouble with the Free Lunch," Maggie said by way of an answer.

"No, I... ahh... everything went fine. I put out that spicy stew like you told me. But what --"

"Bueno. Where is Molly?"

"Upstairs, I guess. She wanted t'get ready for this afternoon." She looked closely at Maggie. "You gonna tell me what's bothering you?"

Maggie started for the door into the Saloon. "Later... maybe. Right now, I need to talk to talk to Molly." She stopped and pointed at her children. "You two stay here." Without waiting for an answer, she turned and walked through the door.

* * * * *

Molly was in the 'sitting room' of the small apartment she and Shamus lived in. She was straightening a lace tablecloth. "Maggie," she said when she saw her come in through the open door. "Are ye ready for --" She stopped and looked at the other woman. "What are ye doing in them clothes?"

Maggie looked down at herself. The past Sundays, she'd kept on her good blue dress, the one she wore to church. Now, she had changed into an older brown dress, work clothes. "I... there will be no... no meeting this afternoon, Molly. Ramon and the Whitneys, they... they are not coming."

"They ain't? What's the matter, dear?" She walked quickly over to Maggie.

Maggie lowered her head. "Gregorio, Ramon's... Ramon's older brother. He-he wants us to wait, not to go ahead until he... approves of the marriage."

"That sounds like Gregario." Molly replied. "That lad is like one of them bulls in a china shop, making a mess of things every which way without even meaning to."

"You... you know him?"

"Aye. He comes t'town every so often t'be visiting Ramon and Carmen. Mostly, he runs a cattle ranch way over near Fort Yuma. I don't know why he come here right now."

"Carmen wrote him." Both women turned. Ramon stood in the doorway. "She thought he should know." He sighed. "She did not expect him to... interfere."

"In-interfere? Is that... that what y-you call it?" Maggie sputtered. "He-he says that he will stop us... _stop_ us from getting married if I do not meet his approval."

Molly looked horrified. "He didn't? Why that no good; how dare he say something like that? Who does he think he is?"

"He thinks that he is my older brother -- which he is." Ramon stepped over and took Maggie's hand in his. "He also thinks that he can stop me from marrying Margarita, and there is no way that he can do that." He lifted Maggie's hand and kissed it gently. "I love you far too much, Margarita, to let anyone stop me from being with you."

He laughed. "In fact, there is only one thing that I am afraid of."

"What... what is that, Ramon?" Maggie asked, her eyes glistening.

"I am afraid that -- once he finds out what a wonderful, incredible, adorable woman you are, Margarita -- I am afraid that _he_ will want to marry you."

"Ramon." She looked up at him and tried to smile.

Ramon took her in his arms. He used a lone finger to wipe a tear from her cheek. Then he put his hands on each side of her face. "But he cannot have you; he cannot love you as much as I do." He drew her close and kissed her, kissed her deeply.

Maggie let out a moan that was half relief and half desire. Her arms wrapped around him. Their bodies pressed together as a delicious warmth flowed through her body. Any doubt, any fear she might have had about Gregorio melted away, as Ramon's love enveloped her.

Molly smiled and tiptoed out of the room, but several minutes passed before Maggie and Ramon noticed that she was gone.

* * * * *

"Anybody home?" Jessie called out at the front door of the Sheriff's Office. She was coming through, her back to the door, holding a covered tray. "I got your supper here."

Paul hurried over from behind the desk. "I'll take that." He set the tray down on the desk. "And this." He wrapped his arms around her.

"You ain't _taking_ nothing." Her eyes glistened, all fire and anticipation. Her arms went up and around his neck, pulling his head down. She lifted her head up and kissed him.

Their bodies pressed together as they both concentrated on that kiss. When they both broke it, Jessie smiled. "Now that was nice. I'm sure gonna miss these little dinner visits."

"What do you mean?" Was she going away?

She gave him a mysterious smile. "Ya see, bringing food over t'the Sheriff's Office, that's the job o'one of Shamus' waitresses, not his _singer_."

"Singer? What do you mean, Jess?"

"I just made a new deal with Shamus. I'm gonna sing for him -- and just him -- every night. Except Saturday, when we all dance, of course. Thing is, that's _all_ I'm gonna do." She chuckled. "No more fetching drinks or sweeping floors, not for this gal."

"Sounds likes a pretty good deal."

"It gets even better. I get my own room, that big one in the back. I can stay up there 'n practice, try out new songs, during the day -- all day if I want -- without bothering nobody and nobody bothering me."

"When does this all start?"

"Tomorrow. Laura's sister and her husband leave on the morning stage. They're in my -- in that room now. I'll move in after they leave and start singing that night." She reached up and stroked his cheek. "You gonna come 'n' hear me?"

Paul shook his head. "I wish I could. Dan put us on extra shifts because of the carnival. Tor's over at the church grounds tonight, and I'll be there all tomorrow night. I have Tuesday off, though."

"Tuesday, then. I got a new song I wanna sing for you, something Nick Varrick sent me?"

"He did, did he? Do I have a rival?"

Jessie gave him a quick peck on the cheek. "Nick's a good-looking man, but you got something I like more." She reached down and gently stroked the front of his pants. "He saw this song in some newspaper, and he thought that I might wanna use it."

"In that case, I'll look forward to hearing it."

"And I'll look forward to singing it for you." She gave him another kiss. "Y'know, there's one other nice thing about my new deal with Shamus. My new room's way in the back, nice 'n'private... with a feather bed big enough for two. We can do something about _that_ after my last show."

* * * * *

Bridget took out her pocket watch. "Cap, it's after 7. I have to get back to my game."

"Please stay," Cap said, taking hold of her hand. "It's been a good long while since we spent some time together."

"And who's fault is that?"

"Mine?"

She frowned. "Your uncle, your _damned_ uncle. Cap, if you don't see that, we might as well end this here and now."

"What I see is that you're hurting, and that I want to help." He tried a smile. "How about, just for a while, we forget about my uncle and the stupid thing he did." He pointed to a low stage near the far end of the churchyard. "Let's go see what Gaspar's up to?"

"Who?"

"Gaspar Gomez, he works for the Ortegas. Part of Carnival is they pick an "Ugly King", a kind of master of ceremonies, and he got picked. His job is to make fun of everybody and everything. It's a way of letting off steam before Lent."

"Kinda like Mardi Gras over in New Orleans."

"Exactly the same, according to..." He'd almost said his uncle's name. "...to people who've been to New Orleans."

They walked slowly over to the stage. Gaspar was dressed in a green, blue, and yellow morning coat with a pair of black and white striped pants. A plush gold and purple crown was tilted jauntily on his head. A few feet away from the crudely built wooden stage, a man-sized straw figure swayed back and forth. By the light of a low, nearby fire, Bridget could see something written across the straw man's chest.

"Vincent Colyer?" she asked, pointing at the figure. "Who the... heck is he?"

Cap laughed. "You spend too much time in that saloon, playing poker. He's President Grant's special agent for the Apache. The Mexicans around here don't like him very much."

"Why's that?"

"He's got Grant calling for a soft hand. The Apache've been killing Mexicans hereabouts for generations. And vice versa. There's no love lost between them."

As if to prove Cap's words, Gaspar began to yell. "You say we should treat those killers fair, don't you, Seá±or Colyer?" He laughed. "We want to do that, don't we, my people?" The crowd booed.

"Okay," Gaspar chuckled. "Maybe we don't." He paused for effect. "But we are all good Christians, so we treat them like it says in the Bible."

"It says in the Bible that if you give a man a fish, that's only one meal -- even if you fry it slow with tomatoes and chilis and..." He rolled his eyes and rubbed his stomach in a comic gesture that got the crowd laughing. "But if you teach a man to fish, he will have food for the rest of his life."

"Only, there ain't so many places to fish out where they live." He laughed. "I don't think they'd know what to do with a fish, anyway, do you?" The crowd yelled its agreement.

"But it does get cold out in those hills, as cold as them Apache's souls." He shivered and slapped his sides, as if trying to get warm. "I say, if you build a man a fire, he will be warm for a day." He picked up a pole with cloth wrapped at one end and thrust it into the fire. When he pulled it out a moment later, it was blazing from the oil soaked into the cloth.

"But if you set a man on fire..." He held the pole up for the crowd to see then touched it to the figure..."he will be warm for the rest of his life." The crowd cheered, as the figure burst into flames.

"You be sure to burn peaceably, Seá±or Colyer. After all, that's the way you want _us_ to act." The crowd cheered again, then laughed as Gaspar did a somersault back onto the stage.

Bridget shook her head and laughed. "I may still be a little mad at you, Cap, but you surely do know how to show a girl a hot old time."

* * * * *

Monday, February 12, 1872

"That should do it." Arsenio stacked the last of Theo and Elizabeth's carpet bags onto their trunk in the rear boot of the stagecoach. He stepped back as the coach line's clerk closed the boot.

Theo was standing with Lizzie next to the stagecoach's open door. "It was good meeting you, Arsenio. I'm proud to have you in the family." He offered his hand.

"Same to you, Theo." He grasped Theo's arm halfway to the elbow. Theo looked at it for a moment, then took Arsenio's arm the same way. The two men grinned at each other, as Arsenio added, "You two have a good trip."

The driver looked down from his high seat. "Best you all hurry up with your farewells and get aboard, folks." He looked at his watch a moment before putting it back in a vest pocket. "We'll be leaving in a couple minutes."

"I-I guess this is goodbye," Lizzie sniffled. She threw her arms around Laura. "I'll miss you, Laura."

Laura hugged her. "Me, too. Have you figured out what you're going to tell everybody back in Indiana about me?"

"Not really," Theo answered for his wife. "Maybe we'll just buy a coffin someplace, weigh it down, and bury it like we had planned."

Laura shook her head. "But then everybody back home will think I'm dead. I-I'm not sure I want that."

"I didn't think so. We'll tell most people that you died, and they wouldn't let us take the body. We'll swear your other sisters and their husbands to secrecy, though, and tell them the truth." He put his arm around his wife. "Lizzie'll be the proof of our story."

Laura gave him a wry smile. "Yes, I suppose that she will. I wish you could have told me before now. I've been worried. I wanted to talk to you about all that yesterday, but..."

"Yeah," Jane chimed in. "Seemed like you was busy upstairs packing the whole day."

Lizzie giggled. "We were busy, but it wasn't all packing." She reached over and took Theo's hand." Was it?"

"No... we, uhh... took some time to do that, too." Theo's face reddened, but that didn't stop him from taking her hand.

At that moment, Rev, Yingling walked over. "I am so glad that I got here before you left, Mr. and Mrs. Taft. I wanted to wish you a good trip." He paused a moment. "I trust you got a satisfactory answer to your questions, Mrs.Taft."

"Oh, I've been satisfied, Reverend." She leaned over and kissed her husband's cheek. "Theo's very good at that."

The Reverend stared at Lizzie. He realized that her hair was thicker and a much more striking shade that it had been a few days before. The top two buttons of her dress were undone now, and the way she acted... "I-I am glad. You seem more... more at ease than you were."

"A dose of the potion'll do that to a gal," Jane said quickly.

Laura shook her head. "Jane... you shouldn't say such things." She studied Yingling's face, trying to judge his reaction.

"I... I must be going." Yingling quickly shook Theo's hand and hurried off. "May the Lord favor you on your journey home." He turned and skittered off without a glance backward.

"What'd I say?" Jane asked.

Lizzie laughed and patted Jane on the back. "Goodbye, my new little sister." She turned to Laura. "This one..." she cocked her head towards Jane. "...will be more trouble than our sister, Rebecca, ever was."

"Probably," Laura admitted, "but she's got a good heart." She hugged Lizzie again. "I am gonna miss you."

Lizzie looked ready to cry. "Me, too. You just promise to let us know when that baby comes."

"We'd better get on board." Theo said. He also gave Laura a hug and a quick peck on the cheek.

Arsenio hugged Lizzie. "You two have a good trip."

"We won't," Lizzie said, "not till we get on the train up in Utah." She pouted. "There's no privacy on a stage. We won't be able to -- you know -- for _five_ whole days." She giggled. "What we did Sunday will have to last us all that time."

Theo gave her bottom a gentle smack. "Just get on board."

"Hope you enjoyed that, Theo," Lizzie told him," because you aren't getting near there again till we're in a private compartment on that train. Five whole days, I gotta be _Elizabeth_." She sighed and stepped into the coach.

Theo laughed. "It'll be good practice for when we get home. You can't be Lizzie there... except when we're alone." He followed her into the coach and took a seat next to her on backmost of the three benches.

Two others, a tall man in a frock coat and a short, heavyset man in work clothes, sat facing them on the front bench. "Can we go now?" the shorter man called up to the driver.

"Gee-yup!" the driver yelled, giving the reins a shake. The stage lurched on its steel bracing and pulled away.

* * * * *

Trisha looked around. It was mid-morning and the feed and grain was empty, except for her and... "Liam, why'd you ask to be on Dwight's committee?"

"I was wondering when you'd get around to asking that," Liam told her. "You spent all day yesterday glowering at me and pouting."

"I do not pout."

"The hell you don't." He pointed a finger. "You're doing it right now."

"Am not." She put her hands on her hips. "But if I am, I have every right to. Since when are you so eager to get involved in political things like Dwight's new committee?"

"Since always, little sister, you were just so puffed up with what _you_ were doing to notice."

"I'm noticing now."

"Yes, you are -- sometimes. I just figured that, since Styron wasn't going to give you a place on that committee --"

"And how could you know that?"

"How could you _not_ know that, little sister? He couldn't be on it; it's Dwight's to run, so he surely wouldn't put you on it."

"No, but he put Clyde Ritter on it. That man's been in his pocket for years."

"Yes, he has, and everybody knows it. Styron needed somebody to make it look... well, fair. That's where I came in."

"You? What have you ever done?"

"Not much of anything." Liam shrugged. "Just be your brother. That's all I'm being now, a brother looking after his little sister's interests, where she can't do it for herself."

He reached over and took Trisha's chin in his hand, lifting her head, so she was looking directly into his eyes. "Ain't that right?"

"I... I guess so." Her arguments fell away. He _was_ only trying to help, after all. "Just let me know before you do anything else like that, okay?"

* * * * *

Teresa Diaz looked at the figure standing in her open door. "Seá±or O'Toole, what brings you here?"

"This laundry for one thing," Shamus said, lifting a burlap bag. "Me Molly asked me t'be bringing it over with me."

Teresa took the bag and made some marks on a sheet of paper. "Tell her that I will bring it over on _el_ _Jueves_... Thursday." She pinned the sheet to the bag, then tore off a portion and handed it to him.

"I'll do that, Teresa, but them dirty clothes ain't the only reason I come over." He looked around. "Is Arnie here?"

"Arnoldo? He is getting dressed." She pointed to a closed door. "He... he has a job at the Carnival over at our church every night."

"D'ye think he'd mind talking to me?" When Teresa nervously shook her head, Shamus walked over and knocked on the door. "Arnie?"

The door opened a crack. The boy saw Shamus and glowered. "What do _you_ want, seá±or?"

"I'd like t'be talking to ye, if I might." He glanced back at Teresa. "In private, if ye don't mind."

"I suppose not." Arnie stepped back from the door, so Shamus could come in. He did, and closed the door behind himself.

"Thank ye, Arnie. I hear ye're working at the Carnival just now."

"Si, I am."

"I hope they know what a good worker they got in ye?"

"They do." He didn't bother to keep the disdain from his voice. "Just the same as you did."

Shamus sighed. "Aye, ye were a good worker. We just had some... problems between us, ye might say." He looked closely at Arnie. "Ye think that might happen if ye was working for me again?"

"I... I do not think so." The boy tensed for a trap.

Shamus chuckled. "Well, if ye're willing t'be giving me another chance, then I'm willing t'be giving ye one." He spat in his hand and offered it to Arnie." We got a deal?"

"I suppose I could give you another chance... since you asked so nicely." He spat in his own hand and shook hands with the barman.

"Fine, ye'll start on Wednesday. I wouldn't want t'be stealing such a good worker from the padre and his Carnival."

* * * * *

"They's a telegram for you, my Lady," Daisy said, walking into the parlor.

Cerise took the telegram from her and looked at the envelope. "Bon, I did not expect the reply so soon." She opened it and read. "Marvelous!"

"Whatever does it say?" Rosalyn asked.

The Lady pointed to a painting on the wall across from her. "That my portrait there will soon have company." The picture showed Cerise stretched out on her side on a couch, raised up on one elbow, her hair piled high on her head, wearing a blue violet corset and matching drawers, a welcoming smile on her face.

"As a way of showing her new role as my second," she continued, "I 'ave invited the artist, Monsieur Ethan Thomas, to come back to Eerie and do such a picture of our Wilma."

Wilma held up her hand, palm open and raised. "Just wait a minute here, Cerise. I don't remember you ever asking me if I wanted my picture painted."

"Per'aps that is because I did not ask. You are my second. Your picture should be there beside mine."

"Can I think about it?"

"Mai oui, Wilma. You can think about what you wish to wear in the picture, and 'ow you want Daisy to do your hair for it. You can even think about 'ow you wish to pose, although Ethan will have 'is own ideas on these things, of course."

"What if I don't want my picture done?"

"You can think about _'ow_ you want to pose, mon petit brave, not _if_ you want to pose," Cerise said firmly. "Ethan will be 'ere next week to begin the work, and I expect you to cooperate with him." She smiled. "But then, I 'ave _never_ known you to 'ave the trouble cooperating with a man."

Before Wilma could answer, the front bell rang. "Sounds like we got company," Mae said, trying to sound cheerful. "Let's _all_ give 'em a nice smile."

* * * * *

"I gotta tell my ma about these." Emma took another bite of the empanada she had just bought from one of the food booths.

"Why?" Tomas asked.

"'Cause they're such a good idea, little apple pies you can carry around with you and eat whenever you want."

"They're called empanadas. I'm sure my mama'd be glad to teach your mama how to make them, if she asked her to."

Emma ate the last of her empanada, while she considered the idea. "We might just do that." She pulled a small yellow kerchief out of her sleeve and began to dab at the corners of her mouth.

"We? You mean _you_ cook?"

Emma looked down and sighed. "Yeah. Ma says I-I gotta learn... now."

Before Tomas could answer, a bell rang out loudly. A man -- Emma recognized him as Gaspar Gomez -- was standing on a stage some yards away. He was dressed in an odd, multi-colored outfit and wearing some sort of gold crown, while he clanged a large brass bell with both hands.

"Seá±ors and seá±oritas," Gaspar called out, "for the next hour -- until 7 o'clock -- I order that the men must wear their ladies' hat and the women must wear their men's hats. Switch." He clapped his hands. "I, your king, command it."

All around them, Tomas and Emma saw men and women smiling and trading their headwear. Even the priest, Father de Castro, chuckled and borrowed the bonnet of an older woman he'd been talking to.

"What the heck's going on," Emma asked, her eyes wide.

"Seá±or Gomez is the Rey Feo, the Ugly King. He rules over the silliness of the Carnival, making jokes and giving funny orders like that one."

Emma shrugged. "It don't make no sense, but I'm surely glad you 'n'me didn't wear hats tonight."

"Me, too," Tomas agreed. He looked around. "Hey, come over here, I'll show you something." He took Emma's hand and dragged her to another booth. This one was selling eggs. Some were just painted fancy colors, with stripes or polka dots. Others were in decorated paper cones and painted to look like birds, animals, even people. "These are called cascará³nes," he told her.

"Caska-roh-nez," Emma said. "What d'you do with them?"

Tomas handed the vendor two pennies and took one, a blue egg with pink spots. "This," he told her. Then, before she could move, he broke it over her head. The shell cracked, showering Emma with pink and blue confetti.

"Tomas," she shrieked. "What'd you do that for?"

"That is what people do, break them over each other's heads." He handed the vendor another two cents. "You do one now."

Emma brushed confetti from her head and the front of her dress. "That is the _stupidest_... My hair, if there had been any egg left in that shell, and my-my dress. How could you?"

"It's a game, Emma, just a game. All that's in the shell is confetti."

"That's no excuse. You... it..." she sputtered on.

"Emma, it is nothing, and you're getting upset over it, just like you was some silly girl."

Emma glared at him. "You take that back." She looked like she was about to slapped him, but she thought better and just stormed away.

* * * * *

Tuesday, February 13, 1872

"LAURA!" Shamus howled, his voice booming through the saloon. "Get yuirself over here, and I mean _now_!"

Laura came running down the stairs, with Molly two paces behind. "What's the matter, Love?" the older woman asked.

"I, Shamus O'Toole, owner of the Eerie Saloon, do order ye, Laura --"

Now it was Molly who yelled. "Shamus, don't ye _dare_ be using that potion magic on her."

"Do ye know what she -- what her husband done behind me back?" He waved the copy of the _Tucson_ _Citizen_ like a flag.

Laura was furious. "No, and we won't know unless you tell us. What did my Arsenio do, and why are you threatening me about it?"

"Threatening?" Shamus' brows furrowed in anger. "I wasn't threatening ye. I just wanted t'be sure that it was the truth I'd be hearing when I asked ye about this here dance."

Molly glared at her husband. "Dance? Ye was gonna do that... use that potion magic on poor Laura because of some dance?"

"And sure'n don't I have the right..." His voice trailed off as his words sank in. His angry look changed to one of great sadness. "No, I-I haven't the right. 'Tis truly sorry I am, Laura." He took his wife's hand and gently kissed it. "And I'll be thanking ye, Molly Love, for giving me the time t'be seeing that."

Now it was Laura's turn to look unhappy. "It's the church dance that got you so worked up, isn't it?" She waited for Shamus to nod in agreement before she went on. "Arsenio told me about it last week. I was trying to find a way to break the news to you, so you wouldn't be so upset." She sighed. "I guess I should've tried harder."

"Would ye mind telling _me_ then?" Molly asked, sounding a bit angry with the pair of them.

Laura took a breath. "The Methodist church uses the schoolhouse for services, but it's not a real good fit. Last week at their monthly board meeting, they decide to raise some money to either fix the schoolhouse up or to get a place of their own. They'll figure out which later. Anyway, they also decided to start things off with a dance. It'll be in three weeks on March 2nd... a Saturday."

"Right up against our dance here," Molly said. "But Laura's only a member of that church, nothing more. Why was ye so mad at her and Arsenio?"

Shamus held up the newspaper. "Because -- let me be reading it to ye - 'Town council members Arsenio Caulder and Josiah Whitney were present at the meeting, since the council also functions as our local school board. Both endorsed the idea. They were, in fact, the first to buy tickets from Dwight Albright, the church treasurer.'"

He looked sharply at the women, as he put the paper down. "Now d'you see? Arsenio not only 'endorsed' that dance that'll be in competition with me own, but he's planning t'be stealing away one of me own waiter girls t'be taking her to that other dance of thuirs."

"Are you saying that you don't want me to go to that other dance with my husband?" Laura asked.

Shamus shook his head. "Let's just say that I'd like t'be talking to Arsenio about it before I decide if I'll be giving ye the night off."

* * * * *

Cerise stood in the parlor doorway. "Attention, ladies, we have guests." She stepped back and two men walked in.

"Sebastian!" Beatriz squealed happily. She jumped to her feet and ran over to Sebastian Ortega. She pressed her body against his and kissed his lips. "I have missed you."

He put his arm around her waist. "And I have missed you, little one."

"Hey there, Sebastian." Wilma stood up. "You gonna introduce me to your friend there." She took the classic pose: left hand on hip, right leg extended slightly.

"I am Gregorio de Aguilar, seá±orita," Gregorio answered, his eyes taking in her generous curves as revealed by the green corset and silky white drawers that were all she wore. "And you?"

Wilma smiled her best smile. "I'm Wilma Hanks, Gregorio, and I am _glad_ to meet you." She ran her tongue across her lip. "And now that we got the names done and over with, what say you 'n'me go upstairs and get better acquainted?"

"There is nothing I would enjoy more." He bowed low before he took her hand and let her lead him to the stairs.

* * * * *

"May I speak with you, Trisha?" Reverend Yingling asked. "In private."

"Can you wait a bit?" Trisha answered. "I'm helping this man with his order."

The Reverend nodded. "Certainly. I meant when you were finished with him."

"That's all right, ma'am," the man said. "My chickens can wait a few minutes for their feed."

Trisha looked around for Mateo. "I can get someone else to wait on you, if you'd like."

"I'd just as soon it was you, ma'am." The man's gaze roamed quickly over her figure. His attentions made her feel odd, though not _exactly_ uncomfortable.

Whatever Yingling wanted, Trisha decided that they couldn't talk about it with people around. "How about in my office, Reverend?" She started walking over before Yingling could answer. She waited till they were both in the smaller room, then shut the door behind him. "What's this about, Reverend?"

"I... uhh, saw the notice in today's paper, Trisha. You are divorcing Kaitlin?" He said it more as a question than a statement.

"After all you said, there wasn't much else I could do, was there?" She glared at the man. "_You_ say we ain't married anymore. I don't like it -- neither does Kaitlin -- but you, you're the expert on the Bible. I can't argue with the Good Book."

"You could. You did, in fact. I am glad that you have seen the truth of our Lord's Word."

"I saw what you _said_ was the truth of His Word, and it doesn't leave me a whole lot of ways to go."

"There is always the righteous path to walk. You have made that choice, and I am glad for you."

"I suppose I should say, "Thanks." The problem is --"

"Problem? How can there be a problem with taking the Way of our Lord?"

"Because what's so simple and true for you -- and for the Lord, I guess -- ain't as simple for everybody else. Kaitlin and me talked to Milt Quinlan. He said that we couldn't just stop being married. We had to get a divorce, do it legal. It's a lot of fuss and bother. It hurts, too, splitting things up and all."

"You are moving out of your house, then, or is Kaitlin?"

"Neither. I offered to, and she wouldn't hear of it. We're going to share the house and all, living together just like we were two sisters or something."

Yingling cocked an eyebrow. "And your... connubial desires, will they continue?"

"Even if they did, I can't expect Kaitlin to go along with them." She shrugged. "I don't know that I really feel the... need any more. I guess that goes with not being married."

"It is the Lord's way of easing your burden." He put a hand on her shoulder. "You are a good... person, Trisha, as are Kaitlin and Emma. If there is anything I can do; if any or all of you need someone to talk to, please call upon me."

"Last time we called on you was what got us started on this divorce business." She sighed, "but you meant well enough. If we need to talk, we all know where you live."

"Then I shall leave you to get back to that man with the hungry chickens." He touched the brim of his hat, as if to tip it. "Good day, Trisha."

* * * * *

Milt strode purposefully into the kitchen. "I'd like to talk to Jane for a moment, if I may."

"I'm right here, Milt," Jane replied, wiping her hands on her apron. "What'd'you wanna talk about?"

The man took a breath. "First of all, I'd like to apologize to you, Jane."

"Would you like us to leave?" Maggie asked, pointing to Dolores and herself.

"No," Milt answered, "I want you -- I want everyone -- to hear this." He took Jane's hand. "I've been acting like such an idiot the past weeks. I realize that, and I'm sorry, Jane, for how much I must have hurt you. "

Jane tried to smile. "I'd say I was maybe confused more than hurt."

"Whatever you felt," he went on, "I'm sorry. I didn't want to be laughed at, even by that pack of fools, and I let it keep me from being with you."

"You... you _do_ want to be with me." Jane was smiling now, her eyes glistening.

"I do. I don't know where it will lead, but I most assuredly want to find out."

Jane threw her arms around him. "So do I." She pressed close, and their lips met in a kiss.

"Just one thing," Milt said when they finally broke the kiss. "May I borrow Jane for a short while."

Maggie gave an approving nod. "I do not mind, if she does not."

"I don't mind one little bit," Jane answered, giggling.

Milt took her hand again and led her into the saloon. It was late enough in the day that a few men were gathering after work for drinks. Some of them noticed the couple.

"Hey, Milt," Fred Norman shouted, "you gonna kiss her now?"

Milt let go off Jane's hand and walked over to the man, who stood up as Milt walked over. "As a matter of fact, I am, Mr. Norman. Do you have a problem with that?" He spoke as if challenging the storekeeper to say something.

"N-no, sir, Mr. Quinlan," Norman replied quickly. "I-I was just asking." He sat down and stared his drink, not wanting to meet the lawyer's eyes.

Milt turned and walked away, without looking back. "I thought not." Jane was waiting near the kitchen door. "Well, Jane?" he asked her.

"Well what, Milt?"

He smiled and took her hand. "I just told these gentlemen that I was about to kiss you. You wouldn't want to make me out to be a liar, would you?"

"Not about that." She answered happily. He took her in his arms, and they kissed again.

If they heard the applause that broke out at that moment, they never gave any sign of it. And their kiss lasted far longer the applause, anyway.

* * * * *

Jessie pushed open the door, so Paul could see inside. "Well, what d'you think?"

"Not too bad." He bowed low and made a sweeping gesture with his arm. "After you, Jess. It is _your_ new room."

She did a quick curtsy and walked in. Paul followed, closing the door behind him. "Thanks," she said when she heard it shut. Somehow, she was nervous about what people would think.

A kerosene lamp on a dresser by the door cast a low glow. She turned up the wick, filling the room with light.

Now Paul could see. The room was of a fair size, with light blue wallpaper that looked almost new, and a woven green rug covering most of the floor. A lace-curtained window on the far wall looked out onto the yard behind the saloon. There was a writing desk next to the window, so Jessie could look out while she worked. She could also turn the chair to make it face the serpentine-back sofa set against the left wall. A long, standing rack against the right wall was filled with hangers holding her dresses, skirts, and blouses. A small wooden figure, a toy soldier it looked like, stood in a place of honor on a tiny shelf near the rack, as if guarding the room.

"And this here's the bed." Jessie patted the overstuffed bed that stretched out from the far wall, filling much of the right side of the room. Spool-turned bedposts supported a green cloth canopy over a matching bedspread. As she had promised, it was more than big enough for them both. "Give you any ideas?"

"A few, but I think I got more from that song of yours." He walked over and began to undo the top buttons of her dress.

She was unbuttoning his shirt at the same time. "And which song was that?"

"Bucking Bronco, is that the one Nick sent you? I never heard it before."

"It is. It was in some paper he saw over in Nevada. Some gal named Maybelle Reid wrote it."

"It's nice." He hummed a few notes, then began to sing. "T'was a young maiden's heart, I'd... I'd have you all... all know." He stumbled trying to remember what followed.

Jessie sang the next line. "He won it by riding his bucking bronco."

"Exactly." He slipped the dress off her shoulders. She wriggled, slipping her arms out of the sleeves. It hung at her hips. He pushed at it, and it slid past them and on down to the floor.

Paul pulled her to him. Her arms encircled his neck as they kissed. His arms roamed down up and down her body. He reached below her waist, crushing her petticoat as he cupped her buttocks. She moaned as a jolt of pleasure raced to her breasts and groin.

She broke the kiss to untie the ribbon that held her petticoat. "What d'you mean, 'exactly', Paul?" The petticoat joined her dress on the floor. She opened the last button of his shirt and began working on the vest-like top of the union suit he was wearing under it.

"Well, see, I know this... mustang." He stopped unhooking her corset just long enough to stroke her hair. "She's a spirited gal, with strong legs, and a fine, old rump." He stroked that, too. "And tonight... if she's lucky -- or, maybe, if _I'm_ lucky, I'm going to be giving her a ride."He undid her corset and tossed it away.

Jessie smiled, standing before him now in just her chemise and drawers. "Mmm, let's just see how lucky we're both gonna get." She got his vest off and began working on his pants.

She yanked his pants down to his knees. His long, muslin drawers were tented in front. "I think I found my luck." She kissed her hand and reached down to caress him. "And it's bucking like a bronco, too," she said when his manhood twitched at her touch.

"Just eager to be rode," he told her. He managed to step out of his boots, then his pants and drawers. He stood naked before her now, his maleness looming -- that was the only word she could think of -- at her.

Jessie sat on the edge of the bed. "Then bring him over, and I'll put on his saddle." She reached into a drawer in the small cabinet next to the bed and retrieved "an English riding coat". Paul came close, and she slid the condom onto him, using a thin green ribbon to secure it.

"Giddyap," she said, standing up. Their bodies entwined as they kissed. Her arms still around him, Jessie fell back onto the bed, pulling him down with her. Pulling him down _on_ her.

Her chemise slid up above her waist. Her fingers grasped him and guided him into her. "Ohh, yes," she said happily. His arms were still around her. He rolled over on the bed, so that she was set atop him. He was still inside her, and now he began to thrust. "Yes! Yes!" she yelled, bucking just as she had promised.

* * * * *

"I believe I'd like to try my hand before the Carnival closes down." A ruddy-faced man with a short, bushy beard put a nickel down on the counter of Arnie's booth. "What do I got to do?"

Arnie had begun to pack up, but he took the coin and put three balls down where it had been. "You have three chances to knock down the bottles," he told the man. "If you do, you win a prize."

"Which probably ain't gonna happen, is it, Arnoldo?"

"It's been done. Go ahead, try."

"Not the way you've got them set up. I recognize the way it was done." He laughed, "even if you don't recognize me, do you?"

"No... no, I don't."

"Maybe I should get my partner, Bill. I think you'd know him." He laughed again. "You jump on top of a man, you'll remember him the next time you see him."

The card sharp that tried to rob Bridget, _now_ Arnie knew him. "Seá±or Parnell? Wh-why ain't you in jail?"

"Well, I'm sorry t'disappoint you, Arnoldo, but Bill and me served our time."

"You're not going to try cheating at poker again, are you?"

Parnell shook his head. "What we're trying our luck at is finding gold. We've got a claim we're working up in the Superstition Mountains. I came into town to get some supplies and decided to stay and enjoy this here Carnival."

"You are not mad at me... at anyone?"

"Tell the truth, it was kind of dumb, what happened. I don't blame you or that pretty lady poker player or anybody."

"That is good to hear."

"Yes, sir, I may just go into that saloon one of these days and buy that card lady a drink."

"Look for me, if you do. I start working there tomorrow when the Carnival is over."

"I may do that, Arnoldo. Yes, sir, I may just do that." He smiled, more the smile of a hunter stalking prey than the smile of a friend.

* * * * *

Wednesday, February 14, 1872

Jessie rolled over and looked at the clock on her bed table. "Dang!" she spat.

"Wha -- what's the matter, Jess?" Paul asked, only half-awake.

"It's only 8:50. My body still thinks I gotta get up early t'go work for Shamus."

"Don't you?"

"All I gotta do for Shamus these days is sing. I can come downstairs as late as I want in the morning."

"What about breakfast? Aren't you hungry?"

"Not really." She snuggled up against him. "You wanna help me work up an appetite?" She ran her hand across his chest, her fingers tangling in his curly chest hair.

"I've already got an appetite." His arm reached around her, bringing her even closer. "But it ain't for food."

He kissed her shoulder and leaned back against the pillows. "I've got to tell you, Jess. This is one sweet deal you fell into, especially this bed."

"Fell into? Well, I like that." She frowned until Paul began to run his finger across her breast. "Mmm, but I do like _that_, though."

She sighed. "It is a good deal -- I'll admit it. Room -- this bed..." she giggled. "...board -- whenever I do come downstairs, and besides that, Shamus pays me pretty good -- we haggled a while, and I got him to $40 a week."

"My Lord, Jess." Paul moved his hand away from her and sat up. "Dan Talbot only pays me $18 a week."

