Rainbow Man: Donovan Family Saga, #3

By Gifford MacShane

He'd follow her anywhere, regardless of danger, but her recklessness may lead to his doom. An evocative tale of passion and pitfalls.

 

1880s Arizona Territory: Renowned silversmith and accomplished woodsman Alec Twelve Trees is arrested and beaten by a rogue US Cavalry patrol. This act of blatant racism invokes the ire not only of his father, but of the entire village of White's Station. While the town's leading citizens try to force the Army out, Alec is nursed back to health by Irene Donovan.

 

A young woman ruled by her passions, Irene is a gifted herbalist. Indulged by her father and seven older brothers, she often lets her willfulness trump her better nature. But Alec understands her: he's been her best friend since their school days, and loved her almost as long. He's never revealed his feelings, certain her family will not accept him. It's not the only thing he's wrong about.

 

An intensely private man, Alec refuses to relive his torment at a court-martial of his assailants, but Irene begs him to reconsider. Alec honors her wishes, and realizes he is powerless to escape her charms, even though he believes she will never give him the love he craves.

 

As a parade of suitors marches through her father's door, Alec's agony is sometimes overwhelming. At the same time, Irene's frivolous nature rears its ugly head again. Irene is blind to his torment, and her frivolous nature rears its ugly head again. She escapes one hazard with her honor barely intact. The experience leaves her shaken, but even Alec can't predict her next reckless act.

 

With intriguing characters and meticulous period details, this novel reveals the best and worst of human nature, and will reaffirm your belief in the power of love and the resilience of the human spirit.

 

"Absolutely wonderful book! The story and characters are so well written I caught myself talking, crying, laughing and yelling at them! I highly recommend this book." - BookBub Review

 

If you've enjoyed Where the Lost Wander by Amy Harmon, and The Redemption Mountain Historical Western Romance Series by Shirleen Davis, you're bound to love this novel.

 

When Irene charges headlong into danger, will Alec risk everything to save her from herself, or has he finally had enough? To find out, start reading Rainbow Man today.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gifford MacShane
• Release date: Oct 18, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201171575

Gifford MacShane

Gifford MacShane is the author of historical fiction that celebrates the resilience of the human spirit. Her novels feature a family of Irish immigrants who settle in the Arizona Territory in the late 1800s. With an accessible literary style, MacShane draws out her characters' hidden flaws and strengths as they grapple with both physical and emotional conflicts. Singing almost before she could talk, MacShane has always loved folk music, whether it be Irish, Appalachian, spirituals, or the songs of the cowboys. Her love of the Old West goes back to childhood, when her father introduced her to the works of Zane Grey. Later she became interested in the Irish diaspora, having realized her father's family had lived through An Gorta Mor, the Great Irish Potato Famine of the mid-1800s. Writing allows her to combine her three great interests into a series of family stories, each with romance, traditional song lyrics, and a dash of Celtic mysticism. Having grown up in a large & often boisterous Irish-American family, she is intimately acquainted with the workings of such a clan and uses those experiences to good purpose (though no names will be named!) The Donovan Family Saga includes WHISPERS IN THE CANYON (Book 1), THE WOODSMAN’S ROSE (Book 2), RAINBOW MAN (Book 3), and THE WINDS OF MORNING, a prequel novella requested by her fans. MacShane is currently working on Book 4 of the series, as yet untitled. MacShane is a member of the Historical Novel Society and is an #OwnVoices writer. An avid gardener, Giff cultivates pollinator plants and grows tomatoes (not enough) and zucchini (too much). She loves to sing, though her cats don’t always appreciate it. A self-professed grammar nerd who still gets a kick out of diagramming sentences, she currently lives in Pennsylvania with her husband Richard, the Pied Piper of stray cats.

Book preview

Chapter 1

ARIZONA TERRITORY, 1888

Perched on a railing of the porch at the Trading Post, Adam Donovan looked out on a day he considered more suited to spring than early autumn. The smoke from his cigarette curled around his fingers, the still, sultry air weighing it down. The wide street was relatively quiet―the farmers and ranchers had taken their children and purchases home, the cowboys not yet arrived to celebrate the evening.