"Quit then." She sat up next to him, and ran her hand down his chest. "I'll pay you that much t'be my..." Her hand snaked further down to grasp his member"...mmm, my... my bedwarmer."

"That's not funny."

She reached over and turned his head towards hers. Their lips met in a kiss, deep and full of meaning. When she broke it, she was smiling. "I wasn't trying to be funny."

"Your offer was serious?"

"It was if you want it to be."

He slid his legs over the side of the bed. "I don't."

"What...? Paul, what's the matter?"

He was pulling on his drawers by now. "I have to go, now."

"But you said..." She reached out for him. "I-I don't understand."

"Neither do I." He quickly finished dressing and was out the door without another word.

* * * * *

Tomas was waiting for Emma just inside the door at the start of recess. "Waiting for your _girlfriend_," Bert McLeod had teased, as he walked past.

Emma tried to ignore him, but as she neared the door, he stepped in to block her way. "Can I talk to you... just for a minute?" he asked.

"No, I don't wanna talk to you. Now get --"

He tried a grin. "Even if it's so I can apologize?"

"Apologize? All right, you talk, and I'll listen."

"I didn't mean to call you a dumb girl, honest. I was just trying t'have some fun with that cascará³ne -- I played the same game with my brother and sister the night before, and they both just laughed and hit me with theirs. But when I done it t'you, you started yelling at me."

Emma regarded him with a tiny frown. She seemed to be watching his eyes intently, but didn't add anything to his comment.

He looked troubled. "I'm not saying you was right t'yell, mind you. I-I lost my temper, I guess, and called you... what I did." He took a breath. "Anyway, I didn't mean to, and I'm really sorry."

"You should be, you..." Emma stopped. Tomas was being too sweet for her to stay mad at him. "I-I guess I should be sorry, too, the way I was carrying on. I mean, my hair and my dress were okay, after all. I sorta lost my temper, too." She offered him her hand. "Friends?"

Tomas smiled and shook her hand. "Friends."

* * * * *

"Well, it this don't seem like old times, yes, sir, just like last summer."

Jessie turned at the sound of the voice. "Wilma, what the heck're you doing over here?"

"Came t'check up on my little sister." Wilma glanced over at the other person sitting at the table. "And another old friend, seeing as she's sitting there, free as you please. Hi, Bridget."

Bridget took a bite of toast. "Hello, Wilma."

"Ain't exactly like last summer," Jessie said. "If it was, we'd be doing some chore for Shamus right now, instead of sitting here having this late breakfast."

"That's the truth of it," Bridget said. "By the way, Wilma, do you want some coffee." She lifted a small steel pot off the trivet it was resting on.

Wilma shook her head. "No, thanks. I had some just before I come over." She laughed. "Too much, and I... slosh when I..." She chuckled. ",,,_move_."

Bridget ignored the bawdy comment. "Why did you come over... if you don't mind my asking?"

"I heard tell that Jessie started her new job as full time singer over here the other night. I was wondering how she liked it." She turned to face her sister. "How do you like it, Jessie?"

Jessie sighed contentedly. "Lemme tell you, being able t'sleep in and doing nothing but sing at night beats sweeping floors and cleaning spittoon seven ways to Sunday." She decided quickly not to say anything about Paul. That was sure to blow over. Instead, she said, "I get paid a whole lot more money, and I got my own room besides."

"Sounds like a good deal," Wilma answered. "Though I can't say much for sleeping alone." She giggled. "If that _is_ what you're doing." She leaned back and watched her sister blush.

"I hear you got a new job yourself, Wilma." Bridget jumped in and tried to change the subject. "How's it feel to be Lady Cerise's second?"

Jessie hadn't heard that it was official. "Who told you that?"

"Clay Falk," Bridget said, "he's one of my poker regulars."

"He's one of my... regulars, too." Wilma giggled. "That man surely does have a way about him." She decided to have some fun. "I knows you watch the other players' hand during a game. You ever notice what _long_ fingers he's got?"

What was she trying? Bridget thought. "I-I suppose I have."

"Mmmm, not like I have." She leaned back and smiled, her eyes half- closed in remembering. "When he puts them long fingers on my titties and starts --"

"Wilma... please," Bridget responded, more loudly than she had intended. She had tried to sound firm, but her voice had emerged strained and shaky. "If you keep on talking like that, I'll never be able to let him in my game again."

The other woman chuckled. "I'm sorry, Bridget; I couldn't resist. I-I guess I like talking about men almost as much as I like being with 'em."

She waited a minute, then continued. "You was asking 'bout how I like being the Lady's second, right?" Bridget nodded, her face still a bit flushed.

"Up t'this Monday, I liked it just fine."

"What happened on Monday?" Jessie asked.

"You both seen that picture of herself Cerise has hanging in the parlor." Jessie and Bridget both mumbled in agreement. "She told me Monday that she sent for the fella that painted it. She wants him t'do one of me."

Jessie shrugged. "So, what's wrong with that?"

"Yes," Bridget added, "I'd've thought you'd like the idea, being up on the wall, wearing next to nothing."

Wilma grinned. "Yeah, mostly I like it. My picture up there, getting 'em even more ready for what we're gonna be doing." Then she sighed. "But they's still a little bit of Will Hanks up here in m'head."

"I should've known," Bridget laughed. "It reminds you of a wanted poster. You always hated those things," she chuckled, "especially when you thought the reward wasn't high enough for a criminal of _your_ reputation. I guess that part of you who's still Will is such a stubborn old cuss, it'll take more than even two doses of Shamus potion to drown him."

"You got that right, old friend," Wilma replied. "Will just can't abide the idea of a picture of him... me... -- any sort of a picture -- stuck up on a wall for all the world to see."

* * * * *

Emma sat at her desk opening valentines. She'd gotten -- and given, at Miss Osbourne's instructions to the class -- one for each student in the top two grades. "Even one for 'Whiney Hermione'", she'd told her mother the night before, holding up a poorly cut out red paper heart.

Now she picked up the envelope that had "to Emma from Yully" written on it. (Miss Osbourne had made a lesson out of addressing envelopes by insisting that the students write in script, rather than print.) Emma's fingers fumbled a bit, or more than a bit, before she finally got it opened.

"What in the world?" There was no card or red paper heart inside, just some sort of picture card. She slid out a print of Andrew Russell's famous photograph, "East and West Shaking Hands", the driving of the Golden Spike two years before at Promontory, Utah that created the Transcontinental Railroad.

There was a handwritten note on the back. "I thought that this would be a better valentine for a girl who wants to be an engineer. Happy Valentine Day, Your Friend, Yully."

"What'd you get from Yully?" Ysabel whispered.

Emma showed her the picture. "This, ain't it grand?"

"Better than that red paper cherub you gave him."

"I know, and I think I'll do something about that, right now." Emma stood and walked over to where Yully was sitting, looking at his own stack of valentines." I came over t'thank you for that picture, Yully."

He looked up at her and grinned. "Glad you like it."

"I-I surely do." Emma felt her stomach fill with butterflies. On a sudden impulse, she leaned down and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. "Thanks."

He blushed. "Y-you're welcome." He took her left hand and squeezed it quickly before letting go.

Emma walked back to her own place slowly. She was holding her left hand in her right, an odd smile on her face.

"I guess you thanked him proper," Ysabel told her. "Seems like a good idea." She walked over to Stephan Yingling and gave him the same sort of kiss. They talked for a moment before she came back and sat down next to Emma. "Yes, sir, that was a _very_ good idea."

If Miss Osbourne, busy listening to the second and third grades reading from their _McGuffey's_ _Readers_, saw what had happened, she didn't say anything about it, not then and not later.

Hermione Ritter, two spaces away from Emma, had witnessed both kisses, and, looking down at the crumpled paper heart in her fist, she was trying to decide just what she was going to do about it.

* * * * *

"Here ya go," Jane said. She laid four menus by the place mats on the table. "I'll be back in a bit t'take your orders." With that, she smiled and hurried off to where Shamus was waiting with the judge and two other men.

Liam stepped over to where Kaitlin was standing. "May I?" He pulled a chair away from the table.

"Thank you, Liam." Kaitlin sat, shifting as he pushed her chair in.

Trisha was on his other side. "May I?" he repeated to her.

"I can manage." She scowled and sat down, pulling the chair in. Emma had already taken her own seat. "I don't know why you were so anxious to bring us here, Liam?"

The man smiled, ignoring her expression. "Why, because today's Valentine Day, Trisha, and because it's _your_ birthday on Friday -- in case you forgot."

"Whatever the reason," Kaitlin broke in, "I, for one, am grateful for the gift of a night where I don't have to cook supper."

"I hope you'll think as much of my other gift, then." He took three thin boxes from the jacket of his frock coat. "I've one for each of you." The boxes were wrapped in white paper, with a thin red ribbon on each.

He looked at the top box. It had a small red "E" written on it. "This one's yours, Emma." He handed the box to his young niece.

"Ooh, what is it, Uncle Liam?" Emma asked.

Liam put the other boxes, which had a "K" and a "T" on them in front of the two women. "Open them and find out," he told them all.

The women took off the ribbons and unwrapped the boxes. Kaitlin gathered everything together, carefully folding the tissue paper, so as not to tear it, and put the wrappings in her reticule.

"A napkin?" Trisha said, opening her box. "I guess that's the right present for a restaurant." She took the square of material and placed it on her lap. "Kind of flimsy, though."

Kaitlin chuckled. "It's a lace handkerchief, silly, and a very lovely one. Thank you, Liam."

"I remembered you saying how much you admired that one in Silverman's window," he told her. "So I got one for you, and for Trisha and Emma, too."

"Well, they're lovely," Kaitlin replied. "Thank you again."

"Yeah, thanks, Uncle Liam." Emma began to stuff her handkerchief up the right sleeve of her blouse.

"Carefully, dear," her mother told her. "A pretty thing like that is better pinned to the blousing; it helps to show off one's dress."

"Like this?" Trisha asked, holding her gift next to her blouse.

"Yes," Kaitlin answered, "but it would look so much better on an elegant dress than on that 'workshirt' of a blouse you're wearing."

"I... I don't have a dress, elegant or otherwise." Trisha glanced down at her lush bosom and narrow waist. "Silverman, he... uhh, he doesn't much carry dresses that'd fit me."

She frowned as a thought occurred to her. "And I-I'll need a dress for the dance, won't I?"

Kaitlin nodded. "That dance was all your doing. You really should have something." She studied Trisha for a moment. "Maybe I could... you could buy a larger dress, one that would fit you... umm, on top, and I could... ahh... cut it down so it would fit your waist and such."

"I... can I think about that a little?" Trisha asked. "It's... ahh... a big decision to make." Then she added as an afterthought. "And a lot of work for you, Kaitlin, tailoring to fit me."

"Can you hold off on that decision for a bit?" Liam interrupted. "Jane's going to be back here pretty soon, and I don't know what any of you want for supper."

* * * * *

"Brother, I want to talk to you," Gregorio said. He and Ramon were in the main room on the first floor of Whit and Carmen's guesthouse. Ramon lived here, and Gregorio had taken one of the other bedrooms.

Ramon walked over to the small bar set up nearby. "I don't suppose that I can stop you." He poured himself a brandy -- Whit kept an excellent cellar. "What do you want to talk about?"

"I have been asking around town about the woman --" He saw Ramon's eyebrow's furrow. "Excuse me, about Margarita, and I have heard the strangest stories."

"What have you heard, and who have you heard it from?"

Gregorio walked over and poured his own brandy. "Very nice, very nice indeed." He took a second sip. "Who told me? I will not say. I gave my word, so it is a matter of honor to me."

"Honor?" Ramon chuckled. "You? I am surprised that you can even say the word these days."

"I will ignore that last," Gregorio said stiffly, "considering the state of mind that I find you in." He paused a moment. "When I asked people about your Margarita, several told me that she had been a bandito, a _male_ bandito, who came to Eerie to kill a man." He watched Ramon's reaction. "O'Toole, the man who owns the Shamrock, no, the Eerie Saloon, he did something and transformed the bandito into this woman that you wish to marry."

"Who told you such things?"

"Are they true?"

Ramon thought for a moment. Most of the people in town knew Maggie's story. After getting to know so well the nature of Margarita, he was not embarrassed by her origin. He vaguely regarded it as a miracle, but in fact he hardly ever thought about it. Besides, it could not be kept secret and no lie could change that. "It is true, but --"

"But! Have you gone completely mad, Ramon? She is a robber, a... a freak, a creature of black magic, perhaps, who can know? And you want to marry her?"

"I do." He put down his glass. "The Margarita Sanchez that I want to marry is not the Miguel Sanchez who rode into Eerie all those months ago."

"That is obvious. Miguel was a man who served time in prison. What's come over you, Ramon? Can't you see how mad this is?"

"Miguel was an _angry_ man, angry at the world. Margarita is a sweet, caring woman. I love and admire her so much. At first seemed like she had lost everything, but in just a few months she has made a whole new life for herself -- and her children."

"And she is those children's -- father?"

Ramon sighed. "Si."

"This is _muy_ strange, _hermano_. Only in the old stories of the villages are tales like this told. I admit that those I spoke to had only good words about her. But, still, she is _unnatural_, a... a changling. How could any normal man want a woman like that?"

Ramon smiled. "You tell me, my brother. How could _you_ want a woman like that?"

"Me? I could not want a woman like that, not in a million years."

"Not in a million years, Gregorio?" Ramon asked, knowingly. "Sebastian Ortega told me that the two of you went to _La_ _Parisienne_. Is that not so?"

"We did. What of it -- or would you have wanted to go with us?"

"I have no interest in such places, not since I met Margarita." He paused and looked sharply at his brother. "You did not find out everything there was to know about Margarita, it would seem."

"What are you talking about?"

"Margarita came to town as part of a gang. The leader came to kill the sheriff. She came with him to... to help her family. Shamus gave them _all_ the potion that changed them into women, but their leader, Will Hanks, took a second dose some weeks later."

Gregorio's eyes grew wide. "Will... _Will_ Hanks?"

"Si, she is Wilma now, the woman that you were with. Sebastian said that you called her 'the lively one', that you were most pleased with her." Ramon grinned with satisfaction. "Only, _she_ was a changling, too, Gregorio, the sort of woman that you said that you would not want in a million years."

Gregorio stared silently at his brother for a moment, then shakily sipped his glass of fresh brandy.

* * * * *

Thursday, February 15, 1872

Jessie walked over to the table where Arnie was standing, gathering up dirty glasses in a tray. "I see you're back here, working for Shamus again, Arnie."

"Si, Seá±orita Jessie," he answered, "and he tells me that you are now his singer and not a waitress anymore."

"You got that right." She grinned proudly. "You're talking to the 'Songbird of Eerie.' All I do now is _sing_ for m'supper."

"Then you must have a lot of free time now."

"Some... why?"

"If Seá±or Shamus hired me again, then he is not angry at me and if he is not mad, then you should not be either. You can start the lessons with my father's pistol again."

"I can, but I won't."

"Why not?"

"Shamus gave you your job back to see if he could trust you. You gotta prove yourself to him _and_ to me. You do that, and we'll see about them lessons."

"But..."

"No buts, Arnie, you gotta show me I can trust you first. You do that, and I'll be glad to teach you. Till then..." She looked at the tray on the table. "You got yourself all them dirty glasses t'wash."

* * * * *

"Oooh... yes..." Trisha moaned. She was sitting behind the counter at the Feed and Grain. Her left shoe was off and she was rubbing her foot.

Liam looked over at her. "You okay, Trisha?" he asked.

"Better," she answered. "My shoes are really starting to pinch, so I took one off. The other'll be off in a minute."

"What's the matter?"

"It's that damned 'woman thing' I told you about. And the day before my birthday, no less. Some present."

"Too bad you can't exchange it for something else you like more."

She had her other shoe off now, and was alternately rubbing both feet. "Maybe I just will."

"What do you mean?"

"I'll wait till next week -- till I'm done with my monthlies -- and then I'm gonna go and buy myself something, something real fancy."

"Are you now, and just what would that be?"

"Kaitlin was right. The dance _was_ my idea. I pushed it through, past Styron and all. Folks are gonna expect me to dress up fancy for it."

"I don't know as I'd go _that_ far."

"Well, they will, and I... I'm not gonna disappoint them." She smiled, caught up with the idea and feeling the extra emotional rush that were a part of her monthlies. "When I'm done with my... with everything, next week, I'm going over to the Rylands' tailor shop and see if they can make me a dress."

* * * * *

"So," R.J. asked, cutting himself a piece of the roast chicken he was having for supper at "Maggie's Place." "Did you and Cap have a good time at the carnival?"

Bridget froze in mid-chew. She took a quick sip of wine for cover. "I suppose. Why do you ask?"

"Because I wanted you to enjoy yourself, even if you were with Cap."

"You could've taken me again the next night, you know."

"Bridget, Eerie's not New Orleans, or even Philadelphia. You can see pretty much everything there is to see in one night."

"Seems to me that when a man go woman someplace together, the 'together' is more important than the 'someplace' they go."

"It is." He took her hand. "Especially when it's the right couple that's 'together.' I guess I've got kind of an odd view of Carnival, is all."

"What's the matter? Aren't you religious, or are you _too_ religious for all that carrying on?"

"I'd say that I'm about religious as you are. No, it's just that, well, I told you my folks ran a restaurant back in Philly, didn't I?"

"You did; what about it?"

"When I was growing up, Carnival was just a time when we were extra busy -- all those people coming to the place to celebrate -- and, after that, having to explain for forty days why most of the meat items were off the menu because of Lent."

"I bet you hated that."

"I did. People should've known better. We kept a couple of things, like spaghetti and meatballs, for special customers who weren't Catholic, but, otherwise, well... Lent _is_ Lent, after all."

"I, uh... suppose." She didn't know what else to say.

"Besides, much as I like walking around with you on my arm, I think I like the quiet times -- like this dinner -- a lot more. We can talk, and I... I don't feel like I have to share you with anybody." He smiled and gently squeezed her hand. "That's what 'together' is supposed to be."

* * * * *

Cecelia Ritter put the bowl of okra on the table just as Clyde Ritter, Junior, came back downstairs. "Where's your sister, Junior?"

"She won't come down, Ma," Junior answered with a shrug of his shoulders. "She locked her door, and when I knocked, she yelled for me to go away." He waited a moment, then added, "I think she's crying."

"Crying? I'd best go see what's the matter."

Her husband grabbed her arm. "You'd best finish setting out my dinner, first. Then you can see what's bothering the girl." He looked at Junior. "You help your ma, boy."

"You... you get the water," Cecelia told him, while she loaded a serving plate with fried chicken. As soon as that was on the table, she took a warming tray full of biscuits out of the oven. She got them on the table just as Junior set down a pitcher of water.

"Anything else?" she asked, glancing nervously at the stairs.

Clyde Senior picked up a chicken leg. "Go, already."

"I'll... we'll be down as quickly as we can." Cecelia hurried upstairs and knocked on Hermione's door.

After a moment, a voice from inside yelled, "I said, 'Go away, Junior', and I meant it."

"It's me, dear," Cecelia answered. "May I come in? Please."

"No, I don't want to talk to _anyone_."

"How about if I just listen?" She waited. Finally, she heard the sound of footsteps and the "click", as the door was unlocked.

Cecelia walked in. "Thank you, dear." Hermione was standing near the bed. Her eyes were red, and Cecelia could see wet tears on her cheeks. She sat down on the bed and pulled her daughter to her. They just hugged for a while before Cecelia asked her, "Now, why are you so upset?"

"Ye... yesterday. At-at scho-school..."

"School? Was someone rude to you? Did someone... did that monster O'Hanlan girl do something to you?"

Hermione shook her head. "The... the v-valen... t -tines." She put her head on her mother's shoulder and began to cry again.

"I looked through your books yesterday. You received some lovely valentines, even that pretty cupid from Yully Stone. Whatever is the problem?" She took a cloth kerchief from her sleeve and began to dab at Hermione's tears.

The girl closed her eyes and took a deep breath that seemed to calm her. "He gave Emma a picture of some trains. I-I don't know why. She liked it so much she... she _kissed_ him."

"The little hussy. What did Miss Osbourne do?"

"Nothing. I don't think she saw."

"And what did Yully do? Surely he didn't like being kissed by that little freak, did he?"

"Uh huhn. He-he smiled and held her hand."

"And your teacher did nothing?"

"She was in the back... with the little ones."

"I shall have to have words with Miss Osbourne. To allow such improper behavior in her classroom."

"Miss Osbourne didn't even come over when Ysabel --"

"Ysabel? Is she one of those Mex children they allow in the school?"

"Yes, Mama, Ysabel Diaz. Her and Emma got to be real good friends since Emma got turned into a girl. When Emma got back to her seat, she and Ysabel talked for a bit. Then Ysabel went over and kissed Stephan Yingling, just like Emma did to Yully Stone."

"That mackerel snapper Mex _kissed_ the reverend's boy? I think that things are definitely getting out of control at that school."

* * * * *

Ramon took a sip of wine. "Margarita, this stew is delicious." He was having dinner with her at her restaurant. Carmen, Whit, and Gregorio were with him.

"Si," Carmen added. "Will you give me the recipe... please?"

Maggie smiled. "I will be happy to, Carmen. Thank you."

"It is good, seá±orita." Gregorio wiped the corner of his mouth with a napkin. "I wish that my cook had your skill."

"I will give you a copy of the recipe, also, if you wish," Maggie replied.

"My thanks," Gregorio said. "I believe that I do." He leaned back in his chair. "So tell me something about yourself."

Maggie raised an eyebrow. "Why do _you_ not tell me something about myself. I know that you have been asking questions all around the town."

"And you find it disagreeable, do you not? " Gregorio looked straight back at her. "Then let me ask you something?" He waited till she nodded her permission, then proceeded. "You have two children, seá±orita; is that not also true?"

What was he driving at? "I do... as you well know."

"And you are careful, I am certain, about the sort of children, the sort of adults, too, your Ernesto and... and your Lupe associate with, are you not?"

Maggie nodded, beginning to understand. "So you ask why am I so upset, since you are just doing the same thing, just being careful about who Ramon _associates_ with?"

"Exactly." Gregorio replied. "Why?"

"Because Ramon is not a child to be worried over, and because I would not have been so stern, so uncaring, about the feelings of my children _and_ of their friends, as you were with Ramon and I on Sunday." She sat upright, gathering her dignity around her like a robe. "You want to know about me. I am here. Ask."

Gregorio studied her expression. Ramon smiled proudly and took Maggie's hand in his. "Si, Gregorio," he told his brother. "Ask her what you will."

* * * * *

Laura stopped just outside the saloon. "Arsenio, I'm..." her voice trailed off.

"Scared?" He took her hand. "So am I... a little. We should have done this last night, you know."

"I-I know." She tried to smile. "As I recall, we came up with _something_ else to do last night. It didn't do anything for Shamus, but it certainly calmed my nerves."

"And mine." He sighed. "We have to do ask him eventually." He was still holding her hand. "So, take a deep breath 'cause here we go." She did, and they walked through the swinging doors.

Shamus was tending bar and saw them walk over to him. "Well now, I was wondering when ye'd be coming in, Arsenio."

"I'm here, Shamus, and before anything else, I want to tell you that I don't like anybody, even you, scaring my wife." He scowled at the barman.

Shamus scowled back at him. "And I don't like finding meself in competition with some church. How would ye be liking it if I was to set up another blacksmith shop here in Eerie?"

"Only Arsenio didn't have anything to do with the dance," Laura interrupted, "except to buy tickets."

Shamus still wasn't giving in. "And who's t'be saying that that wasn't bad enough? As far as scaring yuir wife, I do believe I apologized t'her for that. Ask her if I didn't."

"Yeah, she told me that," Arsenio admitted. "I just don't like that it happened at all. And buying those tickets was Whit's idea, by the way. He thought that some of the congregation might still not be sure that the council wasn't upset. Buying tickets showed that we weren't." He took a breath. "Laura and I don't have anything to do with planning the dance, either."

Shamus shrugged. "Then I don't suppose ye know what thuir planning t'be doing for music. I already was talking to Hiram King. Him 'n'his boys'll be playing for me that night."

"Kaitlin O'Hanlan's the one planning this thing," Laura broke in. "She told me at church on Sunday that she figured you had some arrangement with Hiram, so she wasn't even going to ask him."

"I knew she was a smart lass, when I met her back in October." Shamus replied. "No, November was when that boy o' hers and her husband drank me potion, wasn't it?"

Laura nodded. "It was November, all right." She waited a beat. "Anyway, she found another band, a miner named Frank Beard and his two partners. They haven't hit color yet, as the miners say, so they play for pocket money. Kaitlin said that they weren't all that bad."

"But we won't know whether they are or not," Arsenio interrupted, "unless Laura and I go, and you still haven't said if you'll give her the night off."

Laura tried to help. "We don't get that many married, church-going couples at our dances here. You know that, Shamus."

"I suppose I do," Shamus admitted. "And I'll not be such a cad as t'be keeping a husband from showing his wife a good time." He chuckled. "Besides, if I said no, ye'd be moping around here so bad that ye'd be throwing a wet blanket over me whole dance."

Laura broke into a smile. "So I can go?"

"Ye can go." He gave a hearty laugh. "I'll even be giving ye permission t'be having a good time."

* * * * *

Friday, February 16, 1872

"Excuse me... Miss Kelly, I'm sorry to interrupt. May I talk to you for a moment?"

Bridget looked up from her late breakfast, the advantage of being able to sleep in every morning after a long night of poker. "If you want a game, I'll be setting up in about thirty minutes." She raised an eyebrow, the man looked very familiar.

"Thank you, ma'am, but no thanks. After what happened last time, I've given up poker for a while."

Bridget suddenly recognized him. "Parnell, you dirty..." She grabbed at the knife she'd just used on the slice of ham Dolores had served her for breakfast. "This time I'm ready for you."

"Please, Miss Kelly, I'm not looking for trouble." He held up his hands, as if in surrender.

Bridget frowned. "What _are_ you looking for?" She lowered her arm, but she held onto the knife.

"A chance to apologize. Cheating like that was wrong -- dead wrong, and losing my temper when you caught me and trying to hurt you." He shook his head. "That was wrong... _and_ stupid. I spent two months in jail thinking about just how wrong it was."

"And..."

"And I came back here to apologize." He held out a hand and tried to smile. "If you'll let me."

She gave him a hard look. Bridget would rather draw to an inside straight than gamble on a card cheat claiming to show remorse. But to get rid of him, she was willing to put a nickel on what was a dubious proposition. If he didn't go away, it would be his draw, and what he asked for might show what his real game was. "Well, never let it be said I wouldn't give a man a second chance." She shook his hand and sat back down.

"And I appreciate that, ma'am. Thank you." He tipped his hat and quickly left.

She watched him go, never expecting it to be so easy. It probably wouldn't be. "Five will get you ten that he'll be back," she muttered to herself.

Dolores had come over with more coffee. "Who was that, Bridget?" She refilled the lady gambler's cup.

"You remember I told you about I caught two men cheating at cards a while back, and when I called them at it, one of them pulled a gun?"

"Si, R.J. and my cousin, Arnoldo, saved you."

"I wouldn't say 'saved' but they were a big help. Anyway, that was one of them. He just got out of jail for what he did, and he came all the way back here -- to apologize, he claimed."

"He did not threaten you?"

"No, he just told me how sorry he was."

"And you believed him?"

"I accepted his apology for what it was worth and said I'd give him another chance."

"You did not? I would not trust such a man."

"Neither would I. I'll give him another chance, all right, but I'll be watching to see what he does with it."

"Si, and I think that I will be watching, too. He may want to hurt Arnoldo, also, from what you told me."

* * * * *

"Hey, Maggie," Jane called out from the kitchen pantry. "They's somebody at the back door t'see you."

Maggie looked to the door. "Seá±or de Aguilar, what do you want now?"

"May I come in?" Gregorio asked.

Maggie frowned. "Why, do you have more questions for me?"

"No," Gregorio said, trying to smile. "I think asked you enough last night."

"You asked me _more_ than enough. If you have no questions, then what do you want? I do not feed strangers on the porch." She sighed. "Oh, just come in." She pushed the door open.

Gregorio walked through the door. "Gracias. I have not come to ask questions, but I would like to speak to your children."

"You would question my children, now?" She glanced over to the worktable, where Ernesto and Lupe were shelling peas. They were staring at Gregorio and whispering.

"Not question them, meet them. After all, if you marry Ramon, they also become a part of my family." He raised an eyebrow. "Or are you afraid to have me meet them for some reason?"

"I am proud of my children. Come." She led him to the worktable. "Ernesto... Lupe, this is Seá±or de Aguilar, your Uncle Ramon's brother. He would like to meet you."

"We don't want to meet him," Ernesto answered.

"Ernesto," Maggie scolded. "Do not be rude."

"Why not?" Ernesto said. "He was."

Now Lupe chimed in. "Si, we heard how he talked to you on Sunday."

"Even so," Maggie agreed, trying not to smile, "that does not mean that you must behave as badly as he did."

Gregorio bowed low towards Lupe. "Little one, I am sorry if I have offended you. But if I do not meet you, then how can I ever apologize?"

"Well..." Lupe said. "I suppose that I should give you a chance to say you are sorry." She returned his bow with a curtsy of her own. "Hola, Seá±or de Aguilar, I am Lupe Sanchez." She paused, her hands on her hips. "_Now_, you can tell me how sorry you are."

"I am _muy_ sorry, little one," he answered her. "And what about your brother? Are you mad at me as well, seá±or?"

Ernesto jumped off his chair. He ran over and kicked Gregorio in the shin. "Not anymore; now we are even." He stared at Gregorio, daring the man to react.

"So we are," Gregorio replied, sitting down and rubbing his leg. "Seá±orita... Margarita. You do not need my brother to defend you. Your son can take care of you by himself." He chuckled and looked closely at the boy.

"Will you shake my hand, if we are even?" He offered his hand to Ernesto.

Ernesto took his hand. "I will... if you will apologize to my mother..." He glanced over at Lupe. "...and my sister."

"Then I will." Gregorio looked up at Maggie. "I apologize, Margarita, to you and to your children." He smiled. "They do you credit."

* * * * *

Stephan Yingling knocked on the doorframe of his father's office. "You wanted to see me, Pa?"

"Yes, Stephan. Come in... and please shut the door behind you." The reverend waited until Stephan had done that. The boy stood near his father's desk, his hands behind his back. "I know that it's only February, but I wanted to discuss what you'll be doing after you graduate from Miss Osbourne's school in June."

"I expect that I'd be doing what I've did last summer: do chores... and keep up with my Latin, of course."

"You will be doing those things. I also expect you to begin studying some other subjects as well. I've written to Dr. Collier back in Ohio about what you will need to prepare in order to join your brother at the academy as soon as you turn 14. I just received his list of topics."

"Sir, do I have to?"

"Do you have to what?"

"Do I have to go to that school in Ohio?"

"That _school_ is one of the finest preparatory academies for those wishing to become Methodist ministers. Your grandfather was among its first graduates, and both your Uncle Obediah and I attended it."

"Sir, we've talked about this before. I-I don't want to be a minister." He quickly added. "I don't believe that I'm intended for such a high calling."

"Such humility is becoming -- so long as it is not a _false_ humility. Such things are not pleasing to our Lord." He frowned -- glared -- at his son. "And must be punished." He paused for effect. "Do you wish to be punished?"

"N-no, sir." Stephan took a half step back from the desk.

"Very good. You will be continuing with your Latin -- as you said, but you will begin to acquire Greek, as well. Also, since a minister must be able to bring our Lord's message to his congregation, you will be doing advanced work in grammar and rhetoric. And history and logic, to put issues into the proper context."

Stephan compared his father's list to another, one he kept hidden in a drawer in Fort Secret. "Very well, father," he sighed, not wanting to show his feelings." I shall do as you ask."

"I do not recall _asking_, Stephan. As your father, I _expect_ the obedience that is due a parent."

"May I go then, sir? I have homework to do." He left as soon as his father nodded his consent.

"Not as bad as I expected," he thought, as he walked to the room he shared with his younger brothers." Mathematics is the only one missing from his list, and Miss Osbourne'll help me with that, I think. With all those things Pa wants, math'll be just what I need for an appointment to West Point."

* * * * *

Paul walked into the Saloon and looked around.

It was late afternoon, and only a few men were drinking. Laura and Arnie were putting the cloths on the tables that were a part of the restaurant. A couple of men he didn't recognize -- drummers probably, based on the two sample cases resting next to an empty chair -- were playing poker with Bridget.

Everything was how he liked it, nice and quiet.

Except...

"Hey, Paul." Jessie stepped in front of him. Damn, he hadn't noticed her when he'd walked in. "How're ya doing?"

"Not too bad, Jess. How're you?"

She pouted. "Been kinda lonely the last couple days... and nights. Other'n that..." she shrugged"...not too bad."

"Jess, please. I don't want to talk about it; not yet, anyway."

"I do. What happened Wednesday?"

"You think about what you said. When you figure it out, _then_ we'll talk."

"When _I_ figure it out? You was the one who bolted."

"There's bolted, Jess, and there's being run off. You think about it." He stepped around her. "Right now, I'm on duty. I've got to talk to R.J. For a minute, then I head out to finish my rounds."

* * * * *

Saturday, February 17, 1872

Emma met Ysabel at the door. "C'mon up to my room. I got something t'show you." The Mexican girl came inside and followed Emma upstairs. "There it is." Emma pointed to a newly framed picture hanging above her desk.

"It sure is," Ysabel said. "Just like Yully gave it to you."

"That ain't why I put it up."

"No, you put it up 'cause you want to be an engineer someday." She paused a moment. "But the fact that Yully Stone gave it to you didn't hurt none, did it?"

"Well... maybe a little." Emma blushed, as she said it.

"More than 'a little', I think."

"Are you trying to get me to say I like Yully?"

"You kissed him, didn't you?" Ysabel said, giggling.

"Just like you kissed Stephan."

Ysabel hugged herself. "I did, didn't I." She giggled again. "It was _so_ nice. I felt warm and... and goosepimply all over."

"Me, too." Now Emma was giggling. "I wonder if we'll ever do it again."

"We will," Ysabel said stubbornly. "As sure... as sure as you're gonna be an engineer someday."

"I hope so," Emma said, "on both counts."

"You gonna do it today when we get over to Fort Secret?"

"I'd like to, but I don't wanna be kissing him every day." She brushed her hair back with what she hoped looked like a grown-up lady's gesture. Then she spoiled the effect with a giggle. "Let him wait and wonder. He'll appreciate it more when I _do_ kiss him."

* * * * *

Roscoe Unger looked up from his book at the sound of the bell over the door. He saw a chunky, prosperous-looking man in his fifties coming over to the counter. "Can I help you, sir?"

"You can if you're the man who puts out the newspaper," the older man replied.

Roscoe nodded. "I am, sir; Roscoe Unger at your service."

"Abner Slocum." The older man held out his hand, and Roscoe shook it. "I own the 'Triple A' cattle ranch about an hour east of here."

"I know who you are, Mr. Slocum. You have several subscriptions to my paper, but you usually send one of your hands in to pick them up. Is there some reason why you came in yourself today?" No problem, he hoped.

"I've a story for you, Roscoe -- may I call you Roscoe?"

"Certainly. What's the story?"

"You ever hear of Henry Clay Hooker? He has a big ranch over near the New Mexico border."

"I think most everybody's heard of Mr. Hooker. His Sierra Bonita Ranch is probably the biggest in the territory." Rosco paused a beat. "He's a rather... flamboyant gentleman, or so they say."

Slocum laughed. "That's a polite way of putting it."

"Opening his house as if it were a hotel, cutting deals with Cochise, the man's something of a legend."

"He is that. He's also something of a gambler. In fact, that's the story I have for you."

"Sir?"

"Tell you what; if I can call you Roscoe, how about if you call me Abner?"

"All right... Abner. What _is_ this story of yours?"

"That Henry's accepted my invitation to come to Eerie next month for a high stakes poker game, a _very_ high stakes game."

"How high stakes?"

"We'll be playing table stakes, with a $1,000 buy-in -- cash only up front. We'll play for twelve hours -- drinks and food'll be there when we want it -- then whoever's left cashes in."

"That _is_ a story. Who'll be playing?"

"I don't know, except for Henry and me. One of the reasons I'm telling you all this is to drum up some more players." He studied Roscoe's expression. "I assume that you'll be passing the story along to the, ah... real _Tucson_ _Citizen_."

"I will, sir... Abner. My contract with them says that I have to."

"Good. The game will be over at Shamus O'Toole's place -- you can get more details from him -- on March 16th."

"I will, thank you."

"Then there'll be something about this in Tuesday's paper?"

"Yes, and probably next week, too, when I get the boilerplate from Tucson."

"Fine, then. I'll look forward to it." He started to leave.

"One last thing, Abner. Can I interview Mr. Hooker and maybe the other players before and after the game?"

"I can't speak for anyone else, but you can talk to me."

* * * * *

"So, you work here as a dancer also."

Maggie looked up to see Gregorio standing in front of her. He was holding a ticket.

"Yes, I do." She stood and took it from him, putting it with the others in the pocket of her apron. "And I am certain that you already knew that I did."

The music started, a waltz, and they moved out onto the floor. "And would you still dance for money like this _if_ you and Ramon were married?"

"We have not talked about it, but I think that I would. I enjoy dancing."

"You do not think it shameful for a married woman to dance with any man who has the money to buy a ticket?"

Maggie looked about the room. "Do you see that woman, the blonde in the green dress dancing with the tall man in brown?" She pointed to Laura, who was dancing with Joe Ortlieb.

"I do. That is your... helper, Jane, is it not?"

Maggie smiled. He didn't know _that_ story, either. "No, that is her... sister, Laura. Jane is over there." She pointed to Jane, who was with Angel Montero. Jane wore a yellow dress.

"Twins... what of it?"

"Laura, the first one, is married -- expecting a baby, in fact. Her husband is..." she pointed to the bar "...talking to the R.J., the assistant to Shamus."

Gregorio looked shocked. "And he does not mind that his wife does such things?"

"He trusts Laura because he knows that she loves him." She looked straight into Gregorio's eyes. "Just as _I_ love Ramon."

"I know that you do, and that he loves you as well. That is not the problem."

"Then what is the problem... No, what is _your_ problem?"

"You are a fine woman, Seá±orita. I will admit that. Still, you are a peasant, and Ramon is..." He let the words trail off.

Maggie shook her head, a sour look on her face. "You, seá±or, need to face some unpleasant truths. No, our marriage will not be the joining of two noble families. It will be the wedding of a store clerk and a cook, for that is what we are."

"My brother is more than just a clerk in a store."

"And I am more than just a cook." She glared at him, proud of herself. "And our love for each other makes us even more together than we are by ourselves. I wish that you could see that."

Gregorio's expression changed. His anger seemed to change to a wry amusement. "Perhaps... Margarita, perhaps, I can."

* * * * *

"Tor," Jessie greeted Dan Talbot's other deputy, as he walked towards the ticket line. "What're you doing here? I thought you was on duty first shift tonight."

Tor smiled. "I vuss, but Paul, he say vould take der both shifdts tonight, if I vould --" He stopped realizing what he was about to say.

"If you would what?" she asked, sensing a problem.

"Nudhing... It vuss nudhing."

"Tor, you tell me what he said, or I'll... I'll tell Bridget you're sweet on her." Tor had once admitted liking the lady card master.

"You vouldn't."

She gave him a nasty smile. "I'll even say that you're so sweet you keep letting her win when you play poker with her."

"You vould, vouldn't you." He lowered his head in defeat. "Even if it's not true."

"In a country minute, and 'specially if it's not true."

Tor sighed. "All right, all right. He say he take both shifts, if I vould promise to take care of anyt'ing that happen in Shamus' Saloon. Dat vay, he vouldn't haff to come in vhen he vuss making his roundts."

"He did, did he? Why that..." She started for the door, her hands curled unto fists.

Molly had been close enough to hear. She rushed over and stepped in Jessie's path. "And whuir d'ye think ye're going, Jessie Hanks?"

"I'm going over t'have it out with that... with Paul. That dirty so- and-so worked out a deal with Tor, so he wouldn't have to come in here tonight."

"Aye, he's avoiding ye because of that fight the two of ye had."

"I told you; it wasn't no fight. He just up and walked out on me."

"Ye told me, alright. Ye _also_ told me that he was in here yesterday. He said that it was something that ye said t'him that got him all riled. And didn't he say that he didn't want t'be talking to ye until ye figured out what it was, and why it bothered him so?"

"He did."

"And have ye, figured it out, I mean?"

Jess looked down, not wanting to meet Molly's eyes. "No," she answered softly.

"Then ye'd be going over thuir thinking _ye_ was in the right and yelling at him that thinks _he's_ in the right. Knowing yuir tempers - - _both_ yuir tempers -- ye'd only be saying things that'd make yuir problem, whatever it is, even worse."

She lifted Jessie's chin so the two women were staring into each other's eyes. "Wouldn't ye?"

"I- I suppose. Yeah, _he_ probably would."

"Never ye mind who would and who wouldn't be saying them nasty things. Ye both would, I'm thinking. So I'm asking ye -- no, I'm _telling_ ye -- not t'be going over thuir."

"Stay here for the sake of... for the sake of what the two of ye had and for the sake of what ye both want t'be having again between ye again."

"I... oh, all right." She shrugged, the fight flowing out of her. "Thanks, I guess."

Molly gave her a hug. "I wasn't just doing it for ye, Jessie. If I know ye at all, ye'd have come back here in no mood for all the dancing that ye're supposed t'be doing here with all them men that came here for it tonight." She made an angry face. "Worse yet, ye'd have yelled yuirself so hoarse that ye'd be no good to me Shamus as a singer for days and days."

"You're probably right," Jessie smiled dryly.

Molly kissed the younger woman on the cheek. "Now ye go over thuir and try t'be smiling to them men. Paul and ye'll be back together in no time. Ye just see if ye're not."

* * * *

"What's the matter, Angel?" Laura asked. "Why'd you stop dancing?" The band was in the middle of a mazurka. She was wearing her new blue wrap, a sort of dressing gown that tied loosely in the front and showed her long yellow petticoat. It was more comfortable for dancing than her tight dress and corset.

Angel Montiero had a puzzled look on his face. "I do not know, Laura. That last turn, something... something, I do not know how to say it, something punched me in the stomach."

"You felt it, too, then?" Laura told him, smiling mysteriously.

"You know what it was, seá±ora?"

"You know how people have been saying that dancing with me was really dancing with two people?"

"Si, it is silly."

"Maybe it is, Angel, but your _second_ dance partner just kicked you in the belly." She laughed. "I guess he likes doing the mazurka as much as you do."

"Tell him not to kick so high when he does," Angel replied, "or ask him for a little warning next time."

"I've been asking him that ever since he started kicking. He's as stubborn as... as I am."

* * * * *

Sunday, February 18, 1872

Carmen knocked gently on the bedroom door, then opened it a crack. "Wake up, Margarita."

"What time is it?" Maggie stretched and sat up.

Carmen stepped into the room, closing the door behind her. "Just after 8:30."

"8:30!" Maggie threw back the covers and scrambled out of bed. "Why did you let me sleep so late?"

"Because you needed it, working until after 2 last night for Shamus O'Toole."

"It is my job." She raised an eyebrow. "Besides, I work late every Saturday."

"So why did I let you sleep in today?" Carmen gave her a smile of satisfaction. "Because my brother, Gregorio, is not the easiest man to face the first thing in the morning."

Maggie crossed herself. "Madre de Dios, I almost forgot that he would be here."

"That is my point. He is not here." She chuckled. "He was never one for going to the church. That is why he did not meet us there last Sunday."

"Is he gone?" Please, Saints in Heaven, let him have gone home.

"Out, but not gone. He left a while ago for a ride around the town. He will most probably wind up at Sebastian Ortega's house. They gave been friends since they were as young as Ernesto. Sebastian also does not often go to the services on Sunday." She paused a moment for effect. "But before he left, he said that he would meet us at the O'Toole's home at two."

Maggie let out a sigh of relief. "I am safe until two, at least, but what will happen then?"

"Who can know? We can only pray for the best. In the meantime, you may be safe from Gregario, but Ramon is downstairs having breakfast -- yes, _I_ made breakfast this morning. We will be leaving for church in..." She looked at the small clock on the dresser. "...about thirty minutes. You are hardly ready to go anywhere with him." She look studied Maggie, who wore only her light, cotton nightdress and drawers. "At least, not to church."

* * * * *

"Be careful with the butter," Maggie warned. "Do not let it burn."

Jane gave the pot with the melting butter a quick stir. "Don't be so nervous. It ain't like I never melted butter before."

"I-I am sorry. This is so... I just want everything to be perfect."

"It will be." She put a hand on Maggie's arm for a moment. "Is the bread ready?"

"It should be." Jane stepped back from the stove, so Maggie could open the oven door.

"It is." Maggie used a pair of dishcloths to take a raised baking sheet full of toasted bread cubes from the oven. She turned and put it down on the worktable. "Pour out the butter over all the bread," Maggie told her.

Jane nodded and carefully drizzled the butter on the cubes. As soon as she had finished, Maggie sprinkled them with pine nuts and raisins. "Now the cheese."

"Halo, Margarita... Jane," Arnie interrupted, as Maggie reached for a small dish of grated cheese. "What are you making that smells so good?" He was carrying a tray of dirty glassware in from the saloon.

"Some kinda bread pudding," Jane answered. "For upstairs."

Maggie smiled. "Capirotada, it is called Jane, a treat for Lent."

"Ah, my favorite." Arnie put the tray down next to the sink. "Can I have a taste when it's ready?"

Maggie shook her head. "This is for... upstairs, Ramon and the rest of them."

"Me and you'll have whatever's left," Jane said cheerfully.

"But there will be nothing left if we do not finish making it." Maggie reached into the cooler and retrieved a glass jar filled with a reddish liquid.

Jane shook her head. "I still don't see how tomatoes and onions can be part of a dessert."

"Because they can." She unscrewed the jar. "They balance the pilocillo... the sugar, the cinnamon, and the anise. Now, pay attention, as I do this." She poured it over the bread.

Arnie watched the two women until he was sure that their attention was focused completely on the bread mixture. He stepped back over to sink and set the tray down on the counter. Some of the glasses in the tray still held liquid. He took a last look back at the cooks. They were still looking at the bread. "Cheers, ladies," he whispered and took a drink, then another.

That was enough to risk. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve and walked back into the bar.

* * * * *

"What are you knitting, Molly?" Maggie asked. They were in Molly's sitting room, waiting with Shamus.

Molly looked up. "A blanket for Laura's baby." She smiled broadly. "She's saying I'm t'be its grandma. Ain't that --"

A knock on the door stopped Molly.

"Ramon..." Maggie jumped to her feet and started towards the door.

Shamus stood in her way. "I'll be getting the door, Maggie. Ye go sit down like the lady ye are." When she didn't, he added. "Now!"

"S-Si, Shamus." Maggie sat quickly on the couch.

Shamus walked over and opened the door. "Carmen... Ramon... Whit... and Gregorio, o'course." He stepped back, making a broad gesture of welcome with his arm. "Come in and have yuirselves a good sit down."

"Thank you, Seá±or O'Toole," Gregorio said. They all walked in, and Ramon hurried over to take a seat next to Maggie. She smiled shyly, as he took her hand in his.

Molly stood up, her knitting stowed in the basket next to her chair. "Would any of ye be caring for some tea?"

"Wait, a bit, Love" Shamus told her. "I'm thinking that we'll be needing an answer from Gregorio before we're offering these folks tea... or anything else."

"That ain't very hospitable," Molly answered.

"'Tis no more so than the way Gregorio pushed himself into things last week."

Maggie shook her head. "No, Shamus, please. Do not do this."

"You are right to be afraid, Margarita," Gregorio told her. He sounded annoyed.

Suddenly Maggie could not hold in the building tension. She glared at Gregorio. "Afraid? Of you?" She snorted. "I have had it with you... with your arrogance."

"Say whatever you have to say, Gregorio," Ramon was still holding Maggie's hand. "But say it to the both of us."

Gregorio sneered. "As you wish." He paused for a moment, as if gathering his thoughts. "Ramon, I was very upset when I met this woman. It seemed to me that you were marrying a peasant, someone who was far, far beneath you." He stopped and looked directly at Maggie. "Then I discovered who... what she had been, and I was even more convinced that you should not marry her."

"Gregorio!" Carmen retorted, "you are wrong, so very wrong. Never have I seen you act so foolishly."

Gregorio frowned. "Carmen, how dare you say that to me, your brother?"

"How dare you say what you are saying to _your_ brother?" They stared fiercely at each other.

Ramon stepped between them. "Gregorio, I love Margarita, and I am marrying her. You are my brother, and I would like your blessing, but we will be married whether I get it or not."

"In that case, little brother, I have nothing more to say." He turned and walked through the still-opened door. At the last moment, he looked back and added, "for now." Then, the others watched him walk down the hall.

"Well, that went well," Whit said, forcing a smile.

Maggie held Ramon's hand in hers. "Did-did you mean what you said, Ramon, that you would marry me anyway?"

"Margarita." He could feel her trembling. "I never doubted that I would marry you. The only question was what Gregorio would think when I did."

She sighed. "He will not be very happy about it."

"He'll come around," Whit told her. "He hated the fact that his sweet, innocent little sister wanted to marry some damn fool gringo. Now here it is only a few years later, and he can almost tolerate me."

Carmen kissed her husband's cheek. "He does not see in you the qualities that I do."

"That's 'cause he don't bring 'em out the way that you do, Hon." Whit put an arm around his wife's waist and pulled her close.

Carmen laughed. "I have my ways. "Now if you will release me, Carida, we can start talking about the muhal... the bridal gift and the dowry."

* * * * *

Monday, February 19, 1872

Someone -- Emma suspected Hermione -- had brought a jump rope to school.

` "Emma and Yully
` Up in a tree,
` K-I-S-S-I-N-G.
` First comes Love,
` Then comes Marriage,
` Then comes _Yully_ with a baby carriage."

The girls' chant reached the side of the schoolhouse, where the boys were choosing captains for the week's ball game.

"Dang!" Yully flinched at the sound of his name. His penny fell the farthest from the target by more than a foot, his worst shot ever. He retrieved the pennies he'd used.

Hector Ybaá±es chuckled. "Looks like Bert and me is captains this week."

"You and Stephen best keep your minds off your girlfriends when we're playing." Bertram McLeod added, as he picked up his own pennies.

Yully tried not to show his anger. "They ain't our girlfriends."

"Then you won't care if Emma don't play," Hector said. Bert nodded in agreement.

"That ain't fair."

"See, she _is_ his girlfriend."

Stephen took a step towards Hector. "You're just mad 'cause she plays better than either of you."

"Does not!" Bert answered.

Stephen smiled. "Then prove it. Let her play, and we'll see who's the better player." Several other boys mumbled their accord

"All right; all right. She plays." Bert knew when he'd lost, but he wanted one last shot. "Yully's girlfriend plays."

* * * * *

Roscoe Unger waited until mid-morning before he went over to O'Hanlan's Feed and Grain. "Is Trisha -- Miss O'Hanlan -- around?" he asked a stocky Mexican who was unloading a crate of seed packets, arranging the packets into a display.

"In the office," Mateo told him, pointing to the door.

Roscoe walked over and knocked on the doorframe. "Trisha?"

"Come in, whoever it is," she answered from inside. "Oh, hello, Roscoe," she said when she saw him. "What can I do for you?"

He stepped in, not quite closing the door behind him. "I'm getting ready for tomorrow's issue of the paper. You hadn't given me that ad for the dance that you promised."

"Can't you just do one up yourself?"

Roscoe shook his head, looking embarrassed. "I... I'm not very good at writing ads. There was one I did, I... I don't want to think about it."

"What happened?"

"Mr. Silverman was having a sale on men's shirts. I sold him a half page ad." He made a broad gesture. "It read, 'Big Shirt Sale' in 18- point type."

"What's wrong with that?"

"When I ran off a proof copy -- that's the last thing you do before the big run of the paper -- I discovered that I'd... I'd left out the 'R'." He chuckled nervously.

Trisha thought for a moment, then she began to giggle. "Yes, I can see how that would be a problem, but..." She thought for a moment. "It didn't mean that the advertisement itself was bad."

"No, but it got me thinking. Silverman's having a big shirt sale, and 'Big Shirt Sale' is the best I can come up with. You could've done ten times better I'll bet."

"No, I couldn't." But even as she said it, a phrase, "Don't move, Gents; Silverman's got you covered", came to her mind.

"Sure you could." He smiled.

Trisha caught herself smiling back. "Well, I _was_ working on something for the dance." She took a sheet of paper out of the drawer and handed it to him.

"It's a house... no, a school. The school, but with its roof blown off. Oh, I get it. 'Raise the roof to help us raise the roof.' That's a nice play on words." He handed it back to her. "See, I said you were good at writing these things."

Trisha felt... something... pleasant run through her. "Thanks. I guess we'll use this for our ad."

* * * * *

"I wish to speak to the Reverend." Cecelia Ritter announced, as she stepped through the door and into the parlor of the Yingling house.

Martha Yingling looked up from her dusting. "He's in the kitchen. I'll --"

"Rather late for breakfast, I should think," Cecelia chided.

The Reverend walked in carrying two glasses. "It is indeed, Cecelia." He handed a glass to Martha. "I was just getting some lemonade. Would you care for a glass?"

"I've no time for lemonade," Mrs. Ritter sputtered. "Neither do you... considering."

Yingling's smile faded. "Considering what?" He gestured towards an open door. "Shall we go into my study?"

"We might as well stay right here." Cecelia smiled now that she was more in control of the situation. "What I have to say concerns you, too, Martha."

Martha raised an eyebrow. "Me? What are you talking about, Cecelia?"

"May I?" Mrs. Ritter sat down without waiting for permission. The Yinglings sat down opposite her on the settee and waited for her to continue.

She took a breath and began. "Your boy, Stephan. Last week -- Valentine's Day, it was -- he kissed a young girl."

Martha shook her head. "Are you certain of that? Our Stephan would never do something like that."

"I have no reason to doubt my Hermione. She saw the whole thing. He kissed one of those Mex brats we let go to the school." She groped for the name. "Diaz... yes, Ysabel Diaz."

Yingling's expression clouded. "I shall talk to the boy. Such behavior is totally uncalled for."

"I agree." Cecelia pressed her point. "Though, from what Hermione told me, it isn't entirely his fault -- or the Diaz girl's, either."

Martha took her husband's hand, bracing for even worse news -- or gossip. "Who's fault is it, then?"

"Emma O'Hanlan, that girl who used to be a boy; she's been throwing herself shamelessly at Phillipia Stone's boy, Ulysses. Hermione told me that Emma kissed him first. Then... then, she made the Diaz girl go over and flirt with your Stephan."

Martha tried very hard not to smile. 'Hermione's no better than her mother,' she thought. 'Cecelia's trying to make trouble because Yully Stone likes Emma.'

"I shall talk to my son." The Reverend stood up quickly. He didn't sound very happy. He took Cecelia's hand, gently pulling her to her feet. "Thank you for bringing this to my attention."

Cecelia looked flustered. "You... you're welcome."

"I am always glad to speak with a concerned parishioner." He was guiding her to the door. "Good day, then." He opened the front door, smiling politely.

Not knowing what else to do, Mrs. Ritter went out onto the porch. "Good day, Reverend... Martha." The reverend nodded and closed the door without a word.

"You handled her very well, my dear." Martha handed her husband his glass.

Yingling took a quick sip. "Practice, Martha, long years of practice." He took another sip. "I will have to talk to Stephan, though. He's been acting very oddly lately. If he did kiss the girl, it shows me just how badly things have turned."

* * * * *

Arsenio walked into the saloon just as Jane was bringing out a tray of sliced turkey for the Free Lunch. Laura and Dolores were standing next to the table waiting to get their midday meal.

"Arsenio," Laura greeted him. "What brings you over here?" She set down her plate and kissed him on the cheek.

Arsenio smiled and kissed her back. "That kiss was reason enough, but I came over to give you this telegram we just got." He handed her a Western Union envelope with her name written on it.

"Now, who..." She tore it open and read. "It's from Theo. He wanted to let me know that they got to Salt Lake City all right."

Arsenio raised an eyebrow. "It took a week to get there?"

"No..." Laura's face reddened. "Today was the first chance he got to send it. Lizzie want to... umm... make up for lost time on the stagecoach."

Arsenio chuckled. "Other than that, what's he say?"

"Staying over another day," Laura skimmed the telegram. "Waiting for an eastbound train -- I hope they're getting a sleeper." She giggled. "He says I should take care on myself... and the baby"

Arsenio put his arm around her. "I'll make sure of that."

"Oh, and he says to say hi to his new sister, Jane." She folded the telegram and put it in her apron pocket. "That's about it."

"What does he mean, 'new sister'?" Dolores asked. "You have been sisters all your lives."

"No, we ain't," Jane said cheerfully. "Till I took that potion last summer, I was --"

"Jane!" Laura and Arsenio both yelled. "Be quiet."

She looked at the pair of them. "Wha... what'd I say?"

"You started to say something about some kind of a potion," Dolores replied slowly. "Something that your _sister_ did not want you to say."

Jane looked nervously at Laura who gave her a harsh look in return. "Then I guess I better not say it," Jane replied.

"No, you shouldn't," Arsenio added. "Besides, it's time to eat, not talk. "

Laura sighed and took an extra slice of turkey for the sandwich she was building. This wasn't going to be the quiet lunch she'd been hoping for.

* * * * *

` "Go dig my grave both wide an' deep,
` Place a marble stone at my head an' feet,
` An' on my breast place a turtle dove
` To show the world I died of love."

Jessie stretched out the last note of her song. There was some applause as she finished, but not as much as she'd gotten used to.

Nobody threw coins.

She decided to make the best of it. "All right, then, anybody got a request?"

"I ain't got a request," Molly called out from where she was standing by the bar. "But I got me a question."

Jessie looked around. No one else spoke. "What's your question, Molly? Is it about a song?"

"In a way, aye, it is." She took a breath. "So far t'night, ye sang 'Red River Valley' and this last song."

"That's right. What's your question?"

Molly pressed on. "Last night, ye sang 'Lorena' and 'Jeannie -- Jimmy with the Light Brown Hair'."

"So?"

"So? By all the blessed Saints, Jessie," Molly asked, "don't ye know any _happy_ songs anymore?"

* * * * *

Tuesday, February 20, 1872

Shamus was taking a break, reading the paper and having a cup of coffee. "You seem in good mood this morning, Shamus," R.J. observed. "You get to the piece about the big poker game, yet?"

"I was just reading it now," Shamus answered. "One thousand dollar t'be buying in, twelve hours of table stakes poker; it sounds t'be a game they'll be talking about around here for years and years."

R.J. gave a wry smile. "It does at that. Too bad it'll cut into the profits from that night's dance. A lot of our regulars are going to be watching to see who wins."

"Och, didn't I tell ye, R.J.? Thuir won't be a dance that night. Abner Slocum's paying t'be using me saloon for the game."

"Then we're really going to lose money." R.J cocked an eyebrow. "You don't seem very upset about it. When you heard about the church dance, you were --"

"That dance cost me money. I'm expecting t'be _making_ a tidy sum from this here poker game."

"Abner is paying that much for a table?"

"More'n just the table. Abner's paying Maggie and me t'be having the kitchen open in case any of them high rollers gets hungry, not t'be mentioning that he's picking up thuir bar tabs."

"That still won't make up for all the men who'd pay at a dance."

"And they'll still be paying. I won't be _closing_ me saloon, just roping off a space for them big shots t'be playing. All them others -- and I expect thuir'll be a _lot_ of 'em -- can stand around and watch the game."

R,J, laughed. "And watching a poker game can be thirsty work."

"Aye, lad," Shamus said happily, "it surely can."

* * * * *

Father de Castro stopped sweeping when he saw Ramon and Maggie walk into the church. "Welcome, my children. What brings you here?" He noted their nervousness and the way they were holding hands. "Some good news, I should say."

"Si, Padre," Ramon answered. "Margarita and I... I asked her to marry me, and she said, 'Yes.' We are going to be married."

"That is good news, very good news," the priest said. "My congratulations to you both."

"Thank you, Padre. We came to ask... when she formally accepts my proposal this Sunday, can we do it here at the church?"

"Of course. I can think of nothing that would please me more -- except to officiate at your wedding. When will that joyous event be? You cannot be married during Lent, of course."

Maggie smiled shyly. "We thought... the Sunday after Easter."

"A good time." De Castro told her. "And we can do the betrothal ceremony right after Mass on Sunday; you can give Margarita her bridal gift out in the garden by the side of the church."

Maggie smiled and looked at Ramon, "That would be perfect."

"Any day that you agree to become my wife _is_ perfect." He smiled and took her hand. He raised it to his lips and kissed it before letting go.

The priest nodded. "And who will be here to bear witness on this 'perfect' day of yours?"

My sister, Carmen, and her husband, will represent my family," Ramon answered. "And Sebastian Ortega will stand in for my godfather."

Maggie hesitated. "My children, of course. My sister and brother-in- law back in Mexico do not know that I am a woman. Molly and Shamus acted as my family during Ramon's peticion de mano."

"It is fitting that they be with us on Sunday," Ramon told her. "Molly is very much of a mother to you, and Shamus; did he not call himself the 'father of the bride' at Laura's wedding?"

"Then they should be here, as well," Father de Castro said. "To make it _three_ miracles."

"Three?" Maggie said. "I do not understand."

"The first, the greatest is the love that the two of you feel for each other. Such a love is truly a miracle and a blessing from our Lord. As to the others, I have always thought that it would take a miracle to get Shamus O'Toole _or_ Sebastian Ortega to come to the Sunday mass."

* * * * *

Stephan Yingling knocked on the doorframe to his father's office. "Mother said that you wanted to see me, sir."

"Yes, I did." He put down his pen. "Please shut the door behind you and take a seat. He waited while the boy did as he was told. "I heard a disturbing report about you yesterday. It seems that you have been acting in a lasciv... an improper manner towards one of your classmates."

"I'm afraid that I don't understand."

"Did you or did you not kiss one of the young ladies in your class?"

Stephan blushed. "Oh, that. Actually, Ysabel... umm, she kissed me." He rubbed his cheek. "I was too surprised to do anything."

"But you wanted to kiss her, didn't you?"

"She's a pretty girl, sir. You told me about girls and the birds and the bees when we had that... talk last year. I like Ysabel -- as a friend. I wouldn't do anything to disrespect her."

"I should hope not. If any word of your actions should reach Dr. Collier at the academy..." And Cecelia Ritter was just the sort of woman to do something like that. "...it could hinder your admission."

"Wouldn't want that." Stephan tried to keep the irony out of his voice.

He failed; the Reverend heard it all too well. "You _will_ be going to the academy, Stephan, and on to the seminary after that. My mind is set regarding your career."

"Even if my mind isn't... sir?"

"It will be. You will follow your brother and myself into the ministry and lifelong service to our Lord. _That_ is irrevocable fact." He paused for a moment. "What translation are you working on, now?"

"Just finishing up Cicero."

"I think that you'll do something of Terence next, 'Brothers', I think, and I'll expect five pages a week."

"That's... that's quite a lot."

"It will keep your mind occupied, which is as important in your increased fluency in Latin and rhetoric. I would like to keep you away from the young lady in question -- and her intemperate friend, Emma. But that is not possible without taking you out of school, which I will not do. You will, however, have nothing more to so with her than what your class work requires of you."

"Sir, I don't think that you're being fair."

"No sinner ever knows how just his punishment truly is." He gave a dismissive wave of his hand. "You may go now. We both have work that we must attend to."

"Sir, please..."

"Go, Stephan." Yingling picked up his pen and resumed work. He didn't even look up at his son as he worked.

The boy sighed and left.

* * * * *

"Here are the plates, Jane." Dolores put a stack of dishes on the table Jane was setting up for the evening's dinner crowd.

Jane took one from the stack and put it down between the knife and fork that were already on the table. "How come you brought these out instead of Arnie?"

"I wanted to talk to you." She looked around quickly. "About what you started to say yesterday."

Jane frowned and swallowed hard. "Laura said I shouldn't talk about that."

"You do not have to tell her we talked about it. She is at home now, having dinner with her husband." Dolores didn't add that she had deliberately waited until that evening when she knew that Laura wouldn't be there to stop Jane from talking.

"What do you want to know for?"

"Because ever since I came to Eerie, I have had the feeling that there is some sort of secret in this saloon. People are careful about what they say whenever they see me. They at once start to talk about something else. Something happened here that people do not trust me to know about. Or are they trying to protect me from something that could hurt me if I found out about it?"

"It ain't you, Dolores, but if the wrong person found out the secret, he could spread it around, and that'd hurt other people. Molly's told me more'n once how bad it could be."

Dolores was quiet for a moment, wondering how many people were involved in whatever had happened. "Molly does not seem like the sort of person who would deceive a friend for no reason. What could be so bad that it would hurt many people?" She asked haltingly, "Was someone -- killed?"

"Oh, tarnation, no. The potion stopped folks from being killed."

"Is it a medicine then, something that saves people's lives?"

"I don't know that it saves lives so much as changes 'em."

"Changes lives, what do you mean? I vow on the virgin's tears that I will not say anything that could hurt anyone. If my friends here trust me so little, maybe I should find another job."

Jane touched Dolores' hand. "No, for Pete's sake, don't do that. Me 'n' you is friends, and I'd miss you if you wasn't around!"

Dolores sighed. "I do not want to go, unless I have to. Just tell me, what is so important about this medicine you took? Were you so sick or hurt that you had to take it?"

Dolores could see that her questions were causing a struggle inside Jane. Finally the other young woman said, "It does save people's lives sometimes, but in a funny way."

"Jane, dulcita, you are not making very much sense. If this medicine did not help you, why did you take it?"

The blonde shook her head. "The Judge said I had t'take it for what I done."

"The Judge said? How did a judge become involved? What did you do?"

Jane looked down at the floorboards. "If I told you, you might not want to be friends no more."

Dolores smiled encouragingly. "That cannot be, Jane. Everyone you know must already know what happened, and they still want to be your friends. Why do you suppose that I would be any different?"

"It'll sound like a tall tale. It takes a little getting used to."

The senorita stroked Jane's cheek with her fingers. "Coming to Los Estados Unidos I have to get used to new things all the time. Did you hurt someone, querida? Is that what you are afraid to have anyone know?"

"I reckon I did hurt somebody -- a little. I -- me and Toby -- we took Jessie and Laura up to our claims up in the mountains. We didn't mean no harm; we thought they was sweet on us."

Dolores took a step back. "You and this Toby, you were the sort of women that... that like other women?"

Jane arched her neck indignantly. "Hellfire no. We was men." She flexed her arm as if making a muscle. "_Real_ men, if you knows what I mean, even if Toby 'n' me was both pushing 50."

Dolores stared into her friend's face, amazed. "I think you have having a burla... a joke with me," she finally said.

"I'm saying that it was the potion that changed me. Didn't you ever read about things like that happening in stories?"

The brunette felt at a loss for words. She knew that Jane had a childlike nature and might easily go off into flights of fancy. But this was much worse than she had suspected. "Are you talking about magic? I hope not, because there is no such thing."

"Maybe not in most places," Jane replied firmly, "but there's more 'n a little magic right here in Eerie."

Dolores sighed again. 'Is that the secret?' she thought, 'that Jane is a little loca, and her friends do not want others to find out how badly off she is?' Deciding to get the whole story out of her companion, Dolores asked, "Did Toby take this magic potion, also?"

Jane shook her head. "No, he... he died. They said it was a accident." She shrugged. "Maybe it was."

"And you say that this medicine -- this potion, it changed you into a woman, into Laura's sister? Increá­ble... unbelievable."

"The magic makes you look like the prettiest gal you ever seen. I was sweet on Laura, and 'cause of that, I looked so much like her, once I took that potion, that she said we was twins."

Now it was Dolores' turn to shake her head. "It just is not possible. Jane, carida, is it not more likely that you have just dreamed all this? What do you say to your friends when they tell you it is not true?"

"That's just it. They all know that it _is_ true. You can ask anybody. You can even tell 'em I told you."

* * * * *

"Did you see that advertisement for the dance in today's paper?" Kaitlin asked, taking a bite of the fried chicken she'd made for that night's supper.

Trisha tried not to smile. "Was it any good?"

"It was an excellent piece of work. The 'hens' were all talking about it at Ortega's market this afternoon."

"The ladies liked it, did they?"

"They did. Naomi Cates told me her husband, Jubal, even admitted that _he_ thought it was good."

Trisha chuckled. "And him one of Horace's men." She ate a forkful of beans, then continued. "Anyway. I'm glad you liked it. Seeing as _I_ wrote it."

"You?"

"Why not me. I always enjoyed writing the advertisements for the Feed and Grain. Besides, this dance is real important to me. I need it to be a big success."

"I'm sure it will be."

"Truth to tell, you're doing more work on it than I am, organizing all those committees and such."

"Thank you for noticing, but it was, still, your idea to raise the money with a dance."

"It was." She took a breath. "That's why I decided to take your advice and get a dress."

"Wonderful. We can go to Silverman's tomorrow."

"I... ahh, with all that work you're doing, I didn't want you to have to work on a dress for me, too."

"Alter it, you mean, so it would fit your b... so it would fit you better."

"Uh huhn. I'm going to go over to Rylands' and see if they can fix me one in time."

"Be careful when you go there, Trisha. I've heard stories about Enoch Ryland."

"Stories, what kind of stories?"

"Some of the ladies say he can get a bit too... familiar... with his hands, I mean."

"Not with me he won't." She smirked, sure of her ability to handle herself, even in her new form.

Kaitlin nodded gravely. "Oh, of course not. He knows your background. He wouldn't dare."

* * * * *

Wednesday, February 21, 1872

"Here's yuir lunch, Paul," Molly said, carrying the tray into the Sheriff's office."

Paul cleared room for it on the desk. "How come you brought it, Molly? Usually one of the waitresses brings it over."

"Aye, but t'day it's me that brought it, and brought a question with it, I did."

"I thought so." He made a sour face. "All right, ask your question. Or should I ask it for you?'

"Ask... if ye're so sure that ye know what I'd be asking?"

"Jessie. You want to know what the problem is between her and me. Am I right?"

"Aye. And now that ye've asked the question, why don't ye be answering it?"

"It-it's hard to explain. Let's just say that I couldn't be what she wouldn't be herself."