To the south, he spied the dust clouds raised by a U. S. Cavalry patrol as it filed slowly into town. As they came near, his brows drew together, his eyes darkened. He threw down his cigarette, crushed it out and stepped off the porch in one stride, directly into the path of the oncoming horses.

The patrol leader pulled his pony up roughly. Whaddya think yer doin’? Get outa the way!

Get off that horse, Donovan growled.

"Who d’ya think―?" Before he could finish, the sergeant lay in the dust, staring up the barrel of a Colt .45.

You goddam horse thief! You’re lucky I don’t kill you! Adam fought to control his voice as he wrapped the horse’s reins around his hand. But the rage in his bright blue eyes spoke volumes. "I’ve had enough of you―all of you. We don’t need you here and we don’t want you here. Again the rumbling in his throat, like a big cat’s warning. Get out!"

The sergeant was smart enough not to argue―Donovan had a reputation only a fool would ignore. His face screwed up in terror, the soldier scrambled to his feet and ran; his troop scurried behind him. Wearily, Adam sheathed his gun and turned to the young man they had abandoned.

Tall and proud, he stood swaying with every breath. His hands were tied in front of him, the ropes cutting cruelly into his wrists. He wore only the flared black trousers of the vaquero; his dusky skin was covered with dirt and grass, his feet bare and gray with dust, his long black hair dull against his shoulders.

I had two more horses. His voice was deep and guttural with the accent of his father, an accent he usually had the energy to overcome. With packs. My grandfather’s things.

Alec, what happened? Adam asked.

It’s a long story. The young man held out his hands. There’s a knife in those saddlebags.

The broad hint brought a smile to Adam’s face. He dug into the bags the pony wore and found a long knife in a buckskin sheath, identical to the one his brother Daniel carried in his boot. As Adam drew it out, it gleamed wickedly in the sunlight.

You trust me with this? he asked. He was answered with a small grunt. OK, but you’d better stand still.

As the pieces of rope fell into the dust, Alec’s hands fell limply to his sides. A moment later, he pulled them up against his chest and groaned.

What happened, boy? Adam asked. Black eyes narrowed and snapped at him, their expression so fierce he took an involuntary step back. What’s wrong?

Slowly those eyes lost their hatred. I’m sorry. That damned sergeant... he’s been calling me ‘boy’ for the past two days.

A lopsided grin spread across Adam’s face. He was thirty-five and his father still called him boy-o. But he understood. He reached out to tap the younger man on the shoulder. Sorry.

Alec flinched at his touch. Adam brushed the hair back from his shoulder, saw the dark bruise that lay almost hidden by dust and dirt. Then looked closer and found that the bruises didn’t end there, but covered his back and arms, purpled and painful. He controlled his voice with difficulty. They think you were someone else?

They knew. I guess they figured any old Indian would do.

Let’s get you home.

The young man stumbled on his first step and Adam reached for his arm, lent enough support to keep him upright, and walked with him up the quiet street. If he were anyone else in this town, I’d just pick him up and carry him. But he’d never stand for it. Any more than I would. Pride is what we’ve got―maybe too much of it for our own good. Yet it’s possibly the only thing that’s kept him going. It’s sure as hell the only thing keeping him on his feet.

They stopped at a cottage two doors from the livery stable. A carved oak sign hung on the porch, displaying the symbol of the young man’s heritage and a single word, Silversmith. Alec’s knees buckled under him.

Adam caught him before he could fall, pushed the door open as the younger man’s head rolled limply against his shoulder. Adam picked him up, took him into the house, and laid him on the couch.

Staring up at his benefactor, the young man whispered an apology.

Don’t worry, lad. I don’t know how you kept going as long as you did.

His voice fading, Alec asked, "Wh―where’s... father?"

Up in the hills with the doctor. We didn’t expect you back so soon.

...horses...

I’ll take care of it. Anything else?

...bank draft... He was almost asleep. ...sold... sold the ranch.