"Well that's clear... clear as mud. Just what in the name of all the Blessed Saints are ye talking about?"

"Look, Molly. I know that you're trying to help, and I appreciate it. You just pass what I said on to Jess. You may not understand what I'm saying --"

"Ye're danged right I don't."

"No, but she will. At least, I hope she will."

"And if she does?"

"Then we can talk. With a little luck we can settle the whole thing."

"And what if she don't understand -- or she don't _want_ t'be understanding?"

"Then..." He took a deep breath. "...we'll both be the worst for it."

* * * * *

"Find anything?" Enoch pushed back the curtain and stepped into the fitting room.

Trisha held up the album she'd been looking through. Each page had a color picture of a woman in a gown. The price and possible variations in color, trim, and length and shape of the sleeve were listed. "This one; it's the prettiest dress I've ever seen."

"May I have a look?" He stepped around and looked over her shoulder. The dress was gold-colored, with dark gold trim. It was sleeveless, with a low neckline that would show off her bosom to good effect. The bodice was tight before it flowed out into a full skirting. The matching overskirt split into two, long apron-like overskirts, front and back, tied together with three large bows on each side.

Trisha didn't know why -- and her own feelings surprised her -- but if she had to wear a fancy dress in public, this is the sort of dress she wanted to wear.

Enoch nodded in agreement. 'This is just the sort of dress a frivolous, flirt of a girl might wear,' he thought. 'You may have started out as Patrick O'Hanlon, but I'd say more than your body has changed. Let's just see how much like sweet, _horny_ Wilma Hanks you are now.'

"A very good choice," he continued aloud. "I'd suggest you do your hair the way the woman in the picture has hers." He touched the back of her head, then gently ran a finger down the length of her neck. "Long ringlets trailing down to your shoulders."

"Do you -- ooh -- think so?" She shivered at the sensations his stroking finger sent through her.

He noticed. And smiled. "I do. I warn you, though, that dress'll cost about $75. Do you want to spend that much?"

"$75. That... that's a lot of money."

"You could always, well, go to Silverman's," he said without any real conviction. "Aaron does have a lot of dresses."

"Yes, but, with my... shape..." Her small hands made a gesture, as if to point out her lush bosom, narrow waist, and broad hips. "His dresses... they just don't fit me right."

She paused in thought, looking at the picture again. "This dress here, it's so pretty... and it would be my first _real_ dress. The whole idea of a dance was mine. I _have_ to look my best." She nodded her head once, quickly. Her mind was made up. "Yes, _that's_ my dress."

"Fine, then. Please take off your blouse and skirt... your corset and petticoat, too."

Her eyes widened in surprise, and her hand rose again, fingers wide, to just above her bosom. "What? Why?"

"So I can take the measurements I need to sew that gown." Then he cocked his head to one side and said, "there's no need to be apprehensive; it stands to reason that you wouldn't be used to dress fittings."

Trisha didn't care for the idea that she might be acting more timidly than an ordinary woman. "That makes sense... I guess." She stood up slowly and began to unbutton her blouse. As she did, she glanced over and saw Enoch watching her. Despite her determination to remain calm, his expression made her... uneasy.

"O-out," she said softly, almost a whisper, adding, "please. I-I'll call you when I'm r-ready."

The tailor nodded. "I'll be just outside." He walked through the curtain, the album under his arm, and closed the curtain behind him.

Trisha took off her blouse. A wooden clothes rack stood against one wall, with a number of hangers dangling on the crossbar. She hung the blouse on one and started on her skirt.

Her skirt -- and her petticoat -- were soon placed on two other hangers. Her corset took a while longer. "Too damn many hooks," she muttered, as she draped the garment over the crossbar.

She closed her eyes for a moment, readying herself. "Y-you can come back in now."

Enoch walked in carrying a cloth measuring tape and a small notepad. He looked at her and smiled broadly. "Let's start at the top with that pretty neck of yours."

"You know best. Like you said, I never got measured for a dress before. Only a suit, and that was for my confirmation when I was 14."

"It's very much the same for a dress. Now hold still." He laid the end of the tape on the side of her neck, holding it there with a finger, while he carefully wrapped it around her with his other hand. It reached the starting point. He let it go and made a note on the pad. "Now, that didn't hurt, did it?" he asked.

"No... not really."

"Not really. You mean, it hurt a little? Well, let me fix that." He stepped in close behind her and, to her surprise, kissed her softly at the place where he had held the tape. Trisha's eyes opened wide in surprise.

"What? Why did you do that?"

"I didn't mean to startle you. Umm... raise your right arm straight out from your shoulder and hold it there."

Bemused, she did as he asked. He put the end of the tape at the midpoint between her shoulder blades and ran it out, flat against her, to the shoulder. He stopped for a moment to look at the tape, then he continued on, stopping when he reached her elbow.

He was standing _very_ close. Trisha could feel his breath on her bare skin, especially where the skin was still moistened from his kiss. When he took the tape away, he kissed her shoulder, just above the neckline of her camisole and nearest to where he had held the tape. He kissed her again at the other spot.

"Do -- do you kiss every woman you fit a dress for?" she asked stumblingly.

"No, of course not," he replied with an admiring smile. "Only the special ones like you. Now, raise your other arm, please," he told her, not waiting for her to say anything more. He started the tape in the small of her back, brought it around under her left arm, across her front just above her breasts, and back around under the right arm to where it began.

As he had reached it around her, he had slid his fingertip against the fabric of her camisole and across her breasts. She felt a pleasant warmth grow in her body and, distracted by it, she let him continue.

"A little lower this time," he said. He let go of the end of the tape and kissed her neck again. It seemed that this kiss lasted a bit longer.

When he brought the tape under her arm, he placed it on her breasts, right atop her nipples. He used his free hand to check the placement, leaning over her shoulder, blowing a puff of warm breath on the moist spots on the base of her neck.

She felt his body against hers. His hand was on her breasts, his fingers playing with her nipples. She could feel them stiffen at his touch as he maneuvered the tape.

"Mmm," Enoch said, "You smell very nice, Trisha. That rose scent suits you." He kissed her neck again.

The warmth flowed though her. "Oooh," she sighed and let her head roll backward. "Th-thank yooou." He brought the tape under her right arm and moved his head to look at the number.

Then, all of a sudden, he was kissing her neck, her shoulder again. Both hands were upon her breasts now, caressing them, kneading them, and playing with her nipples. She shivered at the sensations that she was feeling, a warm flush that took her voice away.

Her bedroom sessions with Kaitlin had shown Trisha the physical delights of having a female body. Kaitlin had ended their intimacy weeks before, and Rev. Yingling's pronouncement that the two women were no longer married had sabotaged any chance of their starting ever again. Now, Enoch's hands and mouth were reminding her of what she had been missing and how much she wanted, no, how much she _needed_ to feel once again what her former wife had caused her to experience.

'This is just what Kaitlin warned me about,' she told herself, 'but it feels so...' She shivered as Enoch rubbed a rough fingertip over her right nipple and gave a gasp that resolved into a soft moan. 'Besides, what harm can a little touching do?'

"Moving down..." he took his hands from her breasts and came around in front of her. "Measure your waist next." He knelt down and looped the tape around her. After he had written the number in his pad, he reached over and lifted the bottom of her camisole, exposing her flat stomach.

"What are you... oh... ohh!" Enoch's tongue flicked in and out of her navel. Trisha moaned again and swayed slightly, unsteady on her feet. It felt so incredibly intimate. Kaitlin had never done anything like this to her, and Trisha's mind reeled at the warm shivers that ran through her body.

He stood up and put his arms around her waist. Up against her, he felt like a mountain of strength. Was that how Patrick had made Kaitlin feel? Her eyes were dazed and only half-opened. She looked up at Enoch and tried to speak. He silenced her by nibbling her lips.

Trisha straightened with a lurch, her body instinctively stretching itself, as if to prolong the intense feelings she was experiencing. Her hands trembled, then, as if of their own accord, her arms rose up to circle around him.

He was acting even better -- worse -- than Kaitlin had warned her about. Trisha was sure that she could make him stop, but wasn't quite so sure that she wanted him to. Not quite yet, anyway. She had up to now thought that it would feel awful to be touched in such a way by a male. But....

"_That_ was real nice," Enoch said when he broke the kiss. "We can get back to it after I finish with this." He smiled and held up the cloth tape. She nodded, her voice stolen away by the sudden intensity of what she realized was her arousal.

He placed the tape a couple inches down from her waist and ran it around behind her. A finger ran along her hip as he moved the tape around. He managed somehow to give a gentle squeeze to each buttock as well. Trisha leaned her head on her left shoulder as each squeeze sent a tingling through her body, and made her breath come in panting gasps.

He noted the measurement in the pad with the others, then he put one end of the tape at her navel. He ran it down to the floor. "Waist to ground," he explained. As he moved the tape slowly down her leg, he slid a fingernail along her skin. She trembled as the sensations flowed through her, especially since, they all seemed to converge at her groin.

"I hope that didn't hurt." He moved the tape away. "But if it did..." He kissed her navel again, flicking his tongue in and out.

Her knees were going weak. She put her hands on his shoulders -- his broad, masculine shoulders -- to steady herself.

"Inseam last," he told her. "Please stand with your feet apart."

She complied, not thinking about why he needed to measure the inseam for a dress. She was curious... ready... _eager_ for whatever he would do next.

Enoch started the tape at the bottom of her right shoe and ran it upward. Again, his fingernail slid against her skin as he moved his hand, and, again, she trembled.

She trembled more when he reached her crotch. He took a quick look at the tape, and, when he dropped it, his hand remained. She felt his fingers through the soft muslin of her drawers, as they caressed the entrance to her feminine core. She gasped, savoring this new and rare experience.

"May I?" he asked. She looked down. His fingers held the ribbons that pulled her drawers tight at her waist.

Undress her? She was about to say, "No", when he ran a fingernail down one side of her feminine slit and up the other. "Y-y-yes!" she hissed the word without thinking, then added, "Ooh, pl-please."

He yanked at the bow before she could change her mind. It came undone, and her drawers fell in a heap around her ankles.

Enoch leaned in and kissed her navel again. At the same time, his fingertip slowly -- oh, so slowly -- stroked her nether lips. His touch was flint on steel, setting off dozens of sparks of pleasure that shot through her body. How could a man make her feel this way? It seemed so wrong, but it felt so right....

She closed her eyes to shut out the world -- and there was nothing in the darkness except those sparks like a sprinkle of stardust a trail of stars leading the way to the womenhood she was now, oh, so ready, so eager to accept.

He kissed her navel one last time. Then the kisses moved down her flesh, moving an inch at a time towards her crotch. He mixed the kisses with gentle bites and his lapping tongue. Lordy, he was so much better at this than Kaitlin. Trisha was quivering, barely able to stand, when he finally reached her soft patch of curls there between her legs.

But he didn't kiss it. Instead, he blew a puff of air, then another, at it. The curls fluttered in his breeze, exciting her more than she could have imagined. He moved closer, and she felt his tongue dart into her, exploring the tender tissue inside, as she gave a shudder and a small cry.

Her eyes suddenly went wide. His tongue had found its target. She felt it brush against her small nub of flesh. She was moist and warm down there. It was a rapturous warmth, that built and built and built, until sizzling pinwheels of energy spun through every part of her body.

All at once, it was like he had pulled her trigger. Her hands flailed at his head. Her body shook and spasmed. She heard a woman's voice -- her own -- shrieking. Her legs gave way. The last thing she knew was her fall into darkness.

* * * * *

Emma hurried, wanting to be outside the school, waiting when Hermione came out. "I wanna talk t'you, Hermione Ritter."

"Well, I certainly don't wish to talk to you." She tried to ignore the other girl.

Emma grabbed her arm. "No, you'd rather talk behind my back."

"You leave her alone, you horrid girl," Eulalie McKecknie scolded.

"This ain't your business, Lallie," Emma answered. "Go away."

"No," Eulalie said, trying to sound brave. "You go away... Patches." It was the insult from months before, back when Emma was still wearing boy's clothing.

Hermione pulled her arm free and stepped next to her friend. "Yes, _Patches_, go home." She took a breath. "Nobody wants you here."

"I do." Ysabel Diaz stepped in next to Emma.

"You would," Hermione taunted. "You're as bad as she is."

Penelope Stone was suddenly standing next to Ysabel. "What about me, Hermione? I'm Emma's friend, too."

"Even after she went and kissed your brother?" Hermione taunted. "I thought you Stones were proper people."

"That's what this is all about, ain't it?" Emma asked. "It's all 'cause Yully likes me more'n he likes you."

"If it is, you can both stop." Yully stood a few feet away, a scowl on his face. "Last thing I need is a couple of silly girls fighting over me."

Emma turned and stood blinking at him. None of the girls' taunts had stung worse than Yully's words. "But... but I thought," she stammered. "I thought you liked me."

Yully shook his head. "I do. I like you just the same way that I liked you when you were Elmer, as a _friend_."

"Th-that's all?" Emma asked, keeping her voice as steady as she could.

Yully smiled. "I admit that I admired how hard you worked to keep playing ball, but then..." His smile became a grin. "...I always thought Elmer was a stubborn cuss."

"You like me in a different way, though; don't you, Yully?" Hermione smiled in triumph.

Stephan Yingling now stepped up cautiously and listened from couple steps away. "Not that much, Hermione," Yully answered without looking at any of the girls. "Not that much at all. Let's go, Stephan." The boys began walking and never looked back until they were out of the schoolyard.

* * * * *

Trisha's eyes fluttered open. "Mmmm," she said, delighting in the feeling of warm honey flowing though every part of her body.

"Awake at last." Enoch sounded rather smug.

She looked up at him. She was lying on a bed, she realized. She stretched, feeling the cool sheet against her... her _bare_ skin. "What!" She was wide-awake, now, looking down at herself. She wore her camisole, but it was unbuttoned and pulled back to expose her pillowy breasts and her still erect nipples. All she had on below her waist were her green and black-stripped stockings. "How... how did I..."

"You fainted. I thought that you'd be more comfortable in a bed than on the floor. You weren't out for very long," he explained, a grin on his face. "My room's right next to the fitting rooms." He paused a moment. "Now that you're awake, we can continue." He slid a finger across a breast, tickling her.

"Continue; with measuring me for the dress, you mean?" He couldn't mean anything else, could he? She felt vulnerable in a way she never had before. At the same time, what he'd done... what he was _doing_ to her left her weak as a kitten, unable to even shift her body away from him.

If she had wanted to.

"I have all the numbers that I need for the dress," he told her. "It'll be ready for a fitting in about a week." He looked down at her breasts. "But I know how _happy_ getting a new party dress makes you. Now it's your turn to make _me_ happy."

He took her hand and moved it towards him. She touched something, something long and hard and _very_ male.

Trisha looked over at him. Enoch was naked below the waist, and his maleness pointed back up at her. She -- her eyes went wide -- she was holding it. "No!" She pulled her hand away as if from a live snake.

He bent over and tried to kiss her. When she turned away from him, he kissed her cheek, her jaw line, on down her neck to her shoulder. Kisses mixed with tiny love nips. The next thing she knew, he was sucking her nipple, rolling his tongue over it, and gently biting. What little resistance she possessed melted away like ice in July, overwhelmed by passions he was arousing in her.

He still held her one hand, but his other was playing with her breast, kneading its soft flesh, tweaking the nipple. A heat grew. His touch simultaneously kindled heat in her breasts and down between her legs. She writhed and moaned as a tide of exquisite pleasure washed through her.

It struck her that she was being unfaithful to Kaitlin, but she dismissed that thought almost at once. Kaitlin was a woman, like her - _like_ _her_! - she luxuriated in the thought, wrapping it around her like a blanket. Enoch was a _man, a man who was doing wondrous, _carnal_ things to her.

He moved her hand, and, of their own will, her fingers curled back around his firmness.

He glided his hand down her flesh and ran a finger across her nether curls. "You're ready, more than ready, Trisha. Such a lovely name; everything about you is lovely."

She was so lost in the fires building in her body that she didn't realize what he was saying until he joined her on the bed, and her grip on him fell away. He gently moved her legs apart -- she didn't resist -- and took his place in between them.

Her lower lips parted, and she felt him slide into her -- such a strange new sensation. She gasped at a sudden tearing, but the pain was washed away by the thrilling sense of being filled where instinct told her she should be filled. He was full in now, deep enough that she could feel the touch of his balls against her flesh. Was this what a woman felt, what Patrick had made Kaitlan feel? She began to wonder, but Enoch's irresistible energy was giving her no time to think.

"Ahhh," she moaned as he moved, first out, and then in, and back out again. Being treated this way was startling, but she savored the pleasure of it all. His stroking was like the piston of a train, irresistibly building a pressure inside her.

"Yes... yes," the words came out in a hiss. Her hands, desperate with need, clawed at his back. Her legs wrapped around him, pulling him closer, making everything so much more intense.

She felt wicked, as if she were tasting the Forbidden Fruit, gaining knowledge that she, as Patrick, was never meant to know. She had never dreamed of wanting this, to be taken by a man. Now, it seemed impossible to desire anything else. All she knew was that he _was_ taking her. The world shrank down to just his cock and the wonders, the mysteries that he was causing her to know.

Then, she... _burst_!

Her voice rose in a steam whistle shriek, and her body spasmed, unable to hold in all the excitement of mind and body that that was boiling within her. This time, she fought hard not to faint. This was far, far, too good for her to leave it behind in darkness.

Enoch wasn't finished. He kept up that incredible, masterful movement. She wouldn't have imagined it, not in this world, but he was exciting her to an even higher pitch. It was like he was working sorcery upon her, and she screamed out again in wordless delight.

In the midst of it, she heard him groan. He tensed and spurted within her. She felt a fierce, joyous rush, like a tumble down a heated waterfall, as they collapsed together on the bed.

While Trisha lay there, trying to remember how to breathe, he slid off of her, slid out of her. He pulled her to him and gently kissed her forehead. She could feel his arms around her as the pleasure of what had happened to her settled into a happy glow, and she could barely hold back from laughing.

He kissed her again and stood up. "I think I can see my way clear to knock that dress down to $50." He said it with a chuckle and then added, "When you get up, there's a basin of water and a towel over on the dresser. Your clothes are there, too."

"You're... you're leaving?" That thought alarmed her somehow.

He nodded. "I have to get back to my business. So do you, I suspect."

"The store... Liam..." She scrambled to her feet. Something damp ran down her thigh, and she felt her cheeks warm in embarrassment. She stepped over to the washbasin and picked up the terrycloth towel. "What can I tell him?"

He was already in his drawers. "I'm sure you'll think of something." He stepped into his pants and pulled them up, adjusting his suspenders. "I wouldn't advise the truth, though." He sat down on the bed and pulled on a pair of boots. "Brothers tend to think of their sisters as children, and you're anything but that."

"I, uhh, agree." She moistened a corner of the towel and used it to dab at her leg, then further up.

"Good girl." He stood and kissed her on the cheek. "Don't forget, come in a week from today for the fitting. Maybe we can find the time..." He let the rest of the sentence lapse, as he gave a gentle squeeze to her breast. "Till then, goodbye."

He turned and walked out of the room, closing the door behind him.

* * * * *

Things weren't busy for the moment in the saloon. Dolores sat down on a barstool to catch her breath. After a moment, she heard, "A penny for your thoughts, Dolores."

Dolores turned on the stool at the sound of her name. "A penny? What do you mean, R.J.?"

"Just an expression. You've just been too quiet the last couple days," R.J. explained. "I was wondering if something was bothering you."

"I did not think that you had noticed," she answered. "I did not think that you ever noticed anything -- except Bridget."

"I watch pretty much everything that goes on in here. It's part of a barman's job, to watch and not be noticed doing it. I look out for any hint of trouble and keep it from getting out of hand." He gave her a sheepish grin. "Of course, I might have an extra reason or two for keeping track of Bridget."

"Si, I suppose that you might."

"You still haven't answered my question. Why've you been so quiet?"

"That foolish, foolish story that Jane told me. I keep turning it over and over in my mind, trying to understand, but even after two days, I cannot."

"What story?"

"How could anyone with an ounce of sense believe that she was once a man."

R.J. chuckled. "Did Jane say that Laura was once a man, too?"

"Dios mio, no! She at least spared me that much nonsense."

The barman looked at her intently, wondering whether she could be trusted. He thought she could be, but, regardless, she was going to find out about the potion ladies sooner or later, working here herself. Surely the people whom she lived with knew about them, too.

"Well, you can believe it. I saw them both get changed. Laura was a wiry man, not too tall, with dark brown hair. He looked a lot like Laura's sister, the one that came visiting a couple of weeks ago."

Dolores regarded him suspiciously. "And Jane, I suppose that she... he... whatever... was his twin."

"Not hardly, and they weren't kin, either. Jake was a lot older -- nearly 50, I think. He was tall and real skinny, with a gray beard and long, gray hair."

"And how is it that Seá±or Shamus has the power to turn these two very different men into twin girls?"

R.J. shrugged. "Shamus says his potion is a mix of old Irish magic and something he learned from the Indians -- he was raised by the Cheyenne, by the way. He won't tell anybody anything more about it." He thought for a moment. "And it wasn't just Laura and Jane, y'know."

"It was not?"

"Jessie and Maggie and, well, Bridget. They all were men."

Dolores shook her head in disbelief. "Maggie... Margarita was a man? It cannot be." Were people trying to have a strange joke with her, or had she actually lost Ramon to a man? Even now that she had accepted the loss, that she had _given_ him to Margarita, this was too much.

"R.J., mi amigo, you are carrying a bad joke too far."

"It's true." He pointed to the door to the kitchen. "She's in there. Go ask."

"I... I need time before I can do that, time to... to think."

"Wish I could give it to you, Dolores, but three men just sat down over at one of the tables. You better go see what they want t'drink."

* * * * *

"And just what d'ye think ye're doing there, Arnie?"

The boy started, he carefully put the glass back in the tray and turned to face, "Seá±or Shamus, I-I did not hear you come in."

"Ye wasn't supposed to." Shamus sighed. "Seems t'me we've had this conversation before, ain't we?"

"Wh-what do you mean?"

"Drinking, lad. Ye was gonna drink the whiskey left in that there glass, wasn't ye?"

Caught, he tried to brazen it out. "I... no, I-I was not."

"Then why are ye holding it like ye was?" When I gave ye back yuir job, ye promised not t'be drinking."

"Any _you_ promised to trust me. I am keeping my promise. Are you keeping yours?"

"Well, now, I guess I'll have t'be trying harder then, won't I?" Shamus stepped over and took the glass from the tray. In one smooth motion, he held it over the sink and poured the whisky down the drain. "And ye'll have t'_keep_ trying, too."

* * * * *

"Mmm," Trisha moaned softly, as she unbuttoned her blouse. Her breasts were still a bit tender from Enoch's attentions that afternoon.

Kaitlin was standing a few feet away, the pair of them getting ready for bed. "Did you say something, Trisha?"

"No... no, I was just... thinking."

"About this afternoon? I imagine it was an interesting experience."

"Oh, yes, yes, it was."

"I know that I always enjoyed it --"

"You did?" Did Kaitlin know what had happened? Had _she_... and Enoch? Trisha couldn't believe it, but then, Trisha could barely believe what she had herself done.

"Of course, what woman doesn't?"

"And you... you don't mind?" She tossed her blouse onto a chair and began to untie the bow that held on her petticoat.

"Well, I was a little sorry that I couldn't go along, but I didn't want you to be nervous your first time."

"But you don't mind that I-I --"

"Went shopping for a dress without me?" Kaitlin shook her head. "Of course not. Now, you did get taken care of, didn't you?"

Trisha smiled, partly from relief that Kaitlin hadn't been unfaithful to her, and partly from the sexual glow she still felt. "I certainly did." Then Trisha noticed the odd look on Kaitlan's face. They had been married long enough for her to know that it meant that her wife -- her ex-wife -- was trying to work to up asking an indelicate question. "Do you have something on your mind, Kaitlin?"

"I was just curious if Enoch -- if he tried to get fresh with you."

Trish managed to keep her expression absolutely still. "As a matter of fact, he did, and I let him know in no uncertain terms how I felt."

"What d-did he try?"

"He -- ah, he touched my neck and suggested I wear my hair in ringlets. It was just the silly sort of stuff you would expect from a man with a roving eye -- and roving hands." Trisha giggled and hoped at once that Kaitlin thought that the giggle was from the joke she had just made and not how her body felt.

"I'm surprised he had the nerve to be so forward."

"Well, I think he and I understand one another now." She had drawn herself up into a firm stance, the same way that Patrick had done whenever he had gotten his own way. She'd rather hang herself than admit to Kaitlin that Enoch was the one who had gotten his own way. But what she truly wanted to understand -- _needed_ to understand -- was the way that she had felt. How the experience _still_ made her feel.

'Everything is so damned different,' she told herself, 'since Emma and I changed.' She suddenly felt guilty. She had a daughter now, and she would never have wanted Emma -- when she got a little older -- to let things get out of hand the way she had done. All those Yingling sermons about temptation, they were all so true!

"Good," Kaitlin replied firmly. "Are you going to tell me about the dress, or are you going to surprise me?"

Trisha glanced past Kaitlin and into the mirror behind her. She saw a young and fetching blonde posing in her camisole and drawers, a sight that would make any man hard -- as Trisha well knew. Her mood shifted again, and she giggled at that thought. "Kaitlin, I think I'm even going to surprise me."

* * * * *

Thursday, February 22, 1872

"Dolores," Teresa called out as took the breakfast dishes over to the sink. "If you do not hurry, you will be late for work. Arnoldo has already left."

Dolores came out of the bedroom. "I am ready. I just waited to talk to you after everyone else had left."

"Why?" Teresa saw the troubled look on her cousin's face. "Dolores, what is the matter?"

"I... I am not sure." She took a breath, feeling silly that she was perhaps falling for a ridiculous jest, then blurted out, "People at the saloon have told me that Margarita Sanchez used to be...a man. "

Teresa frowned. "I was wondering when you would find out."

Dolores' brow furrowed with incredulity. "Then, it-it was not just a silly story?"

Her kinswoman took a deep breath and replied firmly. "No, it is true."

"Teresa! I blamed the people at the saloon for keeping secrets from me. But how could you --" Suddenly Dolores paused. Could it be that Teresa had become part of the joke? That seemed impossible. It was so unlike her to join with others merely to perplex a family member.

"People do not like places were there are curses and magic," her cousin continued. "People do not speak of it to outsiders, so that they will not carry away bad tales. When you became friends with those women at the saloon, I thought one of them would tell you. It is, after all, their secret to keep."

"One of them did tell me, but I couldn't believe it. I did not even believe it when R.J. confirmed that it was true. If this impossible thing happened, why did it happen? Seá±or Shamus does not seem like a wicked man. You would not let Arnoldo work there if he did terrible things to people."

"He is not wicked. Some very bad men rode into town; they came to kill and to rob. Only Seá±or Shamus gave them his potion and changed them into women. I suppose that it is hard to be both a woman and a bandito, so they had to stop being banditos. The only one who still causes trouble is Wilma, but it is a different kind of trouble."

The name Wilma didn't ring a chime with Dolores just then, but R.J. had said that Margarita and others whom she knew had been changed, without explaining why. "Margarita is a killer?"

"Perhaps _he_ was, the man she had been. The potion changes them inside, I think. You work with Jane and Laura, are they killers? Is Bridget, who helped Arnoldo get his job back? Jessie was a killer, we know. But she, too, seems to be a different sort of person now."

"Dios mio!" She shook her head. "It is just so hard to believe that such a thing could be so."

"Hard or not hard, it is true. Ask one of the others about it when you get to work, if you still do not believe."

"No. That... it would just make things worse."

"How do you mean 'worse'?"

"You know why I came for this visit. The _real_ reason, I mean."

"Si, that boy down in Mexico City. He is marrying another woman, and you could not --"

"No, I could not be there to see it. I came back here for a visit, and who do I meet, Ramon deAguilar, my first boyfriend."

"You flirted with Ramon, very hard, you flirted, but, in the end, you told him that you were not ready to marry him, did you not?"

"I did, and I still do not want to marry any man that I know." She stopped for a moment. Was she still interested in Ramon? No, she wasn't, but there was still a problem.

"But whether I did or did not, it is _muy_ hard to accept that I-I lost him to a man."

"You should take it as a compliment."

"A compliment; how?"

Ramon is very attractive. More than one of the local girls has tried to catch him. _You_ almost did. I could tell that he was interested in you."

"But Margarita -- a man -- still won his heart."

"That is right. It took magic to create the woman who could best you and win Ramon. You should be proud."

Dolores laughed. "Proud? I do not think so. But I will think about what you have said. Thank you." She hugged Teresa distractedly. "And now, I must leave for work or I _will_ be late," and hurried out the door. Teresa looked after her and noticed that at the point in the street where Dolores should have been able to see the Eerie Saloon, she slowed almost to a pause, before continuing on again, with what seemed like determination.

* * * * *

"What are you smirking at, Mex?" Hermione pointed a finger at Tomas, who was sitting back against the school building, eating lunch.

Tomas took a bite of cheese taco. "If you must know, I am smirking at you. Yully put you in your place yesterday."

"What Yully Stone did or did not say to me is none of your concern."

"Oh, yes. Yully is my friend. So is Emma."

"That's right. You and Elmer were thick as thieves before, weren't you?"

"We still are. Emma and I are blood brothers."

"If you and Emma are still on such good terms, then why are you eating alone over here, while Emma is sitting with Ysabel Diaz and Penny Stone."

"I could sit with them if I wanted to."

"If they'd let you, you mean." Now it was her turn to smirk. "I don't think that you and Emma are nearly as close these days."

"I am, too. Yully and Emma and me're all part of..." He forced himself to stop. Hermione was the last person he wanted to know about Fort Secret.

"Part of what, Tomas?"

"Nothing. We're just good friends, that's all."

Hermione gave a derisive snort. "Maybe you think you are, but I'd say you better check with Yully and Emma on that." She smiled and went over to eat lunch with Eulalie.

* * * * *

Daisy walked quickly into the parlor. "He's here m'lady. Herve just fetched him from the stage."

"Bon, and is Herve bringing in the luggage?" Cerise asked, standing up.

A tall, well-muscled man in a dark brown suit and matching vest walked in. "Just my overnight bag, Lady Cerise, and my sketchpad, of course. We left the rest of it at the stage depot for now."

"A wise idea." Cerise extended her hand. The man stepped forward, took it in his own and kissed it. "My good friend, Dwight Albertson," she continued, "has selected several houses for you to choose from as a studio."

Wilma walked over and stood next to the Lady. "Ain't you gonna introduce us to this handsome gentleman?"

"I am sorry, Wilma. The rest of my staff remembers Monsieur Thomas from his last visit. Evan Thomas..." The madame gestured towards Wilma "...this is Wilma Hanks, the one you will be painting. And Wilma..." Now, she gestured towards the man. "...this is Evan, the man I brought here to paint your portrait."

The man stepped forward and reached for Wilma's hand. "Enchanted, Miss Hanks." He took it and raised it to his lips. Wilma noticed that he looked at her face, as he did, and not at her hand. He had deep, piercing brown eyes that seemed to look right though her. She could feel her nipples crinkling and getting hard as he kissed the back of her hand.

"Same here... Evan." She said his name as a purr. "Do you have to go look at them houses right away? Maybe you could stay here, so's you and me could get... acquainted."

Lady Cerise shook her head. "There will be time enough for that while you are posing for him, mon petite. Right now, we should go and meet Dwight at his bank."

"I fear that I must agree, Miss Hanks. If I am going to look at houses, I want to see them in good light, to better pick the room I'll use as my studio." He bowed. "Ladies, my compliments."

The Lady took his arm in her left hand. "I... _we_ shall be back..." She shrugged. "...when we are back." Herve took her other arm, and the three of them strolled out the door.

'Mmm,' Wilma said to herself, 'maybe posing for that picture won't be as much of a chore as I thought.'

* * * * *

"Laura, may I talk to you a moment before you take that tray out for the Free Lunch?" Maggie asked.

Laura put the tray back on the table and sat down. "Sure, Maggie, what do you want to talk t'me about?"

"My... my wedding," the cook answered. "I, that is, Ramon and I, we... uh, wondered if you... you and Arsenio would be a part of it."

"You mean like be the brides maid and best man?"

"Oh, no. We do not have such things in our wedding customs. We wanted you to be the _madrina_ and _padrino_, the -- what is the word -- the 'godparents' of the wedding. You would help Ramon and me to get ready, give us advice, and it would be Arsenio instead who walked with me down the aisle."

"Instead -- oh, you mean like Shamus being the father of the bride at my wedding. I'm flattered, Maggie, but I've got to ask you, why us?"

"The madrina and padrino are always a married couple who are good friends of the bride and groom, good friends, but not family. I only know four married couples here in Eerie: Shamus and Molly, the Silvermans, Whit and Carmen, and you and Arsenio." She counted them off on her fingers as she spoke. "Shamus and Molly are the 'parents' of the bride', and Carmen is Ramon's sister."

"That lets them out, I guess." She picked up a pickled carrot slice from a dish on the tray and took a bite. She was eating pickles a lot lately, and Shamus had teased her about how much it hurt his profits. "When are you going to ask the Silvermans? "

"I already did. Rachel Silverman said to ask you. "

"Now why'd she go and do that? She'd be a lot better at giving advice than me. She's been married a lot longer than I have."

"Si, but..." Maggie looked down at her feet. "She said that she was always a woman. You and I, we were men once. You know what it is like for a man to become a wife and a... a..."

"A mother?" Laura asked and looked at her friend. When Maggie nodded, she gently touched her swollen stomach. "I guess I do know that, and, real soon, I hope, you will too."

Maggie's face grew red. As much as she yearned to be with Ramon, the idea that she could become pregnant, just as Laura had, was one she was still wrestling with. The possibility thrilled and terrified her, both at once. It was like she would have to face a whole new type of magic, which -- like the first -- would change her life forever.

Laura smiled to see her friend blush. "I'll have to check with Arsenio, but I think he'll say yes. I'll... we'll be proud to be your -- whatever you called it."

* * * * *

"Good afternoon, Trisha... Liam."

Trisha turned at the sound of her name. "Roscoe, what're you doing in here?" Her voice softened. "Not that I'm not glad to see you.

"I asked him to come over," Liam explained. "I told you the other day -- don't you remember -- that I wanted to have a sale on chicken feed. We got such a bargain that it'd be wrong not to pass it on to out customers." He looked directly at Trisha. "I _thought_ you'd agreed."

Trisha blinked, trying to hide her confusion. "The chicken feed? Y- yes, I-I remember... I guess."

"Good," Liam continued. "Roscoe, I asked you over to see what sort of a deal we could make on an advertisement in your paper, maybe something the next size up from our usual one."

Roscoe thought for a moment. "All right. You have a standing account for that eighth of a page ad you normally run, with a good discount already. I could up it to a quarter page with the same sort of discount. It'd cost you... two dollars more for the same sort of ad, more if you want something extra in the way of type or a picture."

"No, just words. The price sounds good; I'll take it." The two men shook hands. Liam took a folded piece of paper from his shirt pocket and handed it to the other man.

"I wanna see it." Trisha said, pouting. "It is my store, too, you know."

Liam nodded. "I know. This just seemed like a good idea. Do you mind?"

"I-I guess not. Can I see that paper, please?" She tried to smile.

Roscoe handed her the paper. "Here you are."