I’ll take care of it.

The black eyes opened in slits. There was no fire left. Garryannie.

I’ll give it to Bill Thatcher, Adam promised, watching the last of the young man’s strength slip away.

He stayed until he knew his patient was deeply asleep. He studied the chafed and bleeding wrists, the bruises splotching the young man’s chest, the cut on his temple that had been hidden beneath his hair.

God damn it! he muttered. Who the hell do they think they are?

Adam headed back to the Trading Post in search of his mother. His youngest brother stood in the spot he’d recently vacated.

Mother here?

Nope, answered Jake. Went to see Annie.

She sick again? Their delicate sister-in-law was prone to brutal headaches, and was mid-way through her first pregnancy.

Not as far as I know, but the doctor said she was supposed to stay in bed.

Damn!

Does it mean something’s wrong? Jake’s forehead knit into a frown. Tall as he was, Adam had to reach up to ruffle the lad’s wild red hair, and he was pleased when Jake’s expression brightened.

"Don’t borrow trouble, boy-o. It’s probably Doc being cautious―you know how he is. I just wanted Mother."

How come? I saw you with Alec. Is he hurt?

You might say.

What happened?

I don’t know. I was hoping Mother would have some salve with her. He’s got some pretty nasty bruises.

Jake stared at his boots for a moment, then said, Irene’s here.

Great! His youngest sister was becoming as accomplished a herbalist as his mother. "Listen, Jake, I don’t want Jesse to know anything about this. I don’t want her upset. Could you go in and send Irene out―quietly, so Jesse doesn’t notice? Then keep her occupied for half an hour or so?"

Sure, if you’ll tell me what this is all about.

When he tells me, I’ll tell you. Now go on.

Jake turned at the door and chuckled, tilting his head in the direction of the still-quiet street. You’re in trouble now, brother. With another laugh he disappeared, and Adam turned to see his father striding toward him, purpose in every step.

Chapter 2

JOHN PATRICK DONOVAN wore a frown to match his son’s. He was a man beginning to feel the effects of seventy years of hard work. His hair had long been gray, his shoulders had begun to slope, his hands to pain him in the cold and damp. Yet none dared to call him old to his face.

What’s going on? His deep voice was rich with the music of Ireland. The Army wants to see you. He’d been to their camp trying to negotiate a withdrawal of the troops. In vain, as always.

They’ll have to wait.

Tell me why.

They dragged Alec Twelve Trees home at the end of a rope. I don’t know where they found him, but he said he’d been walking for two days. That goddamned ugly sergeant was riding his horse. I took it back.

Where is the lad now?

I took him home. Adam lit a cigarette, blew a puff of smoke in the direction of the silversmith’s cottage. I came to get Mother to see to him, but...

"She’s gone to Sidhean Annie."

So Jake said. He’s sending Irene out instead.

I’ll make sure the Army waits patiently. But not forever, you hear?

Thanks, Dad.

His father left him, walked toward the Army encampment on the north end of town, their tents just visible past the stables run by Tommy Twelve Trees. They’d arrived six weeks after the only serious Indian trouble in ten years had occurred. Six weeks after Annie Donovan had come home again, unhurt and unharmed. Six weeks after her husband had fought the renegade who abducted her to the death. And they’d stayed, their commanders convinced the town was in danger from the small band of Navajo who’d lived peacefully in the mountains for that whole ten years.

Adam grimaced at the thought. His sister-in-law was fine now. Or at least as well as she’d ever been. Daniel’s wound had healed. There was a nasty scar on his brother’s back, but no permanent damage had been done and no blame had ever been attributed to the tribe. The Cavalry wasn’t needed, but couldn’t be convinced of it. Inwardly, he wished his father luck.

Adam?

Irene stood at his elbow. She was tall for a girl of eighteen, slender and graceful. Like his, her hair was black as coal, her face broad at the brow, tapering to a pointed chin. Her skin was perfectly white and flawless, her eyes a deep blue flecked with green. He marveled that this sister who looked so much like him could be so feminine, so beautiful.