"Thank you." She opened the paper and read it to herself. "This is too fancy, I think. Instead of 'O'Hanlon's Feed and Grain is pleased to offer its customers...' and all the rest, just say... umm, 'Samuels Brothers' Chicken Feed and Supplements; all the quality at..." She looked at the paper again. "...twenty percent off the price. This week only at O'Hanlon's Feed and Grain'?"

"I'd say you should use her version, Liam. It is simpler, and I can fit it in a larger typeface, so it'll stand out even better on the page."

Liam shrugged. "All right, use hers."

"Thank you, brother." Trisha smiled demurely.

Roscoe wrote her wording down on the paper. "See, Trisha, I told you that you were good at writing advertisements. I could never be that creative."

"Sure you could," Trisha told him. "You've been creative lots of times, I'll bet."

"Ha, name one," the newsman snorted.

"Well..." she answered, thinking. "Okay, how about that idea of thanking folks that advertised in your paper with Christmas gifts. I just _love_ that rosewater you gave me. I use it every day." She leaned in close to him. "Can you smell it?"

"Yes, I... ahh, I think I can."

She sniffed the air. "Mmm, good," she said in a husky voice. "And I like that scent that you're wearing, too."

"Can I a-ask you something, Trisha?"

"Ask away; anything that you want?" She felt a tingle run through her. Having this effect on a man was fun, even if she could see Liam scowling at her.

"Are-are you going to do a new advertisement for the church dance or g- go with the one I ran this week?" Roscoe asked nervously.

She frowned at his changing the subject. "Go-go with this week's. I don't care."

"Fine. I'd best get back to my store, then." He turned and walked rather quickly toward the door.

"And what the devil was that all about, Trisha?" Liam asked after the other man had left.

Trisha gave him her best innocent smile. "What do you mean?"

"The way you were acting just now, like some flirty, little girl."

"Flirty... no, but I... I am a girl, I've just, well, I've decided to admit it to myself and act more the way people expect me to act."

"About time, I'd say, but you don't have to go overboard like you did with Roscoe, trying to get him to sniff at you like an eager puppy. You could get into real trouble if you acted that way with somebody who wasn't a gentleman."

She giggled. "Weelll, maybe I did go a _little_ overboard." What she didn't admit was that what she'd done with Roscoe had been fun. 'Something else to try and figure out,' she thought.

"A little overboard? You headfirst dove off the Hoboken Ferry, and you're swimming for the open water." He sighed. "Look, Trisha, I know you're a woman. Try and show me that you're a lady, okay?"

She pouted and tried to look contrite. "Yes, big brother."

Trisha realized that she had begun to actually think of herself as being younger than Liam, and physically she was. The thought of getting all those years of life back made her feel like humming.

* * * * *

"So," Arsenio asked, "you think we should do it?"

Laura snuggled up against him. "Mmmm, I certainly hope so."

"I'm not talking about _that_." He kissed the nape of her neck. "I meant helping out Maggie and Ramon. This..." He kissed her again and gently cupped her breast through the soft cotton of her nightgown. "...I _know_ we're gonna do."

"We surely are. And I, uhh... sort of promised Maggie that we'd stand up for her and Ramon at their wedding."

"Then I guess we _have_ to do it. You setting such a store on keeping your word and all."

"You're sure you don't mind? Maggie says it makes us some kind of family with them."

"That figures." He laughed. "Seems like I'm getting new family every which way these days: first Jane's your twin sister, then I meet Theo and Lizzie, and now I'm going to be Maggie and Ramon's godfather. Of course..." He laid his hand down on her belly. "...this is the best way."

She put her hand on his. "It's not the easiest way, I know that for sure." She sighed. "I just hope that I can do right by Maggie. She's become a good friend, and I was flattered when she asked."

"You, Laura Meehan Caulder, are the most wonderful wife a man could have, and she'd have been foolish not to ask. I just hope I can do as well at helping Ramon."

Laura's fingers wrapped around Arsenio's manhood. "You're a grand husband. Now why don't you shift over and show me again just how grand?"

* * * * *

Friday, February 23, 1872

"Morning, Daisy... Lady Cerise," Wilma said cheerfully, as she walked into the kitchen.

Daisy was at the stove. "G'morning, Wilma. We got turkey hash for breakfast. You wants some?"

"Sounds good. Lemme just get some coffee into me." She sat down at the table and poured herself a cup. "Ohh, I needed that," she said after a long sip.

Daisy put a plate of the hash down in front of her. "You prob'ly need this, too. Dig in."

"Thanks." Wilma took a forkful. "That is good." She ate another forkful. "Say, Cerise, how'd it go with that painter fella yesterday?"

"Very well, I think," Cerise began. "He chose a house some three blocks from here. The Carlton house. The Carltons will be away at the capitol for a while, while Monsieur Carlton is working for the territory. The main room has a large window that faces to the south. He says it will make a fine studio. We signed the papers with Dwight. He will move in, set up the studio today. You may begin the posing on Monday."

"Monday? How come I gotta wait so long to start?"

"Because the weekend is when we are the busiest; you know that. I need you here, ma petit, both as my second _and_ as one of my ladies. You would not want to disappoint your many admirers."

Wilma grinned. "I ain't never disappointed a man -- not since I started working here, anyways." She paused. "I did wanna talk to the painter a little. He leave yet?"

"Leave," Daisy said with a laugh. "Him and Beatriz ain't even come downstairs yet."

"Beatriz?" Wilma scowled. "What's he doing with her? I thought he was here just for me."

"He is here to paint you, Wilma," Cerise said firmly. "Who he chooses to spend his free time with is his own business."

"His business... The only thing he's here t'do is to paint a picture of me."

"No, that is why _I_ want him here. He is free to seek other commissions, paint other pictures. I hope he does, in fact. Since I brought him to town and paid for his studio, I get 15 percent of what he earns from anyone else."

"Well, that's a fine howdy do. What am I, bait?"

"You are his primary subject, naturellement... naturally. You are also..." She took a breath. "You are acting like a very spoiled little girl. Why?"

Wilma took a breath. "I-I don't know. I guess I just don't like him hitting it off with Beatriz instead 'o me."

"They did not just 'hit it off', as you say. They became... close when he was here two years ago to paint _my_ portrait." She reached over and gently stoked Wilma's hair. "You are a most beautiful, most giving young woman, Wilma. I am sure that the two of you will also 'hit it off' when you begin the posing."

Wilma cocked an eyebrow, a determined look on her face. "Damned right we will."

* * * * *

Dwight Albertson leaned back in his overstuffed office chair. "Now then, Miss Kelly, you said that you wanted to talk to me about a loan. What amount did you have in mind?"

"You can call me Bridget, Dwight." Bridget tried for her best poker face to hide her nervousness. "You've sat in on my game often enough."

"True, too true, but I like to keep things on a more formal basis here at the bank."

"Then I guess I'll have to call you Mr. Albertson, won't I?" She waited for the man to nod. When he did, she continued. "All right then, _Mr._ _Albertson_. I'd like to borrow $1,000."

"That's quite a bit of money. What sort of collateral do you have?"

"Collateral? I'm afraid I don't understand."

"Assets -- money or other things of value -- that the bank can claim if you don't pay us back what we loan you. If we _do_ make the loan."

"I've got..." She glanced down at her bankbook. "...a bit over $500 in my account here, that and my clothes and a couple pieces of jewelry. I-I think that's about it."

"That's less than half of what you need for collateral."

"Less than half? I only asked for $1,000."

"Yes, but the bank would charge interest on your loan, of course." He paused a moment. "By the way, how long would the loan be for?"

"I, ahh, I need the money to buy into Abner Slocum's big poker game next month, the one that the paper wrote about. I figure that I'd pay the money back the next day from my winnings."

"And in the event that you don't win, then what happens to the bank's money? That's why I asked about collateral in the first place. After all, banks usually don't make loans on something as risky as a poker game."

"Sometimes they do. I heard a story -- it happened 20 or 30 years ago -- back before they used straights and flushes and such in the game. A player found himself holding four aces and a king. Only, he didn't have enough to cover the last call. He asked for time -- the rules then said a player had 24 hours to cover a bet -- and headed for the local bank."

She took a breath. "Well, the first man at the bank says they won't loan money for a poker hand 'cause it's too risky -- just like you did. But the head of the bank, he knew poker. He took one look at the player's hand and said the bank'd give him as much as he wanted. The player took what he needed and ran back to the game. He came back a while later and paid the bank back every penny, plus interest -- just like _I'm_ going to do."

Albertson shook his head. "I've heard that story, too, Miss Kelly. The difference is that the banker _knew_ the man was going to win. Nothing could beat that hand. I don't know that you'll win. Abner -- Mr. Slocum has told me that there'd be some very good players in that game of his."

"What else did he tell you?" No poker face now, she was glaring at the banker. "Did he tell you not to give me a loan if I asked for one?"

"Miss Kelly, you asked for a loan. I've every right to use whatever information I can get to assess the risks of the loan you're asking for. As far as any other discussions I may have had with Mr. Slocum, I would no more reveal them to you than I would discuss this conversation with him."

"Meaning he probably did." She stood up. "Well, thank you very much for nothing, Dwight. You're still welcome in my game, but I'll definitely be playing to win. I intend to get the money for that game somehow, and, given my choice, _now_, I'd just as soon win it from you."

* * * * *

Quint Parnell and Bill Hersh pushed the swinging doors aside and walked into the Saloon. They headed straight for an isolated table against one wall and sat down. Both were frowning angrily.

"What can I get you gents?" Jane asked when she came to their table a short while later.

Parnell pulled a five-dollar half-eagle out of a pocket and tossed it to her. "Whisky. Bring the bottle."

"Yes, sir." She hurried off, returning quickly with the bottle and two glasses. "Here ya go."

Parnell poured himself a double. "Fine, you can leave it here." He poured some for the other man and looked up. Jane was still there. "Leave us here, too. Get lost."

"Ain't you the friendly one!" Jane glared at him and walked away.

Both men drank their whiskey in one gulp. "Well, what'd'you think, Bill?" Pernell asked as he refilled their glasses.

"That assay office's gonna be tougher than I thought," Hersh replied. "A guard at the door has to unlock it, so we can get inside. Stone's behind barred windows as tight as any bank. He takes the gold through a grillwork, and has to unlock another door if he wants us to come back." He sighed. "I didn't see nobody else, but that door to the back room looks like a bank vault."

"I agree. I don't think we can get at the gold there." He shook his head. "Not the two of us."

"We gonna give up then? There's nobody around here we can trust well enough to bring in on the job."

Parnell glanced around. He saw Arnie walking from table to table putting empty glasses and bottles into a tray. "Maybe there's somebody we _don't_ trust that we can get."

"Him?" Hersh pointed at the boy. "That's the bastard that jumped me. You wanna bring him in on this job?"

"If we can." Parnell chuckled. "Can you think of anybody better to get stuck holding the bag in case anything goes wrong?"

"Not a soul. And if we do get away, well, just because he rides up into the mountains with us don't mean he's gonna stay with us, stay alive even, for very long."

"Damn straight. That gold'll split a lot better two ways than three."

* * * * *

"Can I have a glass of sasparilla, Molly?" Jessie asked.

Molly nodded and began to fill the glass. "How's yuir new song coming, Jessie?"

"Not too well. I can't keep my mind on it."

"Something else bothering ye?" She put the glass on the bar in front of the singer.

"You know it is. I can't get what Paul told you outta my head. What the hell did he mean something he couldn't be something that I wouldn't be?"

"I don't know -- but I ain't the one that needs t'be knowing. Ye are."

"Something I wouldn't be? Well, now, up till me 'n him got so cozy..." she blushed. "I wouldn't've been a girl if I had my choice."

"Aye, but ye _was_ a girl, wasn't ye, and I'll bet good money that ye never asked Paul Grant t'be one."

"No, I'm -- I'm very happy he's a man. I just wish he wanted t'be _my_ man again."

"I'll bet more good money that he wants it, too. He's just mad about something ye said t'him, that's all."

"Yeah, but what the hell _did_ I say?"

"What were ye talking about?"

"What a good deal I got from Shamus... from you and Shamus. I'm making more money than -- shit, you don' think that's the problem, that I'm making more than him?"

"It don't sound like it. Ye didn't ask him t'be asking for a job here, did ye?"

"No, I said I'd..." Her voice trailed off. "I said I'd pay him." She raised her glance to meet Molly's face with a stare of realization. "That -- that could be it, can't it?"

"Ye mean he don't like taking money from a woman?"

"Not like that he don't." She took a long drink. "I gotta go see him."

Molly shook her head. "He ain't around here right now. The Sheriff told me yesterday that Paul's out riding patrol; out t'the ranches east o'here, then up t'the mountains. He won't be back till tomorrow."

"Saturday then. If he don't come in here, I'll go over to the Sheriff's Office and talk to him." She took another drink.

Molly leaned over and whispered. "Talk to him here if ye can, lass. That bed o'yuirs has t'be a lot more comfortable than whatever he's got over in the jailhouse."

* * * * *

Kaitlin poured herself a cup of coffee and sat down at the kitchen table. "I ran into Dwight Albertson today."

"You did?" Trisha looked up from the account book she was working on. It was late, and Emma was in bed.

Kaitlin nodded. "I was running some errands. He said to tell you that we're doing well on tickets."

"Tickets? Oh, you mean for the dance. I thought we were just going to sell them at the door."

"I did, too, but that article in the paper said that Dwight sold tickets to Arsenio Caulder and Whit Whitney. He said that people have been coming into the bank to buy them. He has Milo Nash selling them at his window."

"Is Milo coming?" Patrick had known the chief teller from the church.

"Dwight didn't say, but I expect that Milo will be there. He's always been a good supporter of the church."

"He's not married. I wonder if there'll be a lot of single men at the dance."

"Probably. Most of the men in town aren't married; there aren't near enough women out here."

That notion pleased Trisha somehow. "I-I guess, so. They'll be wanting to dance with the few unattached women that come."

"I have no doubt of that. Our dance will be a good bit more respectable than the one at Mr. O'Toole's saloon."

"I-I'm one of those unattached woman, now, 'cause of the divorce, aren't I?" The thought had just occurred to her.

Kaitlin looked up, as surprised at the fact as was Trisha. "Yes, I guess you are." She chuckled. "And so. It would seem, am I."

"Those men, I... you think they might want to dance with me."

"Probably. You're... to be honest, you're a very attractive woman."

"And I'll have that new dress, too. But... I don't know how to dance, as woman I mean."

"It's not that hard, really," Kaitlin answered. "You weren't too bad a dancer as a man."

"Thanks, I tried." She smiled; it was a sad little smile. "I did it mostly to please you."

"I know, and I..." She sighed. "I loved you for that."

"Could you... could you show me how a woman dances... with a man? I-I want to be able to do it, in case I do get asked." She wanted a last chance to hold Kaitlin in her arms, but a part of her seemed to accept the idea of dancing with a man.

A part of her _wanted_ to dance with a man... with men.

* * * * *

Saturday, February 24, 1872

A tall, well-dressed man no one recognized strode over to where Shamus was standing behind the bar. "Excuse me, sir, are you Mr. O'Toole?"

"I am," the barman answered, "but me friends call me Shamus." He extended his hand in greeting.

The other man shook hands. "Very well, then, Shamus. My name is Ethan Thomas, and _my_ friends call me Ethan. I've been hired by Lady Cerise to do a portrait of Wilma Hanks, her new assistant. However, while I'm in town, I'm free to take on other commissions. Miss Hanks suggested that you might be interested in me also doing a portrait of her sister." He looked around. "Is she about? Might I talk to her?"

"She's over there..." Shamus pointed to a table halfway across the room. "...having a cup of coffee with me wife, Molly." He smiled. "Me Molly's the pretty one on the left."

Evan nodded. "Lovely woman; might you be interested in a portrait of her, too, or, perhaps the pair of you together?"

Shamus' brow knitted thoughtfully. "I might. What'd it be costing me, then?"

"That would depend on the size of the portrait, the number of subjects, and the amount of detail. I could do a fine one of her -- or you -- say, 3 foot by 5 foot..." He held up his hands to show the size. '...for, oh,... $75. Or one that size of the pair of you for $100."

"I'll have t'be thinking about it. In the meantime, let's be going over to see what Jessie has to say about ye doing her picture." Shamus came out from behind the bar and walked with the painter over to where the two women were sitting.

"Molly... Jessie..." He pointed to each woman as he said their names. "...This here be Mr. Evan Thomas. He's a painter, and he wanted to know if I'd be willing t'have him do a portrait of Jessie --"

Evan interrupted. "Or a mural. I could paint her picture right there on your wall. I did some work of that sort at the Nugget in Denver and out in California. The cost would depend on the size, of course."

"I-I ain't sure I want m'picture up on the wall for all the world t'see," Jessie said. "Truth t'tell, I ain't too sure Wilma does either."

Shamus shook his head. "What Wilma wants or don't want is up t'her and Lady Cerise, not you or me, Jessie."

"Do I get a say in having my picture done?" she asked.

Ye most surely do," he replied. "'Cept for... well, ye know what, I ain't never had much of a chance of getting ye to do something ye didn't want t'be doing. But to have a good picture of ye for the men to be looking at when ye're not to be seen yuirself might just encourage them to dally around long enough to be seeing a show. It'd be more money for ye and more money for me. "

"Can I have some time t'think about it? Till... Monday, say?"

Shamus smiled generously. "I'm thinking that I can give ye that much time. Monday at six, then?"

"Monday at six." Jessie nodded in agreement.

"I shall be back Monday evening then for my answer," Evan said. He'd been amused at the banter between Shamus and Jessie. He was also surprised at how little resemblance there was between Jessie and her sister.

"Ye're welcome t'be coming back sooner than that," Shamus told him. "I got drink and food here. We got us a pretty good restaurant in the evenings, and thuir'll be a dance here this very night. In fact, ye can be dancing with Jessie; maybe talk her into doing that picture."

Evan considered the idea. "I may just do that. In the meantime, shall we discuss that portrait of your charming wife and yourself?"

* * * * *

The "garrison" of Fort Secret, as they thought of themselves, always met at a lone pine tree about 30 yards from the entrance to the fort. "That way," as Yully suggested when they first built the fort, "we don't give it away t'anybody that sees us standing around waiting for everybody t'show up."

This Saturday, Ysabel and Tomas were the first to arrive. Emma joined them a few minutes later. It took a while before Stephan and Yully came running up to join the group.

"Sorry we're late," Stephan told them. "My pa wouldn't let me leave until he read the last of the Cicero I had to translate." He pronounced it "Kick-ero."

"Are you done with that now?" Tomas asked.

Stephan made a face. "I'm done with the Cicero. Now, I got this whole play by Terrance, _Brothers_, it's called, that I gotta translate."

"That is terrible," Ysabel said.

Yully put an arm on Stephan's shoulder. "That's what I said, but we'll stick by him. That's what friends do."

"What do you know about sticking by your friends, Yully Stone?" Emma asked angrily. "After the way you acted the other day."

The boy looked confused. "The way I... what do you mean?"

"The way you treated her on Wednesday," Ysabel explained.

Emma continued for herself. "You called me a 'silly girl', no better than Hermione. Then you said you didn't like _me_, just the... the _boy_ I used to be." She sniffled and looked away as if angry, but mostly afraid that tears might come.

"You hurt her bad, Yully." Tomas stepped over to stand next to Emma.

The older boy looked away. "Yeah, I-I-guess I did." He took a breath. "I-I'm sorry, Emma. I-I was trying to get Hermione t'stop bothering me. You seen how she does it, acting like she was my girlfriend and all. I said them things to get her off my back, that's all."

"Do you want me 'off your back', too?" Emma asked, not sure she wanted him to answer her.

Yully shook his head. "I ain't ready for a girlfriend, but if there was a girl I want for a _friend_, it's you, Emma." He glanced around. "You, too, Ysabel, I, uhh... I guess."

"Friends, then." Emma swallowed the lump in her throat and offered her hand.

Yully shook hands with her. "Friends."

Everyone started for the hidden door to the fort. Yully and Emma didn't seem to notice that they still held hands until they were about halfway there. They stopped, looked down, and, without a word, pulled their hands apart.

* * * * *

"Here y'are, gents... Bridget." Laura put the beers down on the table being careful not to spill anything on the cards, the chips, or the money.

Bridget reached for her beer, a near beer actually. There were some good players at the table, and she wanted to keep her head. "Thanks, Laura."

"Can I bring you gents anything else?" the barmaid asked.

One of the men, a mustachioed stranger who said he was making his way to Denver, answered. "Yeah, pretty lady, you can bring me some luck." Without another word, he reached over and rubbed his hand across her gravid belly.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Laura demanded angrily. "Get your hands off me."

"Aw, now, everybody knows that rubbing a lady who's... expecting brings a man luck. He looked at her face and her breasts. "Seems to me all the luck went to the man that got you that way."

Laura smiled sweetly. "Well, Mr..."

"Pryce, Ian Pryce."

"Well, _Ian_..." She all but purred the name. "You got to rub my belly. How about you stand up, so I can rub yours."

"Anytime." He stood so as to push his stomach forward.

"Thanks." Laura moved her hand toward him. Then, at the last moment, she pulled her arm back, her fingers closing into a fist. She let loose a jab that plowed into Pryce's gut.

The man's eyes bulged. He gave a cry and sank back into his chair. "Don't you _ever_ touch me -- or any other woman -- like that again," she ordered.

"Y-yes... ma'am," he said gasping for breath.

Bridget giggled. "That wasn't exactly the sort of rub he had in mind, Laura."

"Maybe not, but it surely made me feel good."

"The thing is, I've seem you let other men rub your belly for luck," Bridget asked. "Why not him?"

"Because they were men I knew, like Sam Braddock a few nights ago, and because they asked me first."

"Seems like there's still a little bit of Leroy in you."

"Just a little, but I'm mostly Laura these days." She rubbed her own belly. "Especially down here."

* * * * *

Maggie hurried into the Saloon carrying a cloth bag of groceries. "Is Jessie downstairs?"

"I'm right here," Jessie said. "What's the problem?"

"There is no problem," Maggie answered. "I just thought that you might want to know that Deputy Paul just rode into town." She took a quick step backwards as Jessie ran past her and out the door.

Paul was sitting on his pony, Ash, watching two other men, miners from the look of their clothes, helping a third down from his horse. The man's hands were tied.

"Just take him inside, fellas," Paul told the others, when he saw Jessie running towards him. "I'll be there in a minute." He dismounted and waited for her to reach him. "Hi, Jessie, di --"

Before he could finish, she threw himself into his arms and kissed him hard. When they finally broke the kiss -- far too soon, he thought, but a man has to breathe now and again -- he said, "Well, that certainly does tell me you missed me. You got anything you wanna say?"

"Yeah," she tried to smile. "I'm six different kinds of idiot, asking you t'be my... my fancy man, especially when I made such a big deal outta never wanting t'work over at Cerise's cathouse." She looked down, not sure if she could meet his glance.

Paul put a hand under her chin and gently raised it until she was looking straight at him. "I'd say no more than _four_ kinds of idiot - - five at the most -- but they're all _my_ idiot, and I wouldn't have it any other way." He stroked her cheek with a finger.

"Maybe... maybe we could go back up to my room and, uhh... pick up where we left off." She put her hand on his.

"I wish we could -- I truly do -- but I just brought in a prisoner. A couple of the men he robbed up at their mines came in with me. He was trying to steal equipment, maybe even file a couple false claims. It'll take a couple hours to do all the paperwork, get everything sorted out and ready for the Judge."

"A couple hours. By then, I'll have to be getting ready for the dance tonight. There won't be time for us to..."

"Jess, there'll always be time for that. In this case, though, it'll have to be Sunday morning.

"Mmm." Her voice was husky with anticipation. "I always did like sleeping in on a Sunday morning."

"So do I. Especially when we won't be sleeping."

* * * * *

Bridget watched Cap walk over. "You come here to laugh at me, Cap Lewis?"

"No," he answered, smiling -- or was it a jeering grin? --at her. "I came over to dance with you." He held up a ticket for the next dance.

She scowled. "I don't know if I want to take that after what your uncle did to me."

"What did he do?"

"He told Dwight Albright not to give me a loan so I could get into that big poker game he's running."

"I figured that you'd want to play, but... can you _prove_ Uncle Abner told Albertson not to give you the money you need?"

"Not--not for sure, but that's _got_ to be the reason."

"Maybe. Or maybe -- I hate to say this, but maybe Albertson just didn't think you had enough collateral --"

"Collateral! That's the word he used." She glared at him. "You're in cahoots with your uncle on this, aren't you?"

"I'm not. Please believe that. I know the word from because I've suffered through enough meetings where that was all he and Uncle Abner talked about."

"I'll give you the benefit of doubt -- for now." She finally took his ticket, putting it in her apron pocket. "The music's starting, and I have to dance with somebody." She stepped into his outstretched arms, as the waltz began.

She felt some of her anger melt away as they danced. It felt so good to be in his arms. For a while, she just let him lead her across the floor.

But the suspicion, the anger, was still there.

"Tell me about these meetings you 'suffer through.' Were you at the one where your uncle told Albertson not to make that loan?"

"No, in fact, I doubt that he ever did."

"Are you defending him?" She stopped.

Cap shook his head. "No, it does sound like him -- a little. But he wouldn't have to tell Albertson not to give you that money. We're -- my uncle is probably the bank's biggest account. All Uncle Abner would have to say is that he hoped you couldn't get in the game. Albertson'd say 'no' to you in a Yankee minute, if he thought it'd make my uncle happy."

"And we wouldn't want Uncle Abner to be unhappy, would we?"

"It's not the best thing to do."

"Well, then let's us not do it either." Bridget's eyes flashed in anger as she stepped away from Cap and walked back to sit down and wait for the next dance.

And another partner.

* * * * *

Sunday, February 25, 1872

As soon as Mass ended, the congregation hurried out to the courtyard beside the church. Two long tables had been set up beside the fountain. At the first, R.J. Rossi and Jane Steinmetz were pouring sparkling red liquid from bottles into a pair of large crystal bowls. Arnie Diaz was arranging rows of glasses near them. Trays of yellow cake were already set at both ends, and a crowd was forming, eager for a taste.

More people gathered around the other table. Ramon stood by the left end, trying to smile. Standing with him were Sebastian Ortega and Arsenio Caulder. Whit and Carmen were there as well, the representatives of Ramon's family. Carmen held her year-old son, Felipe, in her arms. The older boy, Jose, held his father's hand.

Maggie was at the other end of the table with Lupe and Ernesto. Lupe was smiling and holding something half-hidden in her hands, while her brother fidgeted with his collar. Shamus and Molly, acting as Maggie's family, stood nearby. Shamus was looking over at the preparations, while Molly held Maggie's left hand. Laura Caulder stood next to Maggie on her right.

Ramon and Maggie kept sneaking glances at each other.

Father de Castro took his place standing at the center of the second table. "Shall we begin?" He nodded towards Whit.

Whit took a step forwards. "Margarita Sanchez. Standing in, as I am, as the head of the de Aguilar family, I ask your family again, what do you say to Ramon de Aguilar's peticion de mano?"

Shamus was acting as Maggie's father. In a way, he _was_ her father. "Well now, I'll have t'be asking her. Maggie, do you --"

"I accept it." Maggie beamed with joy. "I accept it with all my heart." She thought of Gregorio and his objections. 'I will save those things for tomorrow,' she told herself. 'Today is for happiness.'

Shamus repeated her answer. "She accepts."

"With all her heart," Lupe added happily. She handed Maggie the small, green cloth drawstring bag that she'd been holding.

Maggie cradled the bag in her hands, as she walked to the center of the table. She stopped in front of the priest. Ramon walked out to join her, and they stood, facing each other.

"And I give you this cross as a token of my pledge." She took a small silver cross inscribed with the image of the Lady of Guadalupe from the bag. "And of my love." The cross was on a chain. Ramon bent at the waist, and Maggie looped the chain over his head. As she let the chain fall onto his neck and shoulders, she leaned forward and gave him a gentle kiss on the cheek.

Ramon straightened up. "As I give you this, your muhul, with all of _my_ love." He made a slight gesture with his left hand, the signal for Sebastian and Whit to bring forth the muhul, his wedding gift to Maggie.

The two men moved a step apart to reveal a two-foot wooden chest with brass fittings. Each picked a handle and carried the chest forward, setting it on the table beside Ramon. He unlocked it with a brass key that he then placed in Maggie's hand.

Sebastian pulled back the lid of the chest. "Two silver rings with turquoise gemstones." He lifted out a small jewelry box, opened it, and held it up for all to see. After a moment, he set it down on the table.

"Five yards --" Whit began.

Sebastian interrupted. "_Vara_, not yards. That is how the cloth is measured." A vara was an old Spanish measurement, about 33 inches.

"Sorry," Whit apologized. "Five _vara_ of blue cotton cloth and another five vara of white satin, with buttons and lace trim to match each." The two bundles of cloth joined the jewelry box on the table, the satin atop the cotton. The smaller bundles of lace and buttons were placed next to the fabric.

Carmen joined the men. "Two hair ribbons and a handkerchief, all of silk." She displayed the items for the crowd before they, too, went on the table. The ribbons were the same blue color as the cloth. The handkerchief was a lighter shade of blue.

"There are other, smaller gifts, as well," Ramon continued, "but _this_ is the most important." He took a length of thin, double- looped gold chain from the chest and handed it to Father de Castro.

The priest held one end of the chain and passed the rest of it behind's Ramon back. Ramon took the chain with his right hand, letting it play out around his waist. He handed the end to Maggie, who was still facing him. She took the chain in her left hand and passed it behind her back to the father.

"You have promised yourselves to each other," De Castro said, taking the end of the chain from Maggie, "here in this holy place, before your friends and family and in the presence of Our Lord." He pulled gently at the chain, shortening the circle around Maggie and Ramon and forcing them to take a step closer together.

"The chain that binds you now is a symbol of the love that brought the two of you together and that will keep you together for the rest of your days. May those days be many and filled with all of the joy that you feel here today. In nomine Patri et Filii et Spiritu Sancti..." He crossed himself as he spoke the Latin, as did Maggie and Ramon. "I declare that you, Ramon de Aguilar and Margarita Sanchez, are betrothed."

The crowd began to applaud.

Ramon cradled Maggie's head in his hands. He gently turned her face upward and leaned in. Their lips met in a kiss. Maggie sighed as a warm, happy feeling flowed through her body. Her arms reached around Ramon, and she returned the kiss with all the passion and promise that she could in public and in a churchyard. 'With all my heart,' she told herself, as she was lost in the kiss.

"While they are... preoccupied," Father de Castro began. He stopped for the laugh he had expected, then continued. "They have asked me to announce that the wedding will be here -- of course -- on the 31st of March, the Sunday after Easter. They have also named Arsenio and Laura Caulder as their padrino and madrino." Laura and Arsenio walked out to stand beside the priest.

He looked closely at the pair, who were still kissing. "Now, let us see what Seá±or O'Toole and his people have prepared for us to celebrate this joyous occasion. We will toast Ramon and Maggie whenever they are ready to join us."

* * * * *

"One final announcement," Reverend Yingling continued. "I have been asked to remind you again that the dance, which is intended to commence our project of raising money for our new building fund, will be held here next Saturday night. I am certain that the wives of the other married men in his congregation have been as diligent in reminding their husbands as my own dear Martha has been in reminding me." He looked down at Martha Yingling who was staring up at him from her seat, one eyebrow raised in suspicion.

He smiled at her and continued quickly. "And I am equally sure that, like me, the rest of you have been waiting eagerly for the event." He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out two tickets. "I purchased my tickets weeks ago. If any of you have not purchased yours, Dwight Albertson and other members of the board are still selling them at their respective places of business. Tickets will also be available at the door. I look forward to seeing many of you there, enjoying an evening of frivolity towards the good end of supporting our congregation."

* * * * *

Dolores stood by the low wall in the front of the church. People were gathering around Ramon and Maggie, congratulating them. 'I should go over,' she told herself. 'But I cannot.' She felt a tear at the corner of one eye.

"Here you go, Dolores," a voice said.

She turned. "R.J."

"The same." He was standing besides her, holding a drink in each hand. "I thought you might want something." He handed her a glass. "I don't know if you're ready to go over and talk to them." He pointed to the couple with the hand that still held some of the punch. "But I thought that you might be able to toast their future happiness from over here."

She managed a small, sad smile. "Yes... I think I can do that."

"Good." He clinked her glass with his own. "You, know, you're much prettier when you smile." He winked. "Just don't tell Bridget I said that."

* * * * *

"Well now," Wilma said, looking up from the magazine she had been looking through. "Look what the cat done drugged in. G'morning, Bridget."

"Good morning, yourself." Bridget smiled and sat down in a chair near Wilma.

The contrast between the two women, the only ones in the parlor at _Le_ _Parisienne_, went beyond Wilma's rich Creole coloring and Bridget's bright red hair and pale complexion. Wilma was wearing what she called her "working clothes", a lavender corset, silky white drawers, and matching stockings, all intended to draw attention to her lush curves. Bridget was in a dark green, floor-length dress with pale green lace at the collar and cuffs. Her own figure was apparent but understated.

"What brings you over here?" Wilma asked. "I ain't seen you in -- what is it? -- a couple of weeks, at least."

"I'm sorry about that. I like to sleep in most mornings, seeing as I have to be at my table, ready to play poker, from noon till when Shamus closes. Today, Maggie and Ramon got betrothed over at their church, so I went to that."

"How was it? I thought 'bout going, but churches 'n' me..." She shook her head. "...we just don't get along."

"It was a nice ceremony. They traded gifts, and the priest blessed them. Shamus and Molly set up food for after. I stayed for a drink, then took a chance and came over here."

"Took a chance? Well, I like that."

"C'mon, Wilma, more than once when I've come over, you were..." Her voice trailed off as she glanced towards the ceiling.

Wilma frowned. "You ain't gonna start giving me a hard time 'bout working here, are you?"

"It's not exactly the way I'd have expected Will Hanks to end up."

"The hell it ain't. You know how much fun I had when we was hold up at that cat house over in New Orleans." She paused a moment. "Come t'think on it, you wasn't too unhappy about the accommodations there, neither."

"Poker -- and sex -- whenever I wanted; how could I be unhappy with that? Let's just say that I never thought you'd be _working_ in a place like this."

Wilma gave a sleek, feline stretch, a smile on her face. "I ain't working here, Bridget; I'm playing -- at least, it seems like that most of the time."

"Besides," she continued, "ain't you got even better than what you had back there in N'Orleans? You're running your own game, and you got R.J. and Cap on hand whenever you feel like playing something other'n poker."

"Wilma!" Bridget felt an embarrassed flush in her face. "I've done nothing of the sort."

Wilma cocked an eyebrow in surprise. "Still nothing? Not with either of 'em?"

"N-no." Bridget shook her head nervously. "Never."

"Hell's bells, gal, have you even kissed 'em?"

Bridget chewed her lower lip. "Umm... yeah. I-I've kissed both of them -- and more than once, if you really must know."

"I'm glad you ain't letting those two go _totally_ to waste. I won't ask you just how far you let that kissing get. It probably ain't near far enough." She looked closely at Bridget. "You do _like_ kissing 'em, don't you?"

"Uh... uh huhn," Bridget admitted, shifting uneasily to avoid Wilma's gaze. She had been surprised of late at how very much she did like kissing both men.