Jake said you wanted me, she continued when he didn’t respond.

Have you got anything with you to use on bruises?

Are you hurt? Her eyebrows drew together, but the graceful arches on her face bore no semblance to the straight black lines on his.

"No, mavourneen, but Alec’s had a rough time. I think he had a bad fall."

He got back?

A few minutes ago. Do you have anything with you?

No. Maybe we could get something at Wang Shen’s. They have some herbs for sale.

Let’s go. Adam led her down a narrow side street. Wang Shen’s wife had inherited the knowledge of herbal medicines, just as Irene had done. They found her in the shop, but encountered some difficulty in explaining what they needed. Irene’s temper was fraying when her brother interrupted.

Is Jenny here? Adam knew the Wang’s youngest daughter had been tutored in English by Alec. Mrs. Wang nodded and hurried out. When she came back with Jenny, Adam explained what he needed.

Bruises? Black and blues?

Do you have something good for black and blues? Irene asked eagerly. Adam, how much do we need?

Quite a lot.

His sister stared hard at him. Is he bleeding?

Some.

Adam, how bad is he?

Get as much of everything as you can.

Irene turned back to Jenny, who was offering a bunch of dried leaves.

"Ev-er-las-ting, the girl said. Good for black and blues."

Thank you. Do you have any more? Two more bunches of the same size were produced. It didn’t seem like enough to Adam, who said so.

Jenny, said Irene, please ask your mother if she has any snakeweed, too. Or arnica.

The answer was negative. After obtaining some long linen bandages and thanking Mrs. Wang, Adam hurried his sister away.

Adam, what really happened?

I’m not sure. He didn’t have the energy to tell me. It doesn’t really matter, does it?

I guess not. He’ll be OK, won’t he?

He’ll be all right, he assured her. It’s funny the way she changes. Some days you’d swear there wasn’t a thought in her head but herself, but as soon as something happens she’s right there to help. Daniel says we’ve spoiled her rotten. I guess having seven brothers is enough to spoil any girl. Not to mention that she’s got Dad wrapped around her little finger so tight he can’t breathe. But she’s got a good heart.

As he opened the door to the silversmith’s cottage, he saw that Alec had managed to turn himself over. The marks on his back showed plainly through the dust. Irene gasped and dropped her bundles on the floor. Her hands came up to cover her mouth and she swayed on her feet, just as Alec had done.

Don’t you go fainting on me. Her brother’s voice was both stern and compassionate. I need your help. He needs your help.

She approached the couch with dragging steps and knelt beside it, put a hand gently on Alec’s head. Her fingers came away with blood on them.

Adam... He was picking up the herbs as she turned to him, reaching up with tears in her eyes. Adam, what’s happened to him?

He came to kneel beside her, put his arm around her and let her cry for a moment. "Time to pull yourself together, mavourneen. He needs your help." She leaned back from him and sniffled. He took the bandanna from his neck and offered it to her.

What can I do? he asked, knowing a chore would help her settle down.

Cool water... I’ll need cool water and towels to get this dirt off. She shook her head helplessly. And cut up some bandages for his head and arms. Adam, someone’s tied him up! Who could do this?

We’ll have to ask him when he wakes up.

She was stroking the silversmith’s dark hair when her brother came back with a basin of water and some towels. She began to wash him, but no matter how gently she touched him, he moaned.

I need some willow bark. Something to ease the pain.

There might be some whiskey here.

"He won’t drink it―you know that, she said. Go see if Carolyn’s got anything."

I can’t leave you here alone.

Adam, he’s unconscious! What could possibly happen?

You go, and see if Carolyn can come back with you. And, Irene, don’t say anything to Jesse. His wife’s pregnancy was advancing without incident, but they were careful with her. Too careful, she would protest, yet she’d lost one baby already.

He turned to the task his sister had abandoned, his hands as gentle as hers. But the obvious pain their patient endured made him stop. A few minutes would make no difference at all.

They were back quickly, Carolyn Griffiths bringing a small glassine envelope containing laudanum, which the doctor had given her husband for toothache.

Jesse’s asking after you, she told Adam. I told her I’d see if I could find you and send you along.

Thanks. He gave her a quick peck on the cheek, then turned to his sister. Everything good now?

Yes. She was still shaky, but managed a smile. We’ll take care of him.

At the Trading Post, Adam found his wife with Jake. Hello, love.

Hello. Her voice was bright and serene. Where’d you get to?

Went for a walk. What have you been doing?

Jesse helped me pick out a birthday present for Irene, Jake said.

Did you get something from us, too?

Shore did, she drawled, her soft Texas accent deliberately exaggerated. Too bad you weren’t here to see it. It’s already wrapped. And it’s not getting unwrapped until her birthday!

Adam laughed at her, loving her sassiness. The girl he’d first met would never have dreamed of teasing him this way. Never have dreamed of sharing her life, her home, her bed. Of building a family. He had to bend low to kiss her; her tawny head didn’t even reach his shoulder.

Would you mind keeping this brother of mine company for a little while longer? he asked. Dad asked me to meet him at the Army camp.

Is he still telling them to leave?

I imagine so. Don’t you think they should?

Absolutely. I just hope he doesn’t get himself into trouble with them.

Knowing Dad, I’d bet the trouble’s all on the other side.

Jesse laughed. Don’t be too long, though. I want to get home before Kevin forgets he has a mother!

Chapter 3

ADAM STRODE DOWN THE street, unmindful of the glances that came his way. A tall, lean man, he wore denim pants tucked into high black boots adorned with spurs of Mexican silver, a shirt of blue cambric his wife had made for him, and a black leather vest. His black hair hung down over his collar. A handsome man, known as the catch of the Territory before he’d settled down to a home and family, and still a favorite of all the women in town. Each one wished that the light in his bright blue eyes was for her alone, and tended to ignore the presence of the dark holster that hung low on his left side.

He had no trouble locating his father. The voice raised in anger wasn’t John Patrick’s, yet he followed it to the Lieutenant’s tent. It was the only structure in the camp that showed any sign of permanence. Built on a raised platform, there was a cleanness about it that the rest of the camp lacked. Adam threw down his cigarette, crushed it out with his bootheel, took the two steps in one stride.

As I told you he would be here, John Patrick said to the commander before he turned to greet his son. How’s the lad doing?

"Irene’s with him―"

I’d like an explanation, the Lieutenant interrupted, of why you drew a gun on Sergeant Bannon.

Adam scanned the tent slowly, found the sergeant’s pock-marked face and stared hard at it, then at the patrol. Some few met his gaze, including a young corporal. Which one’s Bannon?

Which one did you draw on?

Reckon it was the whole kit’n’caboodle. Adam turned the hint of brogue he’d inherited into a slow drawl, giving the impression he was somewhat dim. He saw his father grimace, yet his act was aimed not at the Lieutenant, but at his second-in-command.

Sergeant Bannon, step forth, Lieutenant Robertson ordered.

The soldier obeyed, but when he would have spoken, Robertson held up a hand for silence and addressed Adam.

Did you draw on this man?

Shore. The response was deliberately infuriating.

The commander’s face flushed, but he controlled his voice. You will tell me why.

He was ridin’ a stolen horse.

How do you know it was stolen?

I know whose horse it was.

Where is the horse now?

With its owner.

Who is the owner?

Alec Twelve Trees.

Robertson shook his head and one of his men murmured, The Indian, sir. The silversmith.

Why isn’t Mr. Twelve Trees here to make a statement?

It was the question he’d been waiting for. Adam hardened his face, bared his teeth. His voice rumbled as he bit the words out. Because he’s been beaten half to death by the man who stole his horse! With or without the help of these other―he waved a disdainful hand and uttered his last word in contempt―men!

He glared hard at the pock-marked face that was mottling again, and heard Robertson’s next words as if through a fog.

You have proof of this? It was spoken in the voice of one who accepts the inevitable.