"Next time you're alone with one of 'em -- Cap or R.J. -- you take his hand and put it right here -- on your tit." Wilma took her friend's hand and placed it on her own breast.

Bridget pulled her hand away, as if from a rattler. "Wilma!"

"Don't worry." Wilma giggled. "I'm not trying to get you into bed - leastwise not with me! Besides, it feels a lot better when a man does it to you than when you do it to another gal." Now, she grinned. "You let R.J. do it. He's got them nice _big_ hands."

Bridget felt her face warm again. This time, her body felt warm, too. Her tits -- bosom! 'A lady says bosom, or even just chest,' she thought -- tingled, and her nipples felt stiff. There was a tingling down in her crotch, too.

"Can we change the subject?" the redhead pleaded. "Are you still having problems being Lady Cerise's second?"

"No, I told you 'bout how I settled things with Rosalyn and Beatriz. They still ain't too happy about me getting the job -- 'cept when I gotta do some work for the Lady, and I can't be around to play with any men." She pouted for a moment. "Truth t'tell, I don't like that too much neither." She leaned forward and whispered. "'Course, some of that time it's just for show. Me 'n the Lady sit around for an hour and just chew the fat to keep them other two happy. Then there's that painter fellah."

"Painter?" Then she remembered. "Oh, yeah; he came into the Saloon the other day and asked about doing a painting of Jessie."

Wilma laughed. "Won't that be a kick? The Lady brought him to town t'do one of me. Me 'n Jess getting our pictures up on the wall again, it'll be just like old times."

"Maybe. I'm not sure that Jessie'll do it." She shrugged. "I don't think I would."

"Would what, pretty lady?" a voice asked from the door. The women turned to see a tall man in an ill-fitting suit standing in the doorway. "I'm Jack Reilly, by the way."

Wilma rose from the chair in a sensuous motion. "I'm Wilma, and I am so very pleased to meet you... Jack." She glanced over at Bridget. "This is, Bridget, a friend of mine, and what she was going t'do was to say, 'Goodbye.' Wasn't it, Bridget?"

"Oh, uhhh, yes. Nice to meet you, Mr. Reilly. I'll see you later, Wilma. Have a good day." She stood up, trying not to show her disappointment.

Wilma took the man's arm. "Oh, I'm very sure _we_ will." Her voice was low and husky, full of promise. "You remember what I said, now, Bridget."

"I'll think about it." Without looking back, she walked quickly out of the parlor. 'And I'll be back to talk to you about the poker game in a day or two,' she added to herself, 'and when I do, I won't let you distract me like you did today.'

* * * * *

Jessie was awakened by the delicious sensations flowing through her body. Paul was behind her, kissing the side of her neck, while his one hand reached over her shoulder to play with her nipple. "Mmm, you are the best damned alarm clock I ever had," she told him.

"Thanks. Much as I enjoy just being here in bed with you, I thought that you might want to get downstairs before Maggie stopped making breakfast."

Jessie glanced over at the small clock ticking away on her bed table. "It's well after 10. I figure she stopped more'n an hour ago t'go to church, same as always on Sunday. 'Cept today, her and Ramon is getting hitched -- promising t'get hitched, anyway. Molly and Laura and Jane were gonna go over with her. There ain't no breakfast t'be had. Come t'think of it, Shamus told me he wasn't gonna open the place down till they all get back."

"So why aren't you over there, too -- not that I mind."

"'Cause I told Maggie I wanted to spend the morning making up with you." Jessie giggled. "She said she understood. 'Course, she blushed a little when she said it."

"I guess I'm stuck up here with you, then." Paul started playing with her nipple again.

Jessie shifted, so she was facing him. "Is mon-suer sorry t'be alone weeth Giselle?" She pouted prettily.

"How could any man be sorry to be in a spot like this... Giselle?" He gently kissed her on the lips, then set a trail of kisses down her cheek, her neck, and on to her breasts. He ran his rough tongue across her rounded flesh before he began to suckle.

Jessie shivered from the sparks of sexual fire shooting through her, especially down from her breasts to her groin. She began to feel very warm down there, and wet, and... empty. "Oh... oh... mon-suer iz so very good weeth h-his tongue." She knew how bad her fake accent was and used it only enough to suggest the "Fronch 'ore" she was pretending to be.

"Let me show you just how good," Paul told her, a mischievous grin on his face.

His head slipped below the blanket. Jessie felt his lips moving down her bare skin towards her stomach. She moaned as his tongue darted in and out of her navel. She reached down, wanting to hold his head there a while longer.

But he moved his head away before her hands could reach him. He kept kissing her, moving ever closer to her nether curls. Kisses alternated with teasing nips on her aroused flesh.

She was ready, more than ready to succumb, but when she tried to speak, to tell him of her needs, all that she could manage was to softly moan, "P-Paauul."

His tongue moved slowly, _agonizingly_ slow, until it reached her clitoris. It slathered the tiny nub. Then it began to pluck at it the way Natty Ryland sometimes plucked the strings on his fiddle.

Jessie's world exploded in a burst of exquisite joy. She arched her back, which only pushed her groin closer to Paul's mouth. She yowled and let her head fall back. Her fingers clutched at the blanket, as she rode her orgasm the way a rafter rides wild water.

After too short a time, it was over. She felt herself calming, like a horse after a long ride. But that was only until his tongue began its magic again. It was like a man working a pump handle -- up and down and... and up and -- ohh! -- Up and... UP! The second time was even stronger than the first. It seemed like she even felt it in her eyelashes. She screamed and bucked, and her legs squeezed together to hold his head in place.

The incredible sensations began to settle into a blissful afterglow. She found that she was able talk again. "Mmmm," she said in a breathy whisper, "mon-suer... Paul, that was... was..." Her voice failed as he began yet again. The only thing her mind could focus on was that wondrous tongue and... and the way he was continuing to suck on her clit.

He was trying to make her come again, the devil! Her passion built even faster this time. When the orgasm burst upon her, it raced through her like a prairie fire. She felt, as if from a distance, her body writhing on the bed, heard her voice screaming in delight.

The prairie fire settled down, eventually, to blissful embers. Jessie was sprawled on the bed, a sated grin on her lips. She felt as if all her bones had melted in the heat of her pleasuring, and she didn't care one little bit if they ever grew back.

"That mon-suer was the most wonderful..." she gushed, at last. "I feel as happy as a pup with two tails. I don't..." She fell back into character, "Giselle, she does not know how to thank the mon-seur for what he just done."

Paul's head came out from under the blanket. As he settled back down, he gently reached over and kissed her forehead. "Sure you know, Giselle; sauce for the goose, sauce for the gander, as they say."

Still dazed, she didn't quite understand. "Ahh - what?"

"Your turn. You do it now - please."

She blinked. "You mean you want me to... to --" Was that why he'd done what he done, to fix things so that she couldn't say 'no' without feeling like a skunk? 'He ain't exactly being fair,' she thought.

"I mean, I'm asking -- and just _asking_ -- for you to use that sweet mouth of yours on me like I just did to you." He gave her a self- satisfied grin of his own. "You certainly can't say that you didn't like it, not the way you were yelling."

Jessie smiled wryly. "No, I gotta admit, I did like it. A little." She certainly had liked it. Did that mean that she owed him the same? It was a little like being given a gift, and then being asked to pay for it.

"You liked it only a little? Then let's see how you like _this_." He pulled her to him and kissed her.

There was an added flavor to this kiss, though, sweet and salty at the same time. 'I'm tasting m'self,' she realized.

"That help you decide?" Paul asked when they broke the kiss.

It hasn't tasted bad like she'd expected, but Jessie still wasn't sure. Fair was fair and, to her surprise, part of her thought she ought to ante up, but part of her didn't even want to think about it. This was the sort of thing had always seemed to separate the whores from the decent women in her mind. "Uhh... can I stop if I-I, uhh... don't like doing it?"

"I promise." He reluctantly raised his hand as if being sworn in. "You can stop if you don't like it."

"And you won't ask me again?"

"I won't ask you again about it." His hand was still up. "I promise that, too."

The second promise was the clincher. If he was going to be like that, it was only fair that she at least _try_. "How do we do it, then?"

"Like this, maybe." He propped the pillows against the headboard, shifted, and leaned back against them. He was almost sitting up. "I want to watch you," he explained, as he tossed the blanket aside.

Jessie had seen -- and enjoyed -- his manhood many times. Now it was pointing up toward her, erect in anticipation. "This is so different from the way I've usually done things," she whispered, still unsure.

He just smiled, not wanting to scare her off with an ill-chosen word.

'Well... sooner begun, sooner done,' she told herself. She'd try, if only to settle accounts, but she didn't expect to enjoy the act. She intended to quit as soon as she could without having him feel that she was cheating him.

She rose up on her hands and knees, looming over him. As she leaned forward, trying to decide just how to start, her long hair fell down from her shoulders and brushed across his groin. She saw his member twitch at the sensation.

'Like he was ticklish,' she thought. 'Maybe I _can_ have a little fun before I decide t'quit.' She moved her head, so that her hair swept back and forth over his manhood.

He gasped. "Jessie, what _are_ you doing down there?"

"This." She kissed the tip of his manhood. She'd kissed it before, but always while he still had his drawers on. This time, he was naked. His flesh was warm to her touch, and he smelled of their lovemaking.

She suddenly felt a twinge of panic, but it was too soon to quit. She wanted to give the experience a decent chance , to do it to him as long as he had done it to her. That would be fair. Afterwards she could tell him that it just wasn't right for her.

When she was still a man, Jessie, Will, and Brian had spent almost a month hiding out from the law in a brothel in New Orleans. Jesse had been in such places before, but that one was the fanciest house he'd ever spent any time in. The robbery loot had made it possible. She remembered what her male self had liked those whores to do to him. Now, she was going to use those memories as a guide.

"And this." She carefully took his balls in her hand. He shivered at her touch, but he didn't try to move away. She squirmed in close. The musky smell got even stronger, but it was pleasant... almost.

Her tongue, curved between her lips, ran over his jewels. There was that salty-sweet taste -- 'the taste of sex', she decided -- even as she heard his voice catch in his throat.

"She hadn't expected to like the taste of his skin, but even her first, uncertain efforts had made her shiver, like tiny fireworks were going off under her own skin.

Jessie took one testicle into her mouth, sweeping her tongue over it as she did. Paul moaned again. She let it out of her mouth, glistening with saliva, and shifted to take in the other.

She could hear him groan and see his member twitching. It seemed enormous. Was it still getting bigger? It certainly was getting _redder_, almost purple, from the urgency of his need. The larger it grew, the more intimated she felt. Giselle, her fantasy self, was braver than her about this sort of thing. Thinking like she _was_ Giselle gave her courage enough to continue.

Her mouth opened, letting the testicle slip free. She paused, listening to his breathing. It began to sound a little more regular, as he fell back from the brink.

"Oh, Jess," he said, trying to catch his breath, "that was incredible."

"If I stopped now, you'd think you'd been gypped," she answered playfully. "Sauce for the gander, remember?"

"I - I surely would," he murmured through his grin.

Her mind was racing, remembering . That Cajun gal back in New Orleans, Yvette, what would _she_ do next? Jesse must've been with her a dozen times -- maybe more. Guided by that experience, she took his member and gently stroked it up and down with her hand.

"J-Jess." Her partner took a quick breath, as the intensity of what he was feeling rose.

Jessie giggled, watching him shiver, feeling his firmness in her hand. She kissed the tip again, then ran her tongue along it, covering it with saliva. When she got back to the tip, she licked a droplet of his nectar that had formed. She felt him tense in her hand and eased off.

Paul lay there, breathing hard. "Whoa, J-Jessie. That... uhh... that was so... uuuhh... so damned... good. I n-never... uuhh... thought you'd..." His voice trailed off.

"Do this?" Placing herself deeply into the role of Giselle, she took him into her mouth. She had expected to feel demeaned pleasing a man this way, but the reality, it turned out, was quite the opposite. She felt a surprising degree of control - control enough to bring her stronger companion to the brink again and again. Her tongue moved along his length, and she could feel him twitch in reaction.

He managed to reach down. His fingers twisted among her curls, grabbing her head and holding it there. If Jessie's mouth hadn't been so full, she would have gasped. As inexperienced as she was, she knew what was coming - and with Paul holding her in place, she wasn't going to miss it.

Paul's member pulsed once, twice, then it spurted, flooding her mouth.

Jessie took it bravely and somehow she didn't choke. The taste was -- she couldn't really describe it, but it... wasn't _too _ bad. She surprised herself by not gagging. She swallowed, just like Yvette used to swallow. She swallowed almost all of it; just a few drops slipped out the corner of her mouth.

After a time, he stopped, let go of her head and rested back. She felt him soften and relaxed her jaws to let him slip out. For a moment she didn't know what to do next, but she had reached this point with Yvette more than once. Carefully, she took him in her hand again and, to his great joy, licked him clean. Satisfied, almost proud, she lay down beside him. "So, mon-seur," she asked with a giggle, "did you like it?"

* * * * *

"A beer... _boy_," Pablo said with a sneer. He pulled a Liberty half- dollar from his pocket and casually flipped it onto the table in front of Arnie. The betrothal ceremony had been over for almost an hour, but people were still milling about, congratulating the happy couple and enjoying Shamus' punch and the cakes Molly, Jane, and Laura had baked.

Arnie ignored the coin. "This is a party. We have no beer." He used a ladle to fill a glass from the punch bowl. "Besides, I think that this is more your drink, anyway." He reached across the table to hand the drink to his rival.

"Who are you to say what a man like me drinks?" He took the glass anyway and drank deeply. "Sugar water." He spat the drink on the tablecloth.

Arnie laughed. "I was not speaking of what a _man_ drinks; I was talking about you. This is the punch for the children."

"And that's me best tablecloth, I'll have ye know," Molly said. Her hand snaked out to grab the coin. "The drinks is free, lad, t'celebrate Maggie and Ramon's betrothing, but I'll be thanking ye for paying for the cleaning of the cloth."

Pablo protested. "That ain't fair, Seá±ora."

"Well... if ye're going to go hungry tonight..."

"I've got the money, more'n he has by a long shot." He sneered. "Keep the coin. Give it to the _boy_, there for all I care. It's probably more than he makes in a week."

Arnie took the bait. "I make plenty. Give him back his money, Seá±ora Molly. I do not need it." He glared at Pablo, ready to leap over the table.

"Maybe ye do and maybe ye don't, Arnie, but he gave that money t'be paying for a drink. That makes it mine and Shamus', and I already told the both of ye that I'd be using it t'be paying for the washing of these tablecloths." She smiled at Arnie and pocketed the coin.

Pablo smiled scornfully. "You see, Arnoldo, the coin belongs to her. _You_ belong to her, her good little lapdog. It was worth the money to see this." He turned and walked away.

"Bastardo." Arnie muttered under his breath, as he watched Pablo disappear into the crowd. He did earn more than fifty cents a week, but not a great deal more, and it truly galled him to have Pablo remind him of the fact.

* * * * *

Monday, February 26, 1872

Bert McLeod used a twig to measure the distances between the stick they were using as a marker and two of the pennies. "Stephan and Jorge are closest. Jorge beats Yully by a quarter inch or so," he announced.

"Looks like Stephan and me're the captains," Jorge Ybaá±es said, cheerfully. Jorge's twin brother, Hector, and Bert had been captains the week before and weren't eligible to try again.

Stephan looked at the crowd of boys. "My penny was closest, so I pick first." He pointed "Yully."

"I'll go with my brother." Jorge told the others. "It'll be good t'be on the same side this week."

"Bert," Stephan said, "you're pretty fast. You get over here."

The chosen boys lined up behind their captains. "In that case..." Jorge thought for a moment. "Emma, you're on my team this week."

"Me?" Emma answered, not a little surprised. "I didn't think you even liked my playing ball."

"I ain't sure how I feel about girls playing," Hector told her. "But you're good enough that -- if we gotta let you play -- I want you on my team."

* * * * *

Ethan Thomas opened the door at the second knock. "Good morning, Wilma," he greeted her cheerfully. "Welcome to my studio. Please, do come in."

"Thank you, Mr. Thomas." She walked in, smiling, deliberately brushing her body against him as she did. She was wearing a lavender dress, the top three buttons open to give a clear view of her cleavage. The way he reacted would give her an idea about the sort of approach to take with him. Wilma, like Will before her, liked to have the upper hand.

He closed the door and turned to face her. "Ethan... please. After all, we'll be working together for some time on your painting."

"Mmm, I hope that won't be _all_ we'll be doing together." She was watching for his reaction. She got one, just a flash of one, but she couldn't quite read it before he beckoned her to follow her and turned toward his working space.

Instead of following him, Wilma walked around slowly, exploring. There was a faint smell that she recognized as turpentine that got stronger as she passed by a work table covered with tubes of paint, small jars of colored powders and larger one labeled "linseed oil." A gray pot filled with brushes was next to a can of turpentine. Next to the can was a flat, oddly shaped piece of wood. She picked it up for a closer look. "What's this... Ethan?"

"A pallet." He carefully took it from her and set it back on the table. "I use it to hold the colors while I paint."

"Really?" Wilma took his hand. "I never been in a painter's workshop before. I am _so_ looking forward to this."

"Shall we get started then? I'll be painting you upstairs if you don't mind." She was studying his eyes as he spoke. His talk was all business, but the intensity behind his appreciating glance interested her.

Wilma was still holding his hand in hers. "I thought this here was where you worked, -- not that I mind going upstairs with you. I do my best... _work_ upstairs over at Cerise's." She smiled and, again, watched for a reaction.

Ethan returned the smile smoothly. "I paint by natural light -- daylight -- as much as I am able. That requires the curtains to be open. I can't really do that in this room, not for _your_ painting. People would be walking by on the street outside, and they would, of course, look in. You... ah, you won't exactly be dressed for that."

Wilma giggled. "You think it'd bother me t'have people see me in my unmentionables? Why Ethan, that's what I do for a living. That's how men _want_ t'see me." She looked up at him, her eyes wide, lips pouting. "Wouldn't you wanna see me that way, Ethan?"

The man gave a shrug. "If people can look in and see you, they'll gather at the window and block my precious light. The _women_ won't care to look or, at any rate, they will say that they don't care to. In any event, they most certainly won't want their men to look. They'll demand that I close the curtains, and, if -- no, _when_ I am forced to do that -- I lose my light and then we'll have to move upstairs anyway." He pointed towards the ceiling. "On the second floor, no one will be able to look in, problem solved, q.e.d."

Wilma stroked his cheek with one hand. "Ain't you the clever one, though?" She let go of his hand. "I'll just go upstairs and get ready. You can come up with me and watch me strip outta these clothes, or you can wait down here till I'm done." She winked. "Or you can help. Your choice."

"Actually, I had not intended to have you pose today. We haven't even discussed your wardrobe as yet."

"Then why'd you have me come over here?" She looked confused for a moment, then smiled broadly. "Or do you something else in mind for us t'do today?"

"Wilma, lest this go any further, you should know that I never have relations with the women I'm painting. I asked Cerise to send you over this morning, so I could observe your skin tones, especially your face, in natural light. Also, I wanted to discuss the pose you'd take, perhaps make a few rough sketches of possible poses."

"That's all?" She barely managed to hide her disappointment.

"I'm afraid that it is. I apologize if this spoils whatever... plans... you might have had."

Instead of pouting she smiled. She was intrigued by his declaration that he never had relations with the women he painted. Wilma took that as a challenge.

* * * * *

Hector Ybaá±es took a bite from the beef empanada his mother had packed for his lunch. "What was you doing telling Emma she played so good?" He and his brother were sitting together alone under a tree a few feet from the school building. "You keep doing that, and all the girls'll want t'play."

"She really ain't that bad, you know," Jorge replied. "Besides, most of the girls'll never want t'mess up their pretty dresses." He made a very feminine gesture.

Hector laughed. "You're right about that." He chuckled. "I can just see 'Whiny Hermione' running around like that after a ball."

"Or Lallie Mckecknie," Jorge added. Then he thought for a moment. "Yullie's sister, Penny, though, she'd probably be a better player than Emma."

"She might. That still don't mean we gotta make her want to try."

"No, I don't want a bunch of girls getting in the way. We'd get into trouble if one of them skinned her knee."

"Then why'd you tell Emma she was so good? Why'd you pick her for your team?"

"'Cause Stephan picked Yully for his team. In case you didn't notice them two like each other."

"What about it?"

"Yully's probably the best player in school. You think he's gonna enjoy playing against his girlfriend? You think she's gonna like playing against him for that matter? It'll throw 'em both off their game."

"I see." Hector grinned. "This week'll be an easy win for sure."

* * * * *

` "Long Ike and Sweet Betsy got married, of course,
` But Ike, getting jealous, obtained a divorce,
` While Betsy, well satisfied, said with a shout,
` 'Goodbye, you big lummox, I'm glad you backed out!'"

Most of the men in the Saloon joined Jessie in the last line. They broke into applause when they were finished, and more than a few tossed coins at her.

"Thanks, boys." Jessie stood up and bowed low. "That's the end of this show, but I'll be singing again in a couple hours. You're welcome t'hang around till then, and I know Shamus'll be more 'n happy t'sell you a beer or three while you wait."

That brought a laugh from the crowd. Some were already at the bar, and more headed that way. Jessie stayed by the stool, talking to Mort Boyer and Milo Nash for a while before she came to the bar.

Shamus had a beer ready for her. "Oh, I need this." She took a long drink.

"Have ye decided, Jessie lass?" Shamus asked. "About the painting, I mean."

"I still ain't sure, Shamus. Maybe... you think that painter man'd give me some more time t'think about it?"

The "painter man," Ethan Thomas, was sitting a few feet away, finishing his own beer. "If you need the time, I should be happy to give it to you, but might I show you something first?"

"I suppose." She cocked an eyebrow. "What is it?"

Ethan pulled a tablet from one pocket of his frock coat and flipped it open. "It was premature, perhaps, but I made a few sketches while you were singing, to get some idea of how to have you pose... should you agree, of course." He paused and handed her the tablet.

"That's me, ain't it," she said in a surprised voice. His sketch showed a woman -- showed _her_ -- sitting on her stool, guitar in hand. Next to the picture, he'd written a few notes about her dress and hair, as well as drawn stick figures to represent some different poses.

"Keep going," he told her. "I did a few detail sketches, too."

Jessie looked. "My hands," she said, flipping the page to one that held several stick figure drawings, and a more detailed close-up of Jessie's hands on the guitar strings. The next page was an oval, a head with lines for the eyes and mouth and the hair up or down. "You done all this while I was singing tonight?"

"I'm a quick study. I thought that these might help to persuade you."

"What do you think, Shamus?" she asked the man looking over her shoulder. "After all, you'd be paying for it."

"I think that if we hung a picture of you over the bar, dressed all plushy and holding yuir guitar, a lot of the men who'd be just passing through wouldn't pass through so quickly."

Jessie smiled. "I'm tempted, painter man."

"Ethan, if you please," he said quickly, "Ethan Thomas." He offered his and.

"Go ahead, lassy. What harm can it do?" urged Shamus.

Jessie nodded resignedly. "All right, _Ethan_, I'll let you paint me."

She accepted his hand and pumped it two or three times before letting it go.

* * * * *

Milt Quinlan glanced down at the papers on his desk for a moment before he spoke. "Trisha, the final item we have to discuss is your business."

"What about it?" she asked nervously. "I already agreed to give Kaitlin money each month for her and Emma."

"Yes, but as your wife, she has a stake in your store. If you died today -- heaven forbid -- it'd be hers automatically as your widow."

"Only half of it; my brother, Liam, is my partner. He owns the other half."

"Exactly," Milt continued, "if something happened to you after the divorce, the store would most likely go to him. The law would make some provision for Emma, as your child, but Kaitlin would have no claim."

Tricia winced, as if in pain. "It's bad enough that we have to talk about the divorce. N-now, you're going on about me d-dying."

Kaitlin reached over and took Trisha's hand. "No one's talking about you dying. Milt is just trying to explain things."

"That's right, Trisha. The law says that all your assets have to be considered, and you did tell me that Kaitlin put some cash into your business."

Trisha nodded. "She got some money from her pa, but we--we paid him back years ago."

"Nonetheless," Milt told her, "she did put money in."

She sniffled. "So now I have to give her half of my share of the business. That doesn't seem very fair. Liam'll own most of it, then."

"I don't want a lot," Kaitlin said. "How does... umm, twenty percent sound?"

Trisha looked relieved. "Not as good as ten percent, but Milt _is_ right, I guess. You should have a share. Liam and I can give you that much, and we'll each have a forty percent share."

* * * * *

"A pitcher of beer, please, Shamus." Laura tossed a gold half-eagle coin on the counter. "Fred Norman just won a big pot, and he decided to celebrate and buy a round for the table."

"Bridget'll have that money back in no time, I'm thinking. Still, she likes her players... happy, so she don't mind losing a hand now and then." He got a glass pitcher out from under the bar, checked to make sure that it was clean, and began to fill it from the tap.

While she stood waiting for him to fill the pitcher, Laura noticed that the man sitting two barstools down was staring at her. "Can I help you with something, mister?" she asked warily.

Ethan blinked, surprised to have been caught. "You're pregnant, aren't you?"

"And if I am? I don't see it any reason for you to be concerned about it."

"I am sorry." He held out his hand. "I am Ethan Thomas, Mrs..."

Laura decided to be friendly. "Caulder, Mrs. Laura Caulder."

"Charmed. I did not mean to stare, but I saw you here no more than ten minutes ago, and you showed no sign of your..." He looked down at her gravid stomach. "...ahh, current condition."

Laura laughed. "That's because it wasn't me. You saw my... my sister, Jane." She looked around the room for a moment, then pointed. "There she is, talking to Red Tully and Norm Osbourne."

"Amazing how much the pair of you look alike."

"Almost magic, ye might say." Shamus gave Laura a wink, as he carefully set the pitcher on a tray. "Be easier t'be lifting that heavy thing if ye use both hands."

Laura picked up the tray. Before she could walk away, Ethan asked, "Please come back if you would and bring your sister, as well. I'd like to discuss a proposal with you." Laura looked back at him curiously, then nodded and started towards Bridget's table.

She was back quickly with Jane in tow.

"Thank you, Mrs. Caulder," Ethan stood as they approached. "I am Ethan Thomas," he told Jane, who, in return, introduced herself as Laura's twin. "And I am most pleased to meet you, Jane. I asked your sister to bring you over because I wanted to discuss something with you."

"What you got in mind, Ethan?" Jane said, sitting down on a stool, giving Laura an excuse to sit down next to her.

"I am a painter, Jane, a portrait artist mostly, although I have done a number of landscapes -- one can't help it out here in the western expanses. But I digress. Lady Cerise, who you may know, has paid me to come to this place to produce a portrait of her associate, Wilma Hanks. Our agreement allows me to seek other work, as well. In fact, your employer has just commissioned me to do a likeness of Miss Jessie Hanks."

Both women nodded, but their expressions told him that they still didn't grasp what this conversation was about.

"Allow me to get to the point, I have long thought of doing a portrait of 'The Three Fates', the women that Greek mythology claims control the circumstances of every man's life. Some of those myths describe them as a... uhh, maiden, a mother, and an older woman. One reason that I have not done the work is due, to a large part, to the unavailability of suitable models."

"When Laura -- may I call you Laura? -- pointed Jane out to me, I realized that the problem had been solved."

"Laura's fine," she replied, "but there's only the two of us?"

"That should not be a problem -- ah, yes, I can see the ribbon on your blouse, now. Either of you can pose for the third woman. I need only 'age' her as I paint." He took the tablet from his pocket again and made a quick sketch, more of a line drawing, actually. "I see the older woman, the 'wise woman', if you will, seated on a throne, and flanked by the maiden and the mother."

Laura considered the image. "I see what you mean. Each one has different hair, different clothes, but it'd be the same face, right?" Ethan nodded. "How long do you think this would take?"

"Assuming an hour a day for each of you -- I don't expect Mr. O'Toole to allow more than that -- I should say... six weeks at the most."

"Let's do it, Laura," Jane said. "It sounds like fun. I ain't never had nobody paint my picture before."

Shamus cut in. "And who'd be paying ye for this great work of art?"

"I won't expect you to pay, sir. You'll be contributing enough by allowing the ladies to pose. In fact, if you're still interested in commissioning me do a portrait of your lovely wife -- or the pair of you -- I'll happily consider dropping my price should you allow the ladies to pose for me."

"I'll be happy t'be dickering with ye over the price, Ethan," Shamus told him, "_if_ I decide t'have ye do that picture of me Molly. But I'll leave it to Laura and Jane to decide if they want t'be posing for ye."

"Yes, yes," Jane said happily. "I wanna do it."

Laura was far less certain. "And _I_ want to think about it. Do you mind if I give you my answer in a couple of days?"

"I'd just as soon know sooner, Mrs. Caulder, but I can understand your reticence. After all, you'll make a better model if you're happy about posing. Shall we say Wednesday evening? I can come over after dinner."

"Why don't ye come over here _for_ dinner," Shamus suggested. "They have a good bill of fare over at Cerise's place -- so I've heard -- but we've a fine restaurant here, too. And Maggie's cooking is a treat that no man who passes this way should be denying himself."

* * * * *

Tuesday, February 27, 1872

"What's the matter, Laura?" Arsenio asked.

Laura shifted in their bed, so she could face him. "What do you mean?"

"You've been tossing around, slamming your pillow like you were trying to settle down for the night, and I've heard you moaning and mumbling under your breath about something. I'd like to know what's bothering you."

"Jane... sort of."

"Now what'd she do?"

"It's not really her. A man came into the Saloon tonight, a painter. He's staying at _La_ _Parisienne_, doing a picture of Wilma of all things. And Shamus is going to have him do a picture of Jessie, too."

"Sounds simple enough. What does it have to do with Jane -- or you?"

"He saw the two of us. Shamus told him we were twins."

"And...?"

"And now he wants to do _our_ picture. We'd be the 'Three Fates', something out of the Greek legends. Jane and me would take turn posing for the third Fate."

"I can see wanting a painting of you -- I would -- but why the two of you, and why as these Greek Fates?"

"He said that, in some of the stories, one of them is a young girl, and another is a... umm, mother."

"So when he sees a pair of pretty twins, one of them pregnant, I can see where he'd get the idea. But who's gonna pay for it, not Shamus?"

Laura caught the look in his eye. "No, and neither are you, Arsenio. I'm not sure I want a picture done of me, especially not now, when I'm like big this."

"Big _and_ beautiful." He leaned in and kissed her forehead. "Maybe he won't find anybody to pay, and you'll be off the hook."

"He might do it anyway, 'on spec' he called it. He'd paint it and ship it back east to be sold."

"Is he any good? Would it sell?"

"I'm no judge. He made some sketches to show Jane and me how he'd want us to pose. I thought they looked pretty good."

"Any picture of you would."

"I want to pose, and I _don't_ want to pose. What should I do?"

"I don't know. And if I did, I wouldn't tell you."

"Well, thank you very much."

"Laura, you're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen, especially now." He reached down and gently touched her extended belly. "And I'd be proud to have everybody else see just how beautiful you are."

Now it was her turn. "And..."

"And it would be you that they'd be looking at. If you aren't comfortable with the idea of your picture being looked at, then I don't want you to do it. You think about it some more. I'll be here to talk to you about it whenever you want. And _whatever_ you decide, I'll back you up."

Laura slid in close to him. "I'm just glad that you're here for me right now." Her hand reached down to touch his erect member inside his drawers. "But I don't think we'll talk." She kissed him hard. He returned the kiss, and they were soon too happily busy to talk for a while.

* * * * *

Liam looked around. The store was empty, as it often was mid-morning. "So, Trisha," he said, turning to her, "how'd it go yesterday when you and Kaitlin met with Milt Quinlan?"

"Not too bad, I guess." She shrugged and made a sour face. "I put her name on the deed to the house -- I'll still be living there after we divorce. I'll keep giving her money each month to run the place and for her and Emma." She sighed. "I gave her a check, too, so she could set up her own bank account instead of using the one we shared."

"Sounds like you've got everything in order then."

Trisha chewed her lip a bit. "Umm, not quite. She... she wants a share in the store, too."

"Sounds fair. She did put in some of the money we used to set up the business."

"I'm so glad that you agreed." She sighed in relief. "I thought we'd give her twenty percent. That'd leave forty percent for each of us."

Liam gave Trisha a sharp look. "You expect me to give her part of my share?"

"Of course. Milt's drawing up the papers. He said that they'd be ready to sign Thursday or Friday."

"Why should I give her anything? I'm not the one divorcing her."

"Because I said so, Liam," she answered firmly, her hands balled up on her hips. "Why should you own half the store, when I have to give part of my half to Kaitlin?"

"That's not going to work, Trisha." Liam crossed his arms in front of him. "I probably would have gone along in deference to my big brother, Patrick -- I usually did, but I'm _not_ going give away a big chunk of my share of the business just because my little sister, Trisha, tells me to."

Trisha made a long face. "Now you're just being mean."

"No, practical, one of us has to be." He thought for a bit. "The last time I looked at the books, the Feed and Grain was worth about... $5500, more or less. That about right?"

"Figure in stock on hand and accounts receivable, I'd say closer to $6,000," she answered warily. "Are you asking me to pay you for your share?"

"Of course, I am. Ten percent of $5,500 is... $550, but you are my little sister, so I'll let you have the share for half, just $275. Do you think you can afford that?"

"If... if I have to, but it-it isn't fair. It just isn't fair."

Liam shook his head. "No, it's business." To himself he added, 'and it's just what Patrick would do if things were the other way around.'

Trisha gave a deep sigh. "All right, _brother_." She spat the last word. "I'll pay. I'll tell Milt to say in the paperwork that I'm paying for your share."

* * * * *

` "My Sweet Gregorio,”

` “I been meaning t'write you for a while, now. I was sure
` unhappy that you left town without stopping in to say,
` 'Goodbye' to me.”

` “I like goodbyes. Especially the _long_ ones where
` there's time for us to snuggle while we rest up for the
` next go-'round.”

` “You was so much fun to be with; I just _know_ you can do
` great goodbyes. I can feel it in my bones, and in a few
` other places of mine that you said _you_ enjoyed feeling
` when we was together. You know the ones I mean, and, if
` you don't, you come by here, and I'll show them to you again.”

` “Sebastian Ortega said you was gonna be back this way in a
` couple of weeks. I hope you'll stop by and say, 'Hello.'
` I'm even better at helloes than I am at goodbyes.”

` “You say, 'Hello.' And I'll say, 'Hello.' Then we'll go
` upstairs, and we won't say much of anything 'cause we'll
` have better things to do with our mouths. And our hands.
` And all them other fun parts that we got that fit
` together so nice. Then, later on, we get to say more
` than 'Hello.'”

` “We get to say, 'Good morning.'”

` “So don't you keep me waiting, you big, darling man.”

` “Your loving, _eager_,
` Wilma"

Wilma put down the pen. "Is this what you wanted, Sebastian?" She handed him the letter.

"I am certain that it will be." He examined the letter, stopping twice to consider a particular sentence. "It is excellent," he told her finally. "More than I had hoped. I am hard from reading it, and the letter is not even written to me."

Wilma's eyes stared at his crotch. "Mmm, you surely are," she purred. "Why don't you 'n' me go upstairs and do something about that?"

"_I_ will attend to him." Beatriz had been standing nearby. She walked over and took his hand. "You just finish with that letter he had you write."