They were all there. Let them tell you about it. Silence greeted his words. His hand swept to include the entire company. "Let them tell you how they tied him up and beat him. How they took his horses and his grandfather’s things. His shirt and his boots. And then dragged him home at the end of a rope.

For nothing! he spat out. "For damn-all nothing! No reason except his birthright. His heritage. Adam turned to the commander, anger pulsing off him in waves. If his father had been here, they’d all be dead. And you’d have a war on your hands."

Silence filled the room while Bannon fidgeted, his face alternately flushed and pale.

Ask them. They were John Patrick’s first words since his son had begun his charade. See what they have to say.

The Lieutenant faced his men, arms folded over his chest. Well?

The tent was silent except for the shuffling of feet, the deep and shallow intake of breaths. Then Bannon’s quavering voice filled the air.

I di’n’t know who he was, sir. I thought he stole them things. I was bringin’ ’im in for questionin’. Sir.

Who ordered the beating?

Nobody ordered it. The sergeant’s voice was more forceful now, more secure in his story. He tried t’ escape, sir.

Adam held the eye of the young corporal, not threatening but expectant. The corporal stepped forward quickly, his hands trembling but his voice steady. Lieutenant.

Yes, Corporal Scott.

Sir, I knew who he was. I told them who he was.

You told them he was the silversmith?

No, sir. I didn’t know that.

Then what did you tell them, soldier?

I told them he was the blacksmith’s son. I knew he was, sir, because I saw him once in the livery stable just before he left town. I heard Tommy... er, the blacksmith call him ‘son’. And he called the blacksmith something like ‘Pa’, only different.

Calls his father ‘Pad’, John Patrick put in, for ‘Padre’. His mother was Spanish.

What else did you tell them, Corporal Scott?

That... that he went to Taos or thereabouts because his grandfather died. Because he had to collect his inheritance. They were talking at the livery, Tommy and his son. But they knew I was there. Tom... the blacksmith said it surprised him some, his son having an inheritance. It seems he thought the grandfather wouldn’t leave him anything. I don’t know why.

And you told the sergeant this?

I told them all, sir. But...

But what?

But Sergeant Bannon said I was mistaken. That one Indian looks just like another, and this one was a thief. The corporal had the grace to blush at the words he quoted.

And did you believe that?

No, sir. I knew who he was. I was sure of it.

What happened next?

They tied him up, and Sergeant Bannon said we’d make camp. He sent me out for firewood.

Continue, Corporal.

"When I came back, he was all beat up. I don’t know who did it. I tried to take care of him, but he wouldn’t let me. Wouldn’t take anything―not even water. I-I guess I don’t blame him. Sir."

Thank you, Scott. The corporal stepped back, breathing loudly. Robertson turned to John Patrick. "There will be a full inquiry into this matter, Mr. Donovan.

Sergeant Bannon, he snapped, you are confined to quarters until my investigation is complete. Tully, Josephs, escort the prisoner to his quarters.

The two soldiers exchanged glances before they obeyed. Each took one of the sergeant’s arms, stopping abruptly when Adam stepped in front of them.

What is it, Mr. Donovan? Lieutenant Robertson inquired.

Two pack horses. His grandfather’s belongings.

Are the horses here?

Yes, sir. Adam didn’t know which soldier replied, for he was again smiling easily at the corporal.

Fetch the horses, Robertson ordered. The corporal cleared his throat as one of his fellow soldiers stepped out. Yes, Corporal Scott?

"Sir... there’s a bank draft, too. I don’t know―"

With a strangled cry, Bannon leaped for the corporal’s throat. As the youth staggered against a cabinet and Robertson took a quick step backward, Adam drew his pistol and brought it cracking down on the head of the attacker. Bannon sank to his hands and knees, groaning. With every ounce of strength he possessed, Adam aimed a kick at his raised buttocks, lifting him clear off the floor, sending him crashing head-first into the Lieutenant’s desk. A single strangled moan escaped him and he lay perfectly still.

In cool nonchalance, Adam sheathed his gun, turned on his heel and exited the tent. There were none to see that his hands were trembling as he rolled and lit a cigarette. He took a deep drag of smoke and held it in his lungs, wondering if he would have walked away if his father hadn’t been there. Dad will get the money back.  And if nothing else, that damned soldier will have a headache he’ll never forget. And there ain’t, as Brian says, any sense in worrying about what didn’t happen.

He calmed himself with his twin’s wisdom, finished the cigarette and threw it in the dust, stepping on it as he made his way back to the silversmith’s cottage. There he found his sister and Carolyn with a patient who was deep in a drugged sleep. His wrists and head had been bandaged, and Irene was draping cloths over his chest. His face was relaxed, at peace for as long as the medicine would last.

Maybe Doc and Tommy will be back tonight. But I doubt it―they just left yesterday. He really shouldn’t be left alone.

Irene raised her face―she’d been crying again. He patted her head as she leaned against him.

Oh, Adam, it’s horrible! To think that someone did this to him! He started, and she continued, "Did you really think I wouldn’t know the difference between a fall and a beating? It’s almost impossible to fall on both of your shoulders at the same time. Especially if you’ve cracked your head open on a rock.

Do you know who did this? They should be hung.

John Patrick came in, stood quite still for a moment, then took his daughter’s hand, drew her up and into his arms. Irene broke down completely.

"Now, now, colleen." Putting an arm around her shoulders, he guided her out to the porch, passing the Lieutenant on his way in.

Adam watched the Lieutenant carefully as he approached the couch, shaking his head but saying nothing. Just as silently, Adam knelt beside the patient, gently lifted him up and turned him so that his back was visible.

Jesus Christ! A low, involuntary explosion of breath. Jesus!

Bannon, Adam corrected, carefully laying the silversmith against the pillow. Alec moaned as his back touched the couch. Robertson muttered under his breath then followed Adam outside. Irene had recovered from her tears and confronted the Lieutenant with her hands on her hips.

Are you responsible for this? She gave him less than a second to reply, then stamped her foot and shouted, Are you?

Robertson ran a hand through his short blond hair. "Yes, Miss, I’m sorry to say―"

She slapped him across the face. How dare you!

Adam caught her wrist before she could strike again. She struggled to free herself, not taking her eyes off Robertson. How dare you!

Her father stepped between her and the Lieutenant.

"That’s enough, colleen."

But he hurt Alec!

"No, colleen. He wasn’t even there."

But he said...

And I’m telling you that he wasn’t there.

She stared at her father for a moment, then pulled her hands away from Adam’s and turned to Robertson.

Were you there? Her tone was demanding but uncertain.

No, Miss Donovan. If I had been, it would not have happened.

Then why did you say... Why did you say you were responsible?

Because it was done by men under my command, Miss Donovan, and I am responsible for their conduct.

Oh... Her voice was suddenly very small, her blush even more vivid than before. She studied one face, then another―from her father, stern but loving, to her brother, hiding behind the match he held to a cigarette, to Robertson, on whose cheek the mark of her fingers showed brightly. She drew herself up to her full height and said with dignity, I’m very sorry. I thought you meant...

Robertson shook his head, and her chin quivered as she continued, He’s my friend. He saved my brother. And Annie.

She is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen, thought Robertson. Even with her face all red from crying, her hair all mussed. I wonder if I would ever have a chance.

I’m sorry, Irene said again.

He held his hand out to her. She took it, smiling uncertainly as he folded his other hand over hers.

Please, Miss Donovan, don’t apologize. I’m sorry for what happened to your friend, and I’ll see that the men who did it are punished.

Thank you. I... She drew her hand away and smoothed down her skirt. I’d better get back to him. Excuse me, please. She paused at the door and, without turning around, said, I’m really sorry.

Chapter 4

THE THREE MEN STOOD silently on the porch for a long minute, the arrival of a few rowdy ranchhands making no impression on their thoughts. Robertson stared out over the tops of the Cavalry’s tents.

You come from down Taos way, do you not? John Patrick asked.

Yes, sir. My last command. I was there for five years.