Sebastian nodded, looking sheepish and handed back the letter. "Do as you said you would, mark it with your lipstick and your perfume. When Gregiorio sees it, I want him to want you as much --"

"As much as Sebastian here wants me," Beatriz interrupted. "Don't you, Sebastian?" Her hand snaked down, and she ran a finger over the bulge in his pants.

Sebastian put his arm around her waist and pulled him to her. "But, of course, Beatriz, just as _you_ want me." He leaned down to kiss her, but he managed a wink at Wilma as he did.

"Then why don't you two head upstairs," Wilma said, slipping back into her role as the Lady's second. "You're getting t'be a damned distraction." She smiled and watched them head out the parlor and towards the stairs. "That Sebastian's one slick hombre." She pressed the letter to her lips, leaving a bright red cupid's bow when she took it away.

"If Gregorio's half the man he was in my bed, this'll bring him back for more." She put the letter in an envelope and sprinkled on some perfume from a bottle sitting on the writing desk. "Mmmm, that'll be _soo_ nice." She closed her eyes a moment, remembering just how much she'd enjoyed her time with the man. "And if he still wants me -- and he will -- then he can't be saying it's wrong for Ramon t'want Maggie."

* * * * *

"My little sister, Trisha."

Liam's words echoed over and over in her head all morning until she finally decided, 'If that's what he wants, that's what he'll get.'

"So long, Mike," she told one customer, a farmer with a small spread east of town. "I'll be looking for you at the dance on Saturday."

He looked surprised and not a little flustered. "Umm... ahh... likewise."

"My little sister, Trisha."

"Have you bought a ticket to the church dance yet?" she asked Isaiah Logan a while later when he came in for his weekly feed order.

Isaiah shook his head. "No, ma'am. I haven't."

"Oh, but you should," she answered, pouting prettily.

"Aw, who'd want to dance with an old stick-in-the mud like me?"

"But there's lots of girls who'd want to dance with a nice man like you." She gave him a shy smile. "I know I would."

"In that case, where do I get one of them tickets?"

Trisha took a small green box out from under the counter. "Right here. They're two dollars each." She smiled at him again. "They're worth it."

"I bet they are." He fished two silver dollars out of his pocket and tossed them on the counter. When she tore a ticket off the roll and handed it to him, he added, "And we'll just see _how_ worthwhile this one is on Saturday."

Trisha watched Logan walk out of the store with a jaunty step. Her brother was fixing a display, glowering at her. "Perfect," she told herself and giggled. "I get to annoy Liam _and_ have some fun besides."

"My little sister, Trisha."

Liam was talking to Sebastian Ortega late in the day, when a tall, barrel-chested man walked into the Feed and Grain. "'Scuse me, Mr. O'Hanlan," he interrupted, holding out a clipboard. "I'm from Mckecknie's Freight Service, and I got that shipment of seeds you ordered."

"I'll take care of this," Trisha said, stepping over to the man. "After all, _I_ was the one who ordered the seeds." She looked up at the man. "Shall we go check the order... Rhys, isn't it?"

"Yes, yes it is ma'am, Rhys Godwyn." The man beamed. "And I am surely pleased that you remembered me." He followed her out the door. Once they were outside, she looked back. Liam was glaring at her, but he was discussing a big order for the Ortega farm, so he had to stay put. "Shall we?" She offered Rhys her arm.

"I don't know that it'd be proper," he replied. "You being married and all. A man can get in a lotta trouble taking the arm of some other man's wife."

Trisha tried a shy smile. "My brother was just trying to protect me when he told you I was married. I assure you that there is no man in my life -- except for my brother, of course."

"Well, now, I am even more glad t'hear that." He took her arm and led her over to his wagon. He smiled back at her, as they walked. Then his eyes drifted down to her breasts, pushing out the front of her starched, green blouse.

"Maybe -- after we unload this..." He pointed to the three large crates with "O'Hanlan Feed and Grain" printed on large labels on their sides. "...me and you can go someplace, have a drink, 'n' get to know each other better."

The invitation sent a delicious shiver through Trisha's body. "That would be nice, but I... I have to stay at the store till closing time. Then I'm expected straight home to help with supper." She gently touched his hand. "I... I am sorry."

"So am I... Trisha. Me and Zeb -- he's my swamper -- we got to be on the road tonight. We're taking a big load t'Prescott, and we won't be back this way till Saturday."

"Oh, but that would be perfect. There's a church dance Saturday -- I'm selling tickets here at the store. You can come and we could... get to know each other there." She wasn't sure why she was encouraging his attentions, but she couldn't see any reason not to.

'Besides,' she thought, 'it's sure to annoy Liam.'

* * * * *

"Good evening, Jane." Milt put his arm around her waist and kissed her gently on the cheek. "Are you on waitress duty tonight?"

She returned his kiss. Her hand was atop his, resting on her hip. "Matter of fact, Dolores is the waitress tonight. Why?"

"I just thought it would be pleasant to have dinner with you this evening. If you don't mind, of course."

"Mind? 'Course not. I was hoping you'd come in. I got something t'tell you." She looked around. "Shamus is over talking to Otto Euler. Lemme go see if I can take my supper break now." Otto was Hans Euler's brother and his partner in the town's only brewery.

Ten minutes later, Jane and Milt were seated at one of Maggie's tables. Milt waited until Dolores had taken their orders before he asked Jane, "Now then, what did you want to tell me?"

"I'm gonna have my picture painted, me and Laura together."

"Painted?" When Jane nodded cheerily, he continued, "How did that happen?"

"Lady Cerise, she hired this painter, Ethan Thomas, his name is, t'paint a picture of Wilma Hanks. While he's in town, he's hiring out t'do other pictures. He's doing one of Jessie -- maybe one of Molly, too; Shamus ain't decided for sure, and he'd be the one paying for the both of 'em."

"Would he pay for one of you and Laura, also?"

"No, that's the funny thing. He saw Laura 'n' me, saw we was twins, and he asked if he could do a picture of us. He didn't say nothing about who'd pay for it. He did say something 'bout doing it for a speck, whatever that is."

Milt tried not to smile. "_On_ _spec_... speculation. That means he'd paint it now and try to sell it later. He must have something special in mind, if he's willing to take a risk like that." He saw her expression wilt. "Of course, any picture of you would be special. At least, it would be to me."

"Why thank you, Milt, but I know what you meant. It did sound like it'd be fun, though." She brightened. "Maybe _I'll_ buy it. I got all that money just sitting in the bank, after all."

"It isn't 'just sitting', Jane. Dwight Albright's investing it, using your money to make you even more money. From what he's told me, he's doing rather well, and his investments are a lot safer than buying a painting you wouldn't be able to re-sell for a profit anytime soon."

"Maybe I don't wanna re-sell it. Maybe I just want a picture of me 'n' Laura t'hang in my room upstairs. What'd be wrong with that?"

"Nothing really, I suppose. I just think that you'd do better to keep your money in the bank and let Dwight decide how to use it."

"You gonna keep trying t'talk me out of paying for that painting?" She frowned and crossed her arms in front of herself.

"I'd like to." He looked at her expression. "But I've got a feeling that it wouldn't do much good, would it?"

Jane almost smiled. "Nope. I ain't decided yet if I wanna buy it, but I'm just stubborn enough that you telling me not to might just make me go ahead and pay for that there picture just to show you up."

* * * * *

"I do not think that man likes you, R.J.," Dolores said. She was sitting at the bar waiting for someone to signal that he wanted to order a drink.

R.J. looked around. "Which man is that?"

"Him." She pointed at a ruddy-faced man in a green work shirt. "He has been sitting there -- how do you say it -- nursing his drink, but every so often, he looks over at you. When he does, he looks very angry."

The barman shrugged. "I suppose he's still mad from when I stuck my knife in his arm."

"What?" She looked shocked and stood up as if to move away from him.

"I guess Arnie didn't tell you the story."

"Arnoldo? What did he have to do with it?"

"He was... let me start at the beginning. The man's name is Parnell. He and his partner, Hersh, were cheating in Bridget's poker game. She caught them at it, and he pulled a gun. He was going to shoot her when I... ahh, distracted him with my knife." He stood back, so she could see the knife in a dark, leather scabbard at his belt.

Then he continued. "Hersh was ready to draw his own pistol, when Arnie knocked him down and sat on him till the sheriff got here."

Dolores gasped. "Arnoldo... he jumped a man with a pistola?"

"He did. Of course, he's always had a thing for Bridget."

"Si, but he is still a hero."

R.J. nodded. "True enough. That's part of the reason why Shamus hired him back. He figured Arnie had earned a second chance."

"He is a good man, Shamus O'Toole. But how is it that Parnell and Hersh are not in jail for what they did?"

"They were. They each got six weeks for pulling their guns and threatening people. Unfortunately, it's not against the law to cheat at poker. They came back here after their time in the county lock-up. They tell everybody that they're trying their hands at prospecting. Bridget won't let them back in her game, of course, but Shamus, like I said, he believes in second chances, so we let them drink here."

"Do you think that they are honest?"

"I haven't seen them try anything, but they do spend a lot more time here in town than most of the men looking for color in the rock. Shamus and I are watching them, just in case."

Dolores looked over at Parnell. He wasn't looking at her or R.J., now. He was watching at Arnie, who was busy cleaning up a table at the far side of the room. He wasn't frowning at the moment, but he did seem interested in her cousin. 'Perhaps I shall keep an eye on him as well,' she thought to herself.

* * * * *

Wednesday, February 28, 1872

"Are ye all right, Laura?" Molly asked.

Laura grimaced. "No. No I'm not. My feet, my legs haven't hurt like this..." She carefully rubbed her left leg. "...since I had my first monthlies. The cramps are -- ahh! -- horrible." She winced.

"They are, and there ain't a lot ye can do for it 'cause it's yuir own body that's doing it, getting ready for that wee babe that's coming."

"What _can_ I do?"

"Well, for them cramps in yuir leg, ye can try forcing your toes back toward your face and pushing down on the knee to straighten your leg."

Laura sat down and tried what Molly suggested. "It feels better, a little better anyway. Thanks."

"Keep doing that thing with yuir leg, it takes time t'be working."

"I'll keep at it, then." She thought for a moment. "And I'll ask Emily Lonnigan when Amy and I see her next week if she has any more ideas."

"If them cramps keep bothering ye, then ye shouldn't be waiting. Emily'll be glad t'be talking to ye any time ye want. Ye be sure t'remember that."

"I will."

* * * * *

"Well, now," Wilma greeted Bridget, as the redhead walked into the parlor at _La_ _Parisienne_. "Two visits in a week. T'what do I owe this honor?"

Bridget sat nervously on the couch across from her old friend. "I... uhh, I need a favor."

"We been friends... partners since we was boys back at the Orphans' Home. You've done me more 'n' a few good turns since then. What do ya want?"

"M-money."

"Hell's bells, Bridget, _everybody_ wants money. How much d'you need, and what d'you need it for?"

"There's gonna be a poker game in town in a couple of weeks, and I want in."

"Ain't that game you run enough for you?"

"This is a _big_ game, Wilma. Big time gamblers playing for _big_ stakes. There's a $1,000 buy-in and table stakes." She looked down at the floor. "I-I don't have near that much."

"And you thought I did." Wilma chuckled. "I guess you decided me being a whore ain't too bad, after all. Not if you think I make that kinda money."

"Do you want me to say that I approve of what you do? You never needed my approval before."

"No, I didn't then, and I don't now. If you don't like it, you can..."

Bridget shrugged. "I don't particularly like it, but I figure it's your life. We all got a new hand when we drank that potion, and you surely got a couple of wild cards when you took that second drink. If this is how you want to play what life dealt you, then ante up and good luck."

"Spoke like the gambler you always was." Wilma studied her friend's face. "You want this game a lot, don't you?"

"I want to get in that game so bad I can taste it. The bank won't give me the money. I thought... I hoped you could."

Wilma shook her head. "I don't know as I can. I got..." She closed her eyes and did some mental figuring. "..._maybe_ $100."

"That's all?"

"Most of what I earn goes t'pay Lady Cerise. I do get tips -- men do enjoy _special_ service." She giggled and gave Bridget a lascivious look. "Cerise gets half of that, too, and I spend a lot of what's left on clothes." She sighed. "I enjoy dressing in silks and satins from the skin out, 'specially the silky unmentionables that feel _so_ good against my skin. Mmm, I like having men take 'em off me, too."

She stopped for a moment. "You get Cap or R.J. t'show you how nice it can be t'have a man undress you, yet?"

Bridget's face went red as her hair. "N-no," she whispered. It was a question she didn't want to think about.

"You try it, and you'll see just how much fun it is." Wilma chuckled again. "But t'get back t'what I was saying, all them clothes, dresses _and_ my unmentionables is expensive. You're welcome t'what I got, though, if it'll help."

"It'd still leave me a few hundred short. I may -- _may_ -- take you up on the offer, but I think I'll keep looking."

"Just so's you make sure all that looking don't keep you from coming over here now and then."

* * * * *

Molly filled one of the steins with beer and handed it to Milt. "Ye look sorely troubled, lad. Do ye want t'be talking about it?"

The lawyer looked around. "Where's Jane?"

"This time of day, she's out helping Maggie with the free lunch. D'ye want me t'be getting her for ye?"

He shook his head. "No. She's the problem."

"Did the two of ye have a fight about something?"

"Not yet. Molly, I'm worried about her."

"And why is that now?"

"She told me about that painting this Thomas fellow wants to do of her and Laura. She said that she might buy it; that spending some of her money on that painting was better than just letting it sit in the bank."

"That's right. I'm so used t'be thinking of her as just a girl that works for Shamus and me, that I forgot about that money she has."

"I don't believe she thinks much about it either, at least I hope she doesn't."

Molly cocked an eyebrow. "And why is that?"

"Jane's a sweet, wonderful girl, but she's... well, she's an innocent. Right now, Dwight Albright's investing her money -- and doing pretty well from what he's told me. But how long would that money stay in his bank, how long would she even have it, if she starts spending it all on whatever fool notion popped into her head?"

"Aye, but it is her money, ye know."

"I know. And I know that she has a right to spend it any way she wants. I'm just afraid that she'll squander it, and if she does, she'll... I don't want her to feel the hurt of knowing what she had and knowing that she lost it through her own foolishness."

She gave him a sly smile. "Ye know, there is one way ye can protect her from doing just that."

"What? What could I possibly do?"

"Ye could marry the girl and take her fortune as yuir own."

"Marry her for her money, isn't that sort of what Ozzie Pratt tried to do?" He looked down at the counter. "I do hope to marry her someday, but I don't want her money to be any part of the reason, not even if it's a good reason."

"Aye, and I expect the two of ye will be marrying one fine day. For now, what say that the two of us just keep a weather eye on Jane, so she don't do nothing foolish?"

"Frankly, I was hoping you might say that. We just can't be too heavy handed about it. She said that she might buy that painting just because I told her not to."

"Maybe I'll be talking to her then. There ain't an Irishman -- or Irish _woman_ for that matter -- that don't have at least a bit of the blarney about her."

* * * * *

"Have you decided yet?" Ethan Thomas asked.

Wilma looked at the two sketches again. One showed her in silky unmentionables sitting on the edge of a bed. She was smiling mischievously. The fingers of one hand encircled a long, wooden bedpost; the other hand was extended in a gesture inviting the viewer to join her. In the other picture, she was stretched out languidly on the bed, nude, the same enticing smile on her face, her hand extended in the same gesture.

"You say that the Lady's seen both of these?" She answered the question with one of her own.

He nodded. "Indeed, she has. She approved either one, saying that the final decision should be yours."

"I-I don't know. Maybe if I went upstairs 'n' looked around where I'm gonna be posing, it'd help me choose."

"Go ahead. I'll give you some time alone before I join you."

"Thanks... Ethan." She said his name softly as she rose from the chair and walked to the stairs. She deliberately passed close enough that her body brushed against him, though neither spoke. She expected him to watch, and her hip-swaying walk was a siren call to sex.

Ethan seemed to be ignoring her as she climbed the stairs. 'I've prepared a canvas upstairs should she make her choice and be ready to pose -- rather than anything else,' he told himself. 'I should have a palate ready, as well.' He began selecting tubes of pigment from a set of racks in the worktable.

"Oh, Ethan..." Wilma's voice drifted down from the second floor of his studio no more than five minutes later. "Could you come up here?"

He stuffed the tubes into the pockets of his painter's smock. "Be right there," he answered. Then, taking palate in hand, he strode to the steps.

"I take it you decided on the pose you prefer," he told her when he reached the second floor.

Wilma was lying on the bed in the second pose he had shown her. She was gloriously nude, her smile one of lecherous delight. "Give you any ideas?" she asked in a low, husky voice.

"It does." He gave her a wry smile. "I shall need more umber in order to match your skin tones."

"That's all?" She pouted prettily.

"As I told you previously, I do not choose to engage in any... indecorous behavior with my subjects while I am doing their portraits. I find that it has a detrimental effect upon my work."

"You sure?" She climbed out of bed and walked sensuously towards him. She stopped _very_ close, put her arms around his neck, and drew him down. She checked the expression in his eyes for exasperation, didn't see any, and so gave him a passionate kiss.

Ethan's arms snaked around her. He pulled her body even closer, and returned the kiss.

When they finally came up for air, Wilma smiled seductively. "That change your mind?"

"It was, indeed, satisfying, Wilma, but my original position still stands."

Wilma's fingers found and brushed against the erection in his trousers. "Hmmm, that ain't all that's standing."

"Perhaps it isn't, but how I deal with that reaction of my body to your kiss will not, I assure you, involve the sort of activity you are proposing."

"You sure 'bout that?" She began to run her fingers along the bulge in his pants.

She thought she saw a flicker of a smile, but his words were stern. "I am. Now, you can return to the bed --"

"Yes, sir." She scampered back to the bed, climbed on, and slid over. "C'mon in." She smiled and patted the space she'd left.

"...Return to the bed and _pose_, or you can leave, and I tell Cerise that you are not cooperating with me."

Wilma looked as if he'd slapped her. No one had _ever_ refused what she was so clearly offering this... this _despicable_ little man. Well, so be it. This painting would take a long time, but Will Hanks had once watched a bank, one he'd wanted to rob, for six weeks before he made off with a good haul. She could bide her time. "Y-yes... Ethan," she replied, using the unsteady tones of a weak woman that some men liked. She then settled back into position as he walked over to the easel that was waiting nearby.

* * * * *

"That's a rather odd game you're playing, Miss Kelly."

Bridget put down the cards she was holding for an early afternoon hand of Maverick solitaire. "Not as odd as the one you're playing, Mr. Slocum." She looked up at him, the angles of her mouth turned down in anger. "What do you want?"

"I have a business proposition for you."

"After what you found out -- or _think_ you found out about me, I'm surprised that you'd offer me anything."

"Based on what I've read of your history, there's any number of things I wouldn't offer you. However, I need a dealer for that big game I'm running in a couple of weeks. You know poker and are scrupulously honest about how it should be played -- a surprise in some ways, but I know it to be fact."

"Those are the only _facts_ you do know about me." She looked down at the cards on the table. "I know about that game of yours. I've been trying to put the money together, so I could get in."

"_That_ is most unlikely."

"I can imagine. You've been working hard, you and your friends, to keep me out of it, haven't you?"

"I admit to nothing of the sort. However, I am offering you a chance -- the only chance you're likely to get -- to be a part of it. As the dealer, you wouldn't play of course, but you would be there at the table."

"I think that you're enjoying this."

"Why, yes, I believe that I am." He chuckled. "The game isn't until the 16th. Please let me know as soon as you decide." He paused a moment. "Good day, Miss Kelly."

* * * * *

Clyde Ritter stopped at a wooden door halfway down the alley. He knocked three times, stopped briefly, then knocked twice more. The door opened a crack. "Mister Ritter, suh?" a soft female voice asked. When she saw for certain who it was, Daisy opened the door wider, and Ritter slipped inside.

"Mr. Styron's in the private dining room," the black maid said, as she quickly closed the door behind him. "I'll go tell Mae and Wilma you's here."

Ritter looked at his pocket watch. "Could you give us about ten minutes? I have some business to talk to Horace about first."

"Business b'fore pleasure, as they say."

He sighed for dramatic effect. "I'm afraid so," he answered and walked over to a nearby door. "Hello, Horace," he said as he entered the other room.

"Evening, Clyde." Horace Styron was sitting at the large oak table, set for two couples, that was the centerpiece of the room. A cooler at one end held a magnum of red wine. "I see that Cecilia set you free for the evening. What sort of lie did you tell her?"

Ritter grinned. "None. I told her that I was meeting you for dinner, and that we'd be discussing church business. I just didn't say _where_ we'd be meeting or who else might be there."

"Very good, and may she never find out."

"Amen to that." Ritter grew serious. "So tell me, how's the sale of dance tickets going at your store?"

"Too damned well. As soon as that kid Unger put the story in the paper, people were asking about them. I didn't even have to put up a sign. How about you?"

"The same. The only good thing was that I got some extra business out of it. My three rental rigs are all taken. Men want to bring their wives or lady friends to the dance in something fancier than their old farm wagon."

"I'm so glad for you," Styron replied coldly. "I think we're up against the sad fact that this dance is going to be a big success."

"I know. And I know who's going to get the credit. _Trisha_." He recited the name with a simpering voice and an expression that looked as if he'd just swallowed lemon juice straight. "People are going to love her, and they'll love whatever fool idea she comes up with next."

"Yeah, instead of thinking the way _we_ want them to." He shook his head in disgust.

"So what are we going to do about it?"

"We're going to go to that dance and act like we're enjoying ourselves. We're also going to keep our eyes open for anything that goes wrong. You talk to your wife. Have her and her busybody friends keep an eye out, too. She doesn't like Trisha any more than we do. In the meantime--"

There was a knock on the door. It opened a bit, and Mae looked in on them. "You boys ready for us yet?"

"Mae," Styron greeted her, "I am always ready for you. Come on in."

Ritter watched the woman glide into the room. She hurried over to Styron and kissed him on the cheek. 'Where's Wilma?' he asked himself.

"Guess who?" A pair of soft hands slipped in front of Ritter's eyes. He could feel her body pressed against him from behind.

His hands reached back and did some exploring. "These tits are a lot bigger than my wife's," he answered tentatively. "Firmer, too, and Cecilia _never_ smelled so good." He spun around. "Hello, Wilma."

"Hello, Clyde, honey." Her arms were still stretched around him. They closed around his neck and pulled him down into a kiss.

* * * * *

Martha Yingling stood up from the table. "Ruth, will you take care of the lights, while I fetch desert?"

"Yes, mama," Ruth answered with all the solemnity an 11-year old could muster. While her mother went into the kitchen, she turned down the wick on the large oil lamp at the center of the table, plunging the room into near-darkness.

"Taa dahh!" Martha sang out, as she came back into the room. She was pushing a small serving cart. On top if the cart was a large cake with 14 lit candles.

Thaddeus Yingling's rich baritone voice filled the room.

` "For he's a jolly good fellow;
` For he's a jolly good fellow;
` For he's a jolly good fellow..."

The rest of the family joined in on the chorus.

` "And so say all of us;
` And so say all of us;
` And so say all of us;”

` “For he's a jolly good feh-hehl-low;
` And so say... all of us."

"Happy birthday, my son," Yingling finished. "Make a wish, and blow out the candles."

Stephan Yingling stood up and leaned over the cake. 'Tin soldiers,' he thought stubbornly, 'a whole bunch of tin soldiers.' He took a deep breath and blew at the 14 candles on his cake. He circled around, trying to get them all, and the last one flickered out with his last gasp of breath.

"Very good," the reverend said, applauding along with the rest of them. "Would you like your presents now, or do you want to have the cake first?"

Stephan gave a happy laugh. "Could I do some of each?"

"I don't see why not." Martha cut a slice, transferred it onto a plate, and set it down in front of her son. "Thaddeus, hand him one of the presents, please."

Stephan took a forkful of cake. "Mmmm, carrot cake, my favorite." He took a present from his father and began tearing at the paper. "It's... it's a book."

"Yes," his father told him. "Your grandfather Brampton sets great store by Tyler's _A_ _History_ _of_ _the_ _Methodist_ _Church_. I told him how well your studies were going, and he was pleased to send you a copy."

Stephan tried to hide his disappointment. This was hardly the sort of present that he had hoped for.

Neither were the other presents. His mother's parents had sent clothes, something no boy would want, and her sister, his Aunt Eugenia, had sent a pen and pencil set which wasn't much better.

"This is from your Uncle Obediah." His father handed him another present.

He gave it a gently shake as he took it. A rattle! Was this the box with the toy soldiers he'd asked for so many times? No, it was, "A medal?" He asked, staring at the thin brass disk.

The reverend nodded. "A pilgrim's medallion; Obediah purchased it during his trip to the Holy Land last year. I believe there is also... yes, _A_ _Guide_ _to_ _Homiletics_. I told him that I wanted you to begin a study of rhetoric this year. That book is an excellent introduction."

"Thank you so much, Father." Stephan's voice was flat.

His mother glanced over at him. "Goodness, dear, you've hardly touched your cake, and I made it just the way you liked it."

"It's very good, mother. I just... I don't seem to be as hungry as I thought I was."

* * * * *

Thursday, February 29, 1872

Arsenio and Laura were just finishing breakfast, when they heard someone knocking on the side door, the one that lead to Arsenio's smithy.

"I'll get it," he said, standing up. "It's probably someone looking for me, anyway." He walked over and opened the door. "Milt, what're you doing here so early?"

Milt looked past him into the room. "Is Laura about? I wondering if I might speak with her before she left for Shamus'."

"I'm over here," Laura called from the table. "Come on in. Can I get you some coffee or anything before we start?" She began to stand up.

The lawyer shook his head. "No, thank you, I'm fine. Please... please, sit down." He gestured to an empty chair at the table. "May I?"

"Sit," Arsenio told him, coming around the table to sit down next to his wife. "Now, what's so important that it can't wait till Laura gets to the saloon?"

Milt turned the chair around and sat down, leaning his arms over the back. "The problem is that Jane will be at the saloon, too. I don't want her to hear what I'm about to ask." He looked at Laura. "Have you decided if you're going to pose for Ethan Thomas?"

"I-I'm not sure. I know Jane wants to. She keeps talking about how much fun it'll be."

"Yes, that's what I wanted to talk to you about," Milt replied.

Arsenio leaned back in his chair. "So that's why you came, to talk my wife into posing 'cause it would make Jane happy."

"To be frank, _I'd_ be happier if she _didn't_ want to pose." He took a breath. "The thing is, Jane's stubborn, and I can't talk her out of it."

"She's always been that way. Come to think of it..." Laura chuckled. "...that's how she got to be Jane in the first place, not listening to Shamus, when she was Jake."

"I remember," the lawyer answered, "but, also, she's always been something of an... innocent. That's a risky combination when someone like Thomas is involved. You know the sort of thing that people say about itinerant artists."

"I'm afraid that I can't be much help as a chaperone. Once we have the poses settled, Shamus wants each of us to go over by herself. That way he won't be too short-handed at the saloon."

"Yes, but she told me that the plan was for her to go over first, in the morning, so she'd be back in time to help Maggie with lunch. If you turn up right after her, there would be little opportunity for them to get... involved in anything."

"I suppose not. Is that all you wanted?"

"In point of fact, I came over to ask you to help make sure Jane doesn't go and waste her money buying that painting. But if he does anything to harm her..." Milt's expression darkened and he clenched his hands into fists. He looked down at himself and laughed.

"What's so funny?" Laura asked quickly.

"I thought that I'd just been worrying that he would talk her into spending her money foolishly, and now I realize that I don't want him to... to..."

"You feel that strongly about her?" Arsenio asked. The other man nodded, looking embarrassed.

Laura gently put her hand on Milt's shoulder. "Well, you don't have to worry because I'll be posing with her. It's the least I can do to protect my..." She sighed. "...foolish, innocent, little sister. Especially when the man asking is the man who loves her."

* * * * *

Arnie used his back to open the kitchen door out to the saloon's yard. "I think I hate this more than I do cleaning the spittoons," he muttered. He looked down at the large tin pail, whose handle he was holding with both hands, and stepped carefully out into the yard.

It was a swill bucket, a pail kept under the drain of the sink to catch dirty water and kitchen waste. One of Arnie's duties was to empty it as needed into a grass-filled hole at the far end of the yard. The greasy, gray water it held had a sour smell, and he moved slowly to keep any of the liquid from splashing onto his shoes or his pants.

"Having fun?" Pablo Escobar was leaning against the low back fence of the yard, near the garbage pit.

Arnie looked daggers at him. "More fun than you'll ever have shoveling horse shit for Mr. Ritter."

"Yeah, but at least he pays me fair wage for it, not the pennies you get from Shamus. And he trusts me, too."

"The hell he does."

"The hell he doesn't. He left early for some meeting last night, and he put me in charge of closing up the store."

"He must've been really in a hurry to do a fool thing like that."

Pablo put his hand on the fence rail and leapt over. There wasn't any reason to cross the fence unless he wanted to fight, so Arnie braced, ready to throw the swill onto the other boy. "Come any closer, Pablo, and you'll stink even more 'n' usual."

"Arnoldo," Molly called from the house, "dump that swill where it belongs and get back here." She looked over at Pablo. "And ye, _boy_, vaminos... be off with ye now!"

Pablo laughed. "I'm going. 'Bucket boy' can go hide under your skirts for now." He bowed low and headed off, chortling as he went.

* * * * *

Tommy Carson had the ball tucked under his arm. He was running as fast as he could for the tree that marked the goal line for Hector Ybaá±ez' team. He dodged past Clyde Ritter who tried to knock it free, only to see Stephan Yingling standing in his way.

"I'm free! I'm free!" Emma shouted, waving her hands. Tommy remembered that were both on the same team this week. She was the only one he could see that _was_ clear. He passed her the ball and moved to try and block Stephan.

Emma caught the ball and started her run for the tree. Now it was Bert McLeod blocking her. She moved left, then right, but each time, he matched her. His arms were stretched to block another pass.

She moved left again. When he matched her this time, she shifted her body as if she were going right. Bert matched the move he thought she was making.

Instead, she took a half-step back and darted left, running past him. He turned to chase her, but she was too fast. She passed the tree just as he caught up with her. "Dang it!" he muttered.

"That puts us up 3 to 1," Emma shouted happily, as she handed him the ball.

Bert stood by the tree. All the other players, Emma included formed a half circle facing him from the playing field.

Yully was standing a few feet away, but when she tried to move closer, he moved away. She glanced over at his face. He was frowning. 'He- he's mad at me for scoring that point against his team,' she thought.

Before she could try to decide what to do, Bert made a quick fake, as if to toss the ball to Clyde Ritter, then shot it quickly to Stephan.

The game was afoot.

* * * * *

"'Morning, Mr. Lewis," Joel Keenan greeted Cap just outside the Wells Fargo office. "Haven't seen you in town for a while."

Cap nodded. "I haven't been in town for over a week. My uncle's been keeping everybody busy out at the ranch."

"So how'd you manage to get in today?" Keenan grinned. "You playing hookey?"

"Actually, I came in town to run some errands. I'll be heading back out late tonight."

The other man shrugged. "Just as well."

"Excuse me. But what do you mean 'just as well'?"

"N-nothing, nothing at all."

"I very much doubt that. Why don't you just tell me the truth?" Cap too a step closer. He was taller than Keenan by several inches and much more muscular.

"All right, all right. I-I made a bet -- $5 -- that Miss Bridget would... would wind up with R.J., n-not with you. The less time you spend with her..." His explanation trailed off in embarrassment.

"I didn't know you were so interested in making bets, Keenan. Can I offer you a sporting wager?"

Keenan glanced at the other man suspiciously. "I-I suppose. What is it?"

"A simple enough thing." He held up his right hand, balled into a fist, his thumb raised. "Am I left handed or right handed?"

"Now how would I know that?"

"Well, then, let he give you a hint." He wiggled his right thumb. When Kennan turned to get a closer look at it, he hit him in the chin with a quick left hook. Kennan staggered, and Cap followed with a right jab that left him sprawled on the sidewalk.

As Cap stepped over the man, he looked down and warned. "Don't you _ever_ make a bet like that again."

* * * * *

"This is where you want the hem, right?" Enoch Ryland asked. When Trisha nodded, he used a piece of tailor's chalk to mark the new hemline.

Trisha watched nervously. "Will you be able to get all this done in time?"

Enoch rose to his feet. "There's really not that much to do: raise the hem a half inch and move the buttons. It should be ready for you to pick up by noon tomorrow."

"You just be sure to sew those buttons on tight. I... uhh, popped enough buttons on my old shirts." She looked down self-consciously at her ample breasts. "I don't want anything like that to happen to this pretty, new dress."

"I'll keep this in mind. If there's nothing else, you can take the dress off."

Trisha smiled shyly. "You gonna stay and watch?"

"Would you mind if I did?"

"That-that'd kind of depend on what happens _after_ I take the dress off." She began to undo the buttons, ten pearl buttons, a darker shade of gold than the dress itself. They ran down from her high collar to her waist, calling attention to her lush breasts.

Enoch smiled as he watched. "What would you like to happen?"

'What would I like?' she asked herself.

She missed the intimacy she had shared for so long with Kaitlin, and, even more, she felt the new craving for the physical delights of womanhood that Kaitlin had awakened in her. 'I don't love Enoch,' she thought. 'I don't even _like_ him very much, but ooohh...' She shuddered at the memory. '...what he did to my body.'

"I-I'd like to feel the way you made me feel last week," she answered both Enoch and herself.

Enoch moved closer. "Happy to oblige." He pulled her to him and kissed her. When they broke the kiss, he carefully pushed the dress back off her shoulders. She slipped her arms out of the sleeves and wrapped them about hm, pulling him to her for another kiss. She felt her breasts press against his chest, and a tingly warmth raced through her body.

After a time, he told her, "Lift your arms, please." She complied, and he carefully lifted the dress up and over her head. He placed it on a hanger, closing the top two buttons to keep it in place. The hanger, he hooked over the long rack against the wall.

"Now then..." he turned back to Trisha, only to see her stepping daintily out of her petticoat.

She smiled shyly and looked away from his eyes. "I thought I'd move things along a bit." She fastened the petticoat to a hanger and stepped closer to him so she could re-position it on the rack.

"I'm certainly moved." He kissed her again on the mouth, then shifted and began to kiss her at the base of the neck.

She shivered and closed her eyes, concentrating on the feelings his kisses were stirring in her body. "Ohhh, yes!"

He continued kissing her, but now his hands moved down to work on the buttons of her corset. It was off moments later, and he started to undo her camisole. He shifted his head, and kissed the skin exposed as the garment was opened.

Once the camisole was undone, he gently slid it off her shoulders. She was naked to the waist, wearing only her drawers, stockings, and shoes. Her breasts, two enticing half-globes, stood out on her chest, firm, nipples erect and almost as long as Enoch's little finger above the top joint.

He stared at them for a moment, then abruptly took her right breast in his mouth and began to lap at her nipple with his tongue. Trisha's squeak of surprise became a soft moan of delight. She took his head in her hands to hold it in place.

His left hand played with her other breast, rolling the nipple between thumb and finger. At the same time, his other hand reached down to cup her nether mound. His fingers moved back and forth to create exquisite flares of sexual fire.

"B-bed," Trisha gasped. "Pl-please." Her legs felt too weak to support her, and the cravings Enoch was arousing in her demanded satisfaction.

He smiled cannily and stood straight. "Of course. You just lean on me." He put his arm around her, his hand resting low on hip. She rested her head on his shoulder, her arm snaked around his neck. As they walked to his bedroom, a small walled-in space next to the fitting room they were in, he carefully kneaded her butt with his hand. She made a soft, almost purring noise, and he could feel her tremble with need.

* * * * *

Reverend Thaddeus Yingling stared at the draft of his Sunday sermon again. "There has to be a better way to say that," he muttered and scratched out the line he'd just written. Before he could think of anything else, he heard a knock on the open door. "What is it?" he called, setting his pen back in the inkwell on his desk.

"Father, may I come in?" Stephan asked. When his father motioned for him to do so, the boy hurried in and shut the door quickly behind him. "Can I talk to you about something?"

"I was hoping you would, son. I noticed that something was bothering you at your birthday celebration last night. Are you having problems at school?"

"N-no, sir." He took a breath to brace himself. "May I be frank?"

"By all means, please."

"My problem is here... at home. Those books I got --"

"Yes, a fine set of books. They'll be most useful in preparing you to join your brother at the seminary."

"That's my problem, father. I don't want to go to the seminary. I don't want to be a minister."

"Of course you do. You have the calling."

"No, I don't. You and Uncle Obediah do... and grandfather. Junior probably has it, too, but I-I _don't_."

"I say that you do. You'll admit it as well, once you get past this childish obstinacy you're showing me now."

"I can't... I _won't_ admit to something that is not true."

Yingling jumped to his feat. "Are you calling your father a liar?" His eyes blazed with anger at what he saw as his son's accusation and obstinacy. "I say that you do; all of the men of this family do. You brother is even now studying for the ministry. In a year, you will join him, as Matthew and Samuel will join you both in the fullness of time. You will accept this role that our Lord has selected for you, and you will say no more against it."

"Father, please..."

"This discussion is at an end, Stephan. Go to your room -- _now_ -- and consider how to best overcome this error that has come into your thinking." He pointed dramatically at the door to his study.

Stephan sighed and lowered his head. He turned and slowly walked from the room. "I'll be thinking," he whispered once he was alone in the hall, "but it ain't gonna be about how I can become a minister."

* * * * *

Bridget looked up from her dinner to see Cap walking towards her. "What do you want?" she asked coldly.

"I was going to ask if I could join you for dinner," he answered, trying to smile, "but after a welcome like that..."

Bridget scowled at him. "What do you expect? You can just go back and tell your uncle that I haven't decided yet."

"Decided what?" He pointed to an empty chair. "May I?"

She nodded and gestured at the same chair. When he sat down, she continued. "Your uncle stopped by yesterday and offered me the job of dealer for that big game he's running."

"And that's what you still want to think about, right?"

"No," she said angrily, "I _don't_ want to think about it. I want to be _playing_ poker, not watching somebody else play." She sighed. "But being dealer might be my only option."

"I guess that means you still don't have the money to buy in."

"Not even close, and I think your uncle knows it. That offer is his way of rubbing salt in my wounds."

"I hate to say it, but that does sound like Uncle Abner." He studied her face for a moment. "And, for what it's worth, I don't like it either. I've told him and told him that he's wrong about you. Not only doesn't he listen, but he goes and pulls something nasty like that. I've a good mind to --"

"Don't; please don't. If I can't put the money together to get into that game, I _may_ want to be dealer." She gave him a sad smile. "It's not much, but it's something." She put her hand down on the table. "And thank you."

Cap took her hand in his. "It's not much, but it's something." He waited for her reaction. "How much do you have by the way?"

"If I take everything -- and I mean _everything_ -- out of the bank," she sighed again, "I've got about half. If I lose that, I'm out of business."

"I don't think that you'd lose -- not that badly, anyway." He waited a beat. "Speaking of money, though -- _and_ my uncle -- today's the end of the month. Do you have the money you owe him for February?"

"Is that why you came looking for me, to get you uncle's money?" She moved her hand away from his.

Cap reached to take it back. "No, that was the excuse that I gave to Uncle Abner, so he wouldn't mind my coming to see you."

"And we wouldn't want to upset dear Uncle Abner, would we?"

"Not if it can be avoided. He is my family, Bridget, my only real family. He bailed me out of a very bad situation a few years ago and took me on as a junior partner of sorts on his ranch. I owe him... big."

"I can understand that, I suppose."

"Besides, I want him in a good mood when I talk to him about you. I still think I can convince him that those records aren't the whole truth -- not by a long shot." He took a breath. "Is that a good enough reason?"

She smiled in spite of herself. "Better than most, I guess."

"Good. Now, what sort of a month did you have?"

"Not too bad. I won $318 even... All that talk about the big poker game threw me off some. That means $79.50 for your uncle." She pulled back the chair next to her and opened the cash box she had put on the seat. "Here's the check."

He took the check, folded it without looking at it, and put it in his shirt pocket. "At the rate you're going, you're going to have Uncle Abner paid off pretty soon."

"I know. Next month should do it, in fact. After that, you won't have to waste your time coming in to see me for his money every month."

"Seeing you, Bridget, isn't a waste of time; it's the highpoint of my week."

"You, sir, are a flatterer." She smiled in spite of herself.

He took her hand again. "No, Bridget, I only speak the truth. To you _and_ to my uncle."

* * * * *

Friday, March 1, 1872

Quint Parnell looked down at the sketch one more time and smiled. "I think I've got this thing figured out."

"Let's see." Bill Hersh came over and sat down across the table from his partner.

"We ride into town and hook up with that Mex kid that jumped you --"

"Why's he gonna come; you figure that out?"

"'Cause I hurt my arm and can't carry anything heavy -- I'll wear a sling t'make it look real -- we hire him ahead of time t'help us."

"You gonna hide a pistol in that sling?"

"Hell, no. There's no way t'hide it there except with a whole mess of bandages wrapped around it. You'll have your pistol -- we'll say you carried it to protect the ore we're bringing in, but you'll give it to the guard." He laughed. "Mine'll be in the saddlebag under some of the rocks we're bringing in."

"And what happens?"

"I pull the pistol from the saddlebag and tell the kid to get yours from the guard -- just like we planned, I'll say. If he says no, I yell that he's chickening out and you'll get the pistol."

"That'll work, but that kid's probably so stupid, he'll go along with what you tell him." Both men laughed. They'd get the money from the assay office and that kid that helped stop them at the saloon would get blamed for being part of the gang.

"Now if we could just figure out a way to get that damned barman what stuck his knife in my arm," Parnell added.

* * * * *

Ethan Thomas led Laura and Jane up the stairs. "And this, ladies, is my studio," he told them with an expansive gesture.

"Why is it on the second floor?" Jane asked.

The painter smiled. "I need windows without curtains for the light to paint by. On the first floor, people would stop and gawk. They would distract, perhaps embarrass, my model. That doesn't happen with an upstairs studio." He looked closely at Jane. "Do you understand?"

"I do," Laura answered, and Jane agreed.

The two women looked around. Most of the second floor was a single room. A bank of windows on the south side flooded the room with light. Sheets hung from the opposite wall formed backdrops. There was a jumble of chairs and boxes, large and small, near a door in the eastern wall. An old brass bed covered with a single sheet stood near the center of the room. A large canvas was set up on an easel next to the bed. A second easel leaned against a sturdy-looking, high-backed wooden chair a few feet away. A second canvas was set on the chair. A small worktable covered with tubes of paint, a jar of brushes, and other things that neither woman recognized was set against the fourth wall.

Ethan walked over to the chair. He began to set up the easel a few feet in front of it, trying different placements. "While I'm setting my equipment up, would you please remove your dresses and corsets?"

"Sure," Jane said, working on the top button of her blouse.

Laura just looked shocked. "No -- Jane stop," she ordered her companion and then scowled at Ethan, saying. "You never said anything about taking our clothes off. Or were you just planning to _surprise_ us?"

"I am sorry," the artist apologized confidently. "I have, I assure you, no salacious intent. The, ah, cut of modern female costume is too rigid and simply does not match the flowing lines of the Grecian toga. Your chemises are a much closer approximation of what I wish to capture in this painting. I can more easily work from them as a basis for the garments my Fates will wear."

Laura hesitated, wanting to be fair. "Could we wear robes over our dresses?"

"Too bulky." He thought for a moment. "Would you consider wearing robes over your chemises?"

Jane chimed in. "Say, 'yes', Laura... please."

"I-I suppose we could try it," Laura said uncertainly.

* * * * *

Miss Osbourne walked out onto the schoolhouse steps and began ringing her bell. "Recess is over, children. Time to come inside for your lessons."

"We win!" Jorge Ybaá±ez shouted triumphantly, "3-1."

Stephan Yingling, captain of the losing team, walked over to shake Jorge's hand. "Yeah, but we almost had you a couple of times."

"More'n a couple," the other boy admitted. 'And your mind was 1,000 miles away from here today,' he thought, but Stephan was a friend, so he didn't say it. Both grinned and started for the schoolhouse.

Yully was standing midfield. He'd been ready to pass the ball to Bert McLeod when Miss Osbourne rang her bell. He looked around. "Here, Emma." He tossed her the ball. "You scored the winning goal yesterday. You take in the ball."

"I thought you was mad at me for scoring that goal." She caught the sphere one-handed and tucked it under her arm. She sounded surprised at his offer.

"Heck, no," he replied. "First day you wanted to be in the game, I said you'd probably play as good as Elmer ever done. You getting that goal just proves how right I was. You done me -- you done _yourself_ proud."

Emma felt the warmth of a blush flow across her face. He wasn't mad; he was proud of her! She wanted to sing and dance and -- oh, my! -- and give Yully a big hug, just to feel her body pressed against his.

Instead, she gave him a quick, nervous laugh. "Thanks, and you just wait till next week's game. I'm gonna do even better."

* * * * *

"You gonna finish that beer, Bridget?" Arnie pointed to an almost empty glass.

Bridget looked up from her game of Maverick solitaire. "Do you want to finish it, Arnie? Shamus and R.J. are in the office, and Molly's upstairs. You could drink it here instead of sneaking it in the kitchen."

He raised his chin defensively. "I don't do that."

"Yes, you do. I've seen you sneaking drinks out here when you thought nobody was watching. I'd be one hell of a poor card player if I couldn't see what's going on in the corner of my eye. I expect you drink more when you take glasses into the kitchen."

"I'd never do anything like that."

"Sure you would." She watched his expression change. 'He should _never_ play poker,' she thought. 'I can read him like a book.'

Aloud she continued, "And you're taking more than beer."

"How can you say something like that? I-I thought you was my friend."

"I am your friend, and I admit that I owe you something for jumping Hersh when he tried to pull his pistol on me. It's because I don't want to see you get into trouble that I'm talking to you and not Shamus. I saw you take money from one of the tables, Arnie."

"It's part of my job. When I get the glasses at a table, I bring any money that the people left over t'Shamus or R.J."

"I saw what you did yesterday. You put most of the money from one table into one pocket, and that's what you gave to Shamus. But you put a couple more coins into another pocket, and I didn't see you turn that over to him."

"You gonna Shamus and get me fired again?"

"Not this time. I want you to promise me that it won't happen again. If I see you try anything like that, I go straight to Shamus."

Arnie raised his hand. "I promise."

Bridget smiled gravely and drained the last of her beer. "It's for your own good, Arnie. I know about what cheating and lying does to a man. It starts out with the little things, things that don't seem to matter, but pretty soon the things you start doing aren't small anymore and you realize that you've become the sort of person that you never wanted to be." She was studying his face while she spoke; the boy had reacted by swallowing hard and his face was grim. "That's all I have to say." She held out the glass. "You can take this into the kitchen."

Arnie put the empty glass into the tray he was using and headed to another table.

Bridget hoped that his promise was that he wouldn't drink or steal money again, and _not_ a promise that he wouldn't let her catch him doing those things.

* * * * *

Yully looked across the picnic table where he and his friends were eating. "What's the matter, Stephan? You ain't hardly ate any of your lunch. You upset about losing this week's game?"

"Si," Tomas added. "Do not worry about it. Next week, the game will be different, with different captains --"

Stephan shook his head. "I ain't gonna be here next week." He took a breath. "I'm running away."

"You serious?" Yully asked, not wanting to believe what he had heard.

Stephan nodded. "I am. Last night was the last straw."

"What happened?" Ysabel asked.

"You all know that Wednesday was my birthday, right?" The others murmured agreement. They were planning a small party at Fort Secret on Saturday.

He continued. "I asked Ma and Pa -- I asked them _both_ and more'n once -- for toy soldiers from that sheet some store in Chicago sent out."

"Did you get them?" Emma was the one asking this time.

Stephan gave an angry laugh. "Did I get them? Of course not, I got a pilgrim's medal and a book on Church history and one on homilies. _That's_ what I got. Pa's decided that I'm gonna be a minister whether I want to be one or not. He won't listen to anything I say."

"What are you going to do," Ysabel asked. "Where will you go?"

"I-I ain't sure. Fort Grant or Fort Reno, I guess. They're the nearest Army posts. I can get a job till I'm old enough to sign up. I won't be an officer, like I want, but I'll be away from here, away from Pa and his fool ideas."

"A-away," Ysabel said, sounding panicky. "No, you cannot go away."

"She's right," Yully chimed in. "You know your pa'd come after you, and the Army ain't gonna help you when he does."

"Maybe... maybe I'll just run. And keep running till he gives up or till I'm old enough to join the Army on my own."

"And... and never come back here?" Ysabel looked ready to cry.

Emma had an idea. "Seems t'me what you gotta do is show your pa how serious you are, how much you _don't_ wanna be a preacher. You can do that without running away."

"How?" Stephan asked her. "I've talked to him till I'm blue in the face."

"I didn't say 'talk to him'; I said 'show him.' Make him _think_ you ran away."

"Where would he go?" Tomas wondered. "Our parents would make him go back as soon as they found out where he was hiding."

"Suppose he wasn't at anybody else's house," Emma told them. "Suppose he was at _our_ house, Fort Secret?"

"Stay at the Fort?" Yully said thoughtfully. "Yeah, yeah, it would work. You could sleep there, Stephan -- I'll bring a blanket and pillow. We can bring food for a few days."

"We were bringing food for a party anyway," Ysabel said. "And we have some spare candles at my house."

"I'll sneak out tonight," Stephan said finally. "I'll leave a note like I was really running off and hide out in the woods till morning."

Yully reached under his shirt and took out a cord that was tied around his neck. There was a small brass key on the thick string. "You hide out in the fort. We'll come by in the morning with the things you'll need, blankets, food, and like that." He handed the key to his friend.

"One thing more you'll need," Tomas said, smiling. "I will bring a chamber pot. You cannot leave the fort for _anything_ until your papa gives up."

The others laughed and shook hands.

* * * * *

Trisha read the paper one more time.

"In return for the receipt of $275 from Trisha (nee Patrick) O'Hanlan, and upon the transfer of a ten percent share of the ownership of O'Hanlan Feed and Grain from the aforesaid Trisha to Kaitlin O'Hanlan, I, Liam O'Hanlan, do agree to transfer an equal share of the ownership of O'Hanlan Feed and Grain to the same Kaitlin O'Hanlan."

She looked more than a little confused. "What the hell does all this mean? I thought I was just buying part of Liam's share of the store."

"You're paying for the share," Milt explained, "but you won't own it. The share goes directly from him to Kaitlin as soon as you give her part of your share."

Trisha pouted. "Why does it have to be so complicated?"

"It's not that I don't trust you, little sister. I just don't see as I want you to have a sixty percent share to my forty percent, even for a little while."

* * * * *

Stephan lay in bed, listening to the ticking of the clock on the dresser and his brothers' breathing. Their breathing was the same as it had been for 10 minutes -- 10 so _very_ long minutes -- deep and steady. Sleeping.

"Now or never," he whispered to himself, throwing back his covers. He climbed out of bed and rearranged his pillows. With the blanket and bedspread draped back over them, it looked as if someone was sleeping there.

Satisfied, he pulled off his nightshirt. He had worn his union suit and jeans underneath. He opened a drawer, moving slowly to make as little noise as possible. He transferred his spare union suit, two shirts, and two pair of socks to his bed, tossing them onto his nightshirt. He added another pair of jeans from a second drawer. The clothes were rolled up into a bundle, which he tucked under his arm.

He picked up his shoes and the shirt he'd worn the day before with his other hand and slipped out the door. He didn't put on the shirt or shoes until he was sitting on the back steps.

With only the light of the quarter moon to guide him, it took Stephan a good 15 minutes to reach Fort Secret. He reached under his shirt for the loop with the key. It turned easily in the lock. He crawled through the open door and found the cup with the candle just inside.

"Dang!" he cursed, fumbling with the matches before he got one lit. He lit the candle and closed the door behind him. He slid open the small panel in the door and reached through to replace the lock. Once it was latched, he turned and crawled down the tunnel, pulling his clothing bundle with him.

The clubhouse had a wooden floor with an old latch hook rug tucked under the table. Stephan lit the oil lamp, turning the wick down low. He blew out the candle, moved the table, and lay down on the rug. His bundle made a good pillow and he was soon asleep.

* * * * *

Saturday, March 2, 1872

"G'morning, Mama... Papa," Matthew Yingling said, walking into the kitchen, the first child downstairs. "What's for breakfast, Mama?"

Martha Yingling gave the batter a final stir. "Pancakes, dear. How soon will your brothers be down?" She poured a large spoonful of the batter onto the greased griddle.

"Sam's almost dressed. I don't know where Stephan is."

"What do you mean?" She poured a second spoonful into the pan.

"He was gone when Sam 'n' I woke up."

Ruth Yingling walked in at that moment. "Who's gone, Mamma?"

"No one," Rev. Yingling took a quick sip of his coffee.

Martha looked at him nervously. "What do you mean, Thaddeus?"

"The boy had doubts about his vocation. I told him to spend some time thinking about it. He has obviously decided to do just that. He is sitting in the woods or walking about the town or wherever he can best contemplate the matter."

"Are you sure?" Martha asked. "Shouldn't we look for him... just to be certain that he is safe?"

Yingling took another sip of coffee. "The boy is just now coming to accept his destined role as a minister of our Lord, and, I am certain, the Lord shall protect such a servant." He leaned back in his chair. "And, now that the matter is settled, what about those pancakes you mentioned?"

* * * * *

"May I speak with you for a moment, Trisha?" Milt Quinlan asked.

Trisha glanced quickly around the crowded Feed and Grain. "We're kind of busy right now, Milt."

"I only need a few minutes -- but it should be in private."

"Private?" She called over to her brother, standing at the register, ringing up a sale. "Liam, Milt and I are going into the office to talk some business." When Liam nodded, she led the lawyer to the office, closing the door behind them.

"Now," she asked him. "What's this all about?"

"Yesterday was the end of the twenty days you had to respond to Kaitlin's petition for a divorce."

"I-I didn't respond. _You_ told me not to."

"I know. You did exactly right. Now... what happens next is that, on Monday, I shall file a petition asking that the Judge expedite acting on Kaitlin's first petition. That means that he will act as soon as he can."

Trisha sighed. "And what do _I_ do?"

"The same that you have been doing -- nothing. This part will take 10 days. The Judge will finalize things a few days later."

"I-I hate this. You know that, don't you?" she asked sorrowfully.

"I know, and I'm sorry, very sorry, for what you're going through." He reached out, hesitated for a moment, then gently patted her on the shoulder much as he would do to comfort a small child.

"Thanks, Milt." Trisha gave him a wane smile and tilted her head, so that it rested on his hand.

* * * * *

Emma knelt down and unlocked the door. She opened it just a crack and peered into the darkness. "Stephan?" she called cautiously. "You in there?"

"Yep," came his voice from down the tunnel. When Emma opened the door further and climbed through, she could see the flicker of light far ahead.

Yully set the small, wooden crate he'd carried down on the tunnel floor. "Here we come." He climbed into the tunnel and began crawling forward, pushing the crate ahead of him.

"Are you hungry?" Ysabel followed Yully through the door. She was carrying an overstuffed muslin bag. Emma and Tomas followed, with Tomas closing and locking the door behind them.

Stephan was sitting at the table, which he'd pushed back into place over the rug. The oil lamp they used was burning brightly atop the chest of drawers. "With the lamp over there," he told them, pointing, "there's more room on the table for unpacking and sorting stuff."

"I brought extra oil, wicks, and matches," Yully said, unpacking the crate. "And some tins of beef, a can opener, and two big canteens of water."

Ysabel opened her sack. "Here are two blankets and some pins so you can make a sleeping bag." She gave a nervous giggle. "Oh, and a pillow."

"My uncle gave me this book on Napoleon," Emma told him, taking the book from the sack she'd brought. "I figured it was something you'd like t'read, and it'll help pass the time when we ain't here. I brought some apples, too, and a loaf of my ma's bread."

Tomas also had a sack. "My mama made a big batch of empanadas. I brought some with me -- and some cheese, too." He looked at his friends. "And I brought the most important thing." He put his sack in the table and carefully removed a blue and white enameled chamber pot wrapped in an old piece of muslin.

"That settles it, Stephan," Yully said with a chuckle. "This may just be a hole in the ground you're hiding in, but while you got that chamber pot, you'll be sitting pretty."

* * * * *

"Trisha," Kaitlin asked, "Are you all right?" The two women were in their bedroom, preparing for the dance.

Trisha blinked, as if waking up, and looked over at her wife. "What do you mean?"

"You've been working on that same button for a good five minutes."

"I-I have?"

"You have. What's bothering you? As far as I've heard, the dance looks to be a great success."

"It... it isn't the dance that I'm thinking about. I saw Milt Quinlan today. He said that the time for me to respond to your... your divorce petition was over."

"I-I see." Kaitlan nodded.

"He'll be filing something on Monday, something that asks the Judge to speed things up. We'll..." Trisha's voice cracked. "We'll be... _divorced_ in two weeks." She closed her eyes and turned away.

Kaitlin hurried over and threw her arms around Trisha. "I know; I know. I-I hate it, too." She rocked the smaller woman as if she were a child.

"I-I'm sorry," Trisha said a few minutes later.

Kaitlin let her arms dropped. "There's nothing to apologize for. I feel like crying about it, too, sometimes." She picked up one of the new lace handkerchiefs and began to dab at Trisha's eyes. "You just beat me to it."

"So what do we do now?"

"We put on our pretty dresses, and we go to that dance _you_ organized. And when we get there, we try our best to enjoy ourselves."

"But how?"

"What happens tomorrow or the next day or two weeks from now is going to happen. Tonight, a lot of people are going to enjoy themselves _and_ help the church because of what you did, Trisha O'Hanlan. You owe it to yourself and to me and to all of them to enjoy it with them."

* * * * *

Martha Yingling looked at the clock on her kitchen wall. "It's almost 6 PM, Thad. It will be dark in half an hour, and there's no sign of Stephan. Are you so sure that he -- "

"I am," the reverend answered quickly. "I admit that the boy is taking longer than I had thought, but I am as certain of his safety as I am of the decision I know he will make."

She sighed and tried not to betray her concern. "If-if you say so, dear."

"I do. Now, how soon will dinner be ready? We must be getting dressed soon. It would not do for the minister to be late to the church dance."

* * * * *

The schoolyard was decorated for a dance. Paper lanterns and torches on long poles lit the area. Chains of multi-colored paper were strung between them. More paper chains stretched between the windows of the schoolhouse and in front of the tables that were set up as refreshment stands along the front of the building. A three-man band, fiddle, guitar, and drum, were setting up on a small stage set along the side of the schoolhouse. More paper chains were hung along the front and sides of the stage.

Liam pulled the Feed & Grain delivery wagon up among the other horses, wagons, and buggies at the far end of the yard. "Let me give you ladies a hand," he said as he jumped from his seat and hurried around to the other side.

"Don't bother." Trisha told him, jumping down by herself.

Kaitlin kept her seat. "_I_ could use some help." She held out her hand.

"My pleasure." Liam stepped in towards the wagon. Kaitlin stood and placed her hands on his shoulders. He put his hands at her waist and slowly lowered her to the ground.

A final chain of paper rings separated the stable area from the rest of the schoolyard. Milo Nash sat at a table next to the one opening. A roll of tickets and a cash box were set on the table. "Tickets?" he asked when the threesome reached him.

"Right here." Liam handed him his own ticket.

Kaitlin gave him the tickets Trisha had bought for the two of them. "We'd best hurry," she said, pointing towards the stage. "It looks like the music's about to start."

The guitarist, a tall man wearing a green-gray wool cap, stepped forward. "Howdy folks," he greeted the crowd. "I'm Billy Gibbons. This here's Dusty Hall..." The fiddler nodded. "and Frank Beard." The drummer waved. "We're gonna be playing the music for you tonight, and we hope you like it."

"Which one is Mr. _Beard_?" Kaitlin asked with a laugh.

Liam caught the joke. "The man who doesn't have one." Gibbons and Hall both had beards that reached down to their chests, while Frank Beard wore only a sandy-colored mustache. Just then the band struck up a sprightly waltz. Liam turned to Kaitlin. "Shall we?"

"Let's." Kaitlin gave him her hand, and he led her out to where several other couples were already dancing.

* * * * *

Phillipia Stone danced down along the right side of the line of the seven other couples while her husband, Lucian, danced down along the left. They joined hands when they met and took their places at the end of the line. "First couple, now," Billy Gibbons shouted. Laura and Arsenio joined hands and danced down between the two lines, taking their places behind Phillipia and Lucian.

"Chassez all," Billy yelled. The couples joined hands and danced four steps forward then four more back. "Salute your partners." The men bowed, and the ladies curtsied. "And we're done." The Virginia Reel was at an end. The musicians stopped, as the dancers broke into a round of applause.

Trisha and Mike Schmidt were the fifth couple in line. He was a tall, lanky man with a small farm south of town, one of the men Trisha had flirted with to get them to buy a ticket to the dance and to annoy Liam. "That was fun," Trisha told him, "but I'm rather worn out." She fanned herself with her hand.

"May I get you a drink?" Mike asked. She agreed, and he led her to a nearby chair. "Wait here. I'll be right back." She sat down as he hurried off.

Schmidt was back quickly with a cup in each hand. "Martha Yingling's spiced lemonade," he told her handing her one of the cups.

"Thank you." She took a sip. 'A bit more than lemonade,' she thought to herself. 'I can taste the alcohol somebody put in.' She thought about it for a minute, finally deciding, 'after the day I've had, I need a bit more than just lemonade." With that, she smiled and finished her drink.

* * * * *

Mike Schmidt had just gone for more lemonade -- 'Probably be spiked, too,' Trisha thought -- when the band began a waltz. She stood near the dancers, swaying with the music while she waited for him to get back.

"I came to get my money's worth," Isaiah Logan said, walking over to where she was standing. "You wanna dance?"

She was about to say that she was waiting for someone when she saw Kaitlin and Liam watching her while they danced. 'I'll show her,' Trisha thought. She smiled coyly at Isaiah. "I'd love to." She took his left hand, as he put his right around her waist, and they moved in among the other dancers.

* * * * *

"And just are you smiling about so smugly?" Martha Yingling asked her husband. They were dancing a brisk mazurka.

Yingling pointed with a nod of his head. "The O'Hanlon's. It would seem that they are adjusting to their situation better than I had hoped. "Kaitlin is dancing with her former brother-in-law, and Trisha... I have seen her dancing with several different men."

"And this is good?"

"In days past, I have seen them both looking sadly at each other, heard them bemoaning the fate that they suffered from that barman's potion. They have not accepted my offer of counseling... yet, but it would seem that they are even now accepting that fate and moving beyond their old lives. Trisha is an attractive young woman now, and all her partners are members of the congregation. Why should she not dance with such gentlemen?"

* * * * *

Liam turned to Kaitlin as the band started another polka. "Care to?"

"Oh, Liam," she answered, "you've danced every dance with me since we got here. You really don't have to. You go can dance with other women."

He smiled confidently and took her hand in his. "What other women?"

* * * * *

Rhys Godwyn handed Trisha a cup of fruit punch, the other drink at the dance besides Martha Yingling's spiced lemonade. "Here you go, little lady."

"Thanks." She took a cautious sip. While she couldn't taste the alcohol in the punch, she could feel its warmth in her stomach.

And in her head. She stood up slowly. "I-I think I'd like to walk around a bit before we dance again. You don't mind, do you?" She sounded tipsy.

"Not if I can join you." He offered her his arm.

She took it, and they began walking along the paper chain "fence" near the side of the schoolyard. George Sturges, another of Dwight Albertson's bank tellers, was sitting at the table by the entrance. He used a wooden stamp to make an ink print on the backs of their hands, explaining that, "it's so we know you already paid."

They walked through the entrance and along the path to where the horses and wagons were tied, her hand on his arm. About halfway there, Rhys stopped. "Let's go over this way," he said, pointing to the woods at the edge of the schoolyard. "It's more private."

"What do we need privacy for?" Trisha asked.

Rhys looked around. "This... for starters." Satisfied that no one was watching, he cupped her head in his hands and raised it towards him. He was a tall man and had to bend down, even so.

He pulled her closer to him, their lips meeting in a kiss. Trisha felt her heart beating faster, as a delicious warmth spread through her. She sighed and stepped into the kiss, hoping to make it last as long as she could.

"Maybe for a... a little while," She answered, when they did break the kiss. She smiled shyly and let him lead her into the woods.

About thirty yards in, they found a fallen tree. Rhys used a red handkerchief to brush off any dirt, and they both sat down. There was some light from the torches at the dance, but they couldn't see -- or be seen -- by any of the dancers.

"Now, where were we?" He put his arms around her, and they kissed again.

Again, the exquisite warmth coursed through her. 'This is what I need,' she thought. 'No thinking about _anything_, not Kaitlin or the business or the church board, just -- ooh! -- just the pleasure of being touched, of feeling the way I _want_ to feel.'

She snuggled in closer to the man, turning her body to face him, as her arms wrapped around him. Her breasts were pressed against his broad chest, as his arms encircled him. Her nipples crinkled and grew stiff. They, her entire body, cried out for his touch.

As if reading her thoughts, he reached out to caress her breasts. "You're not going to get anywhere with all my clothes on," she told him, with a giggle.

"Well, now, let's just do something 'bout that." He began to work on her top button.

She playfully slapped his hand. "No, you'll tear my dress." She sensed a flush run across her face, but she resisted the momentary qualm. "I-I'll do it." She began to undo the pearl buttons, while he did his best to distract her by nibbling at her neck.

As she opened the buttons, the dress slipped down her shoulders. He leaned in and began to kiss and to nip at the newly bared skin. Each touch of his lips sent sparks through her, especially to her breasts and to that special place between her legs. She squirmed, feeling warm and just a little damp down there.

As the last button came undone, the dress slid off her left shoulder, dragging that part of her camisole with it. "Ohh, my goodness," she said with a giggle. "My dress."

"Looks better like that." He kissed her shoulder, then moved slowly back towards her neck. At the same time, he pushed the dress and camisole from her other shoulder. "Better still."

With the camisole down, the tops of Trisha's pillowy breasts could be seen above the lace trim of her corset. Rhys' fingers spider walked across them, sending tingles down her spine.

Two of his fingers moved down into the cup of her corset. They found her hardened nipple and began to move back and forth, twisting and tweaking it. The sensations were overwhelming. Her head went back, as a low moan came from her lips. Her legs slowly moved apart, as if in anticipation.

He kissed her neck again, low where it met her shoulders. With his left hand, he continued playing with her nipple. His right hand reached down to stroke her right leg.

Even through her dress and petticoat she felt his hand on her leg, her thigh. Each stroke was like the priming of a pump. She was warmer -- and wetter -- there in her crotch, as his hand moved closer, and a need began to grow in her.

He began kissing his way down from her neck. When he reached her breast, his lips became more insistent, sucking at her flesh. He sat up for a moment, smiling at the love bite, a small, purplish bruise on her milky, white skin. 'My brand,' he told himself.

She didn't notice. His hand was so close to her groin now. She could barely stand the urges growing in her. Her legs, of their own mind, came together to trap his hand.

He smiled, wiggling his fingers against her thigh. "Like you said, I could do this a lot better if you didn't have all them clothes in the way."

"T-Take off my dress... out here?"

He gave her a leer. "Well, you could always just take your drawers off." By now, his hand had reached the cleft between her legs. He pressed against it with his finger, sending delicious shivers through her.

"Ah -- oohh! -- okay." She giggled and stood up, turning away from him. Her hand groped beneath her dress until she found the bow for her drawers. She pulled at one of the ribbons and felt the knot come undone. Her drawers loosened and slid down to pool at her ankles.

Trisha stepped out of the garment, stepping back so that she could pick them up. As she bent over, Rhys flipped her overdress, then her dress and petticoat up. Something very large and very warm and very, very _male_ pressed against her bare bottom from behind.

His arms came around her waist. He kissed the nape of her neck, sending luscious tremors through her. "Yessss," she hissed.

The blonde shivered and spread her legs. She bent forward and braced her arms on the fallen log they had been sitting on. She felt his cock -- his _glorious_, _magical_ cock slip between her legs and into her well-lubricated cleft.

He began to move, pumping in and out greedily. And she gloried in it, moving with him, letting the pure sexual delight stoke in her like a furnace fire until it consumed her in a fiery blast. She bit her lip to keep from screaming. Her body shook. In that moment, she heard him grunt and felt him spurt into her.

Her body trembled, and she collapsed over the log. As she fell, he stumbled back trying to keep his balance, and his now flaccid tool was freed. "Oh, now that was real nice," he said as he reached for his handkerchief and began to clean himself. "We gotta do it again some time."

"Again?" She fumbled for her new silk hankie, one of the set Liam had given her a few weeks before, to deal with her own flow.

He nodded. "Of course, again. I, truth to tell, am worn out for now. Besides, they're gonna be wondering where we are." He stuffed the kerchief in his pocket, and walked over to her.

Before she knew it, he was kissing her again. Her arms wrapped around his neck as she responded, her body clearly wanting more of the pleasure it had just known. "Do we have to?" she asked, when they broke the kiss.

"I think we'd better." He gently lifted her camisole back onto her left shoulder.

She pouted and did the same with the other sleeve. "Oh, all right." She stepped back into her drawers, pulled them up, and -- grinning to herself -- re-tied the bow. The petticoat and dress slipped back down around her, as her fingers began doing her buttons.

He tucked himself back into his own union suit drawers, and then waited till she finished. Then, they walked back hand in hand. As they strolled, she found herself looking up at his face and smiling.

* * * * *

The band was playing a quadrille, as Trisha and Rhys walked up to the gate. After Sturges checked and let them through, they stood and watched. They were still holding hands.

Cecelia Ritter was dancing with her husband. "What's the matter?" he asked, when she suddenly stopped.

"Remember saying that I should watch that Trisha O'Hanlan to see how she acted at the dance tonight?"

"I do? Have you seen anything I should know?"

"I see something. I see Miss O'Hanlan standing over there..." She pointed quickly. "...holding hands with that -- that drover that works for Mckecknie Freight."

"That doesn't seem so bad."

"It does if you consider that I haven't seen her about for a time." She gave a self-satisfied smile. "You don't suppose she was... off somewhere with him doing... doing who knows what."

Clyde smiled back. "I might. I might suppose that very thing."

* * * * *

(To Be Concluded)