Know a rancher name of Robles?

"Don Iago? Everyone for miles around knows the Don. A great old man. Richer than Midas, they say. Does a lot of good for the poor―for everybody."

The boy’s grandfather, the old man said after lighting his pipe.

Christ! At the frown on John Patrick’s face, Robertson apologized. I... It’s too bad. He was a great old man. I’m sorry to hear he’s dead.

What was he like? Adam asked.

Big. He answered with an expansive gesture. "Not in any physical way. He was slender, kind of small. But with a big voice, a big hand. They say he would give you the shirt off his back, and never ask for anything in return.

"But he was quiet, too, and kind of sad. I heard he had some trouble with his daughter―she ran away with some man he didn’t approve of. I guess that would be your blacksmith. Tommy, is it?

It seems he never got over it, the Lieutenant continued. I heard that he tried to contact her once, but she wouldn’t come home. And he wouldn’t go to her. I guess things would be a lot different now if one of them had given in.

Don Iago, Robertson murmured. I wonder how they thought they’d get away with it.

No one could answer him. Finally breaking the silence again, he asked, Will you tell him... ask him to come see me when he’s able?

They agreed and the Lieutenant left them without another word.

Wouldn’t want to be in his shoes, John Patrick observed.

Adam simply grunted in response. Got the bank draft?

John Patrick dug in his pocket. Seems the sergeant thought it was as good as cash. Planned to take it to Bill Thatcher and redeem it. Promised some of the others a cut if they’d uphold his story.

Stupid bastard. Though I kind of wish he had taken it to Bill... What are they going to do to him?

They’re holding him until they can have a hearing. They want the lad to come and testify. Then the Lieutenant will report to his superiors. John Patrick added with satisfaction, I told him we’d appreciate it if he’d take his men and get the hell out of this town.

What’d he say?

"Said he’d include it in his report―tell them they’d done more harm than good here. But he can’t leave until they send him orders to. No matter how much he might want to personally."

The two men smoked for a while before Adam spoke again. Mother coming back?

"No, I’m to meet her at Sidhean Annie. Why?"

Alec shouldn’t be alone, and Irene wants to stay with him. Maybe Jake will stay, too.

Then I’ll be taking this draft to Thatcher and go on my way.

He said he wanted it for Garryannie.

All of it?

"That’s what he said. Of course he was half-conscious at the time."

John Patrick considered the request. The Garryannie Trust Fund had been established by Daniel and Annie Donovan for the care of the local Indians as well as any townspeople who needed medical treatment they couldn’t afford. Bill Thatcher, the banker, was Trustee of the Fund. The draft was more than ten times the current balance of the account.

Tell you what, I’ll give it to Bill for safekeeping and you let Alec know. Then when he’s up and around, he can have the pleasure of donating it himself. If that’s what he has in mind. If not, no harm done. He tapped out his pipe, rubbed the ashes to dust with his boot, pocketed the pipe and the draft, and strode off toward the bank.

Adam watched him thoughtfully. Talk about your great old men. Slowly he rose, stretching to relieve the vestiges of tension in his back and neck, and went to find Jake.

But Jesse was at the Trading Post alone. She was sitting in the catalogue corner, deep in a wishbook, and she didn’t hear him come in. He watched her for a moment, admiring her tawny hair and little hands, then made his spurs jingle as he approached her. He’d learned long ago not to surprise her, not to touch her, when she didn’t know he was there. As she turned and smiled, he ruffled her hair lightly.

You all alone?

Owen’s in his workshop. A small room off the main store was used by the merchant for his leather work. Jake had to go. He’d promised to meet Cynthia and help her with some packages the stage brought in. Cynthia Callendar was always finding chores and errands for Jake, and the boy obliged her happily enough. She’s very pretty, Jesse added, her soft voice reminding him of the bluebells of Texas. An old pregnant lady is no match for her!

Adam laughed, glanced around to be sure they were alone, then nuzzled into her hair. "You may be pregnant, and you may be a lady―"

May be?

And you may be old... She