Wolf wasn’t surprised when the deputy’s car pulled up and Clay got out. He’d had a tight feeling in his gut since he’d found that footprint in town. Clay’s tired face told the story.

Mary saw who their visitor was and automatically got a cup for coffee; Clay always wanted coffee. He took off his hat and sat down, heaving a sigh as he did so.

“Who was it this time?” Wolf asked, his deep voice so rough it was almost a growl.

“Pam Hearst.”

Joe’s head jerked up, and all the color washed out of his face. He was on his feet before Clay’s next words came.

“She fought him off. She isn’t hurt, but she’s scared. He jumped her on the Hearsts’ back porch, for God’s sake. Mrs. Winston heard her screaming, and the guy ran. Pam said she kicked him in the mouth. She saw blood on the ski mask he was wearing.”

“He lives in town,” Wolf said. “I found another print, but it’s hard to track in town, with people walking around destroying what few prints there are. I think he ducked into one of the houses along Bay Road, but he might not live there.”

“Bay Road.” Clay frowned as he mentally reviewed the people living on Bay Road; most of the townspeople lived along it, in close little clusters. There was also another cluster of houses on Broad Street, where the Hearsts lived. “We might have him this time. Any man who has a swollen lip will have to have an airtight alibi.”

“If it just split his lip, you won’t be able to tell. The swelling will be minimal. She would have to have really done some damage for it to be visible more than a day or so.” Wolf had had more than his share of split lips, and delivered his share, too. The mouth healed swiftly. Now if Pam had knocked some teeth out, that would be a different story.

“Any blood on the porch?”

“No.”

“Then she didn’t do any real damage.” There would have been blood sprayed all over the porch if she’d kicked out his teeth.

Clay shoved his hand through his hair. “I don’t like to think of the uproar it would cause, but I’m going to talk to the sheriff about making a house-to-house search along Bay Road. Damn it, I just can’t think of anyone it could be.”

Joe abruptly left the room, and Wolf stared after his son. He knew Joe wanted to go to Pam, and knew that he wouldn’t. Some of the barriers had come down, but most of them were still intact.

Clay had watched Joe leave, and he sighed again. “The bastard called Pam an ‘Indian’s dirty whore.”’ His gaze shifted to Mary, who had stood silently the whole time. “You were right.”

She didn’t reply, because she’d known all along that she was right. It made her sick to hear the name Pam had been called, because it so starkly revealed the hatred behind the attack.

“I suppose all the tracks at Pam’s house have been ruined.” Wolf said it as a statement, not a question.

“Afraid so.” Clay was regretful, but practically everyone in town had been at the Hearsts’ house before he’d gotten there, standing around the back porch and tromping around the area.

Wolf muttered something uncomplimentary under his breath about damn idiots. “Do you think the sheriff will go along with a house-to-house search?”

“Depends. You know some folks are going to kick up about it no matter what the reason. They’ll take it personally. This is an election year,” he said, and they took his point.

Mary listened to them talking, but she didn’t join in. Now Pam had been hurt; who was next? Would the man work up enough courage to attack Wolf or Joe? That was her real terror, because she didn’t know if she could bear it. She loved them with all the fierceness of her soul. She would gladly put herself between them and danger.

Which was exactly what she would have to do.

It made her sick to even think of that man’s hands on her again, but she knew in that moment that she was going to give him the opportunity. Somehow, she was going to lure him out. She wouldn’t allow herself the luxury of hiding out on Mackenzie’s Mountain any longer.

She would begin driving into town by herself. The only problem would be in getting away from Wolf; she knew he’d never agree if he had any idea what she was doing. Not only that, he was capable of preventing her from leaving at all, either by disabling her car or even locking her in the bedroom. She didn’t underestimate him.

Since he had moved her up on the mountain with him, he’d been delivering and picking up horses, rather than letting the owners come up to the ranch, where they might see her. Her whereabouts were a well-kept secret, known only to Wolf, Joe and Clay. But that meant she was left alone several times a week while Wolf and Joe ran errands and delivered horses. Joe also left for his math lessons, and they had to ride fences and work the small herd of cattle, just as every rancher did. She really had a lot of opportunities for slipping away, at least the first time. It would be infinitely more difficult to get away after that, because Wolf would be on his guard.

She quietly excused herself and went in search of Joe. She peeked into his bedroom, but he wasn’t there, so she went out on the front porch. He was leaning against one of the posts, his thumbs hooked in his front pockets.

“It isn’t your fault.”

He didn’t move. “I knew it could happen.”

“You aren’t responsible for someone else’s hate.”

“No, but I am responsible for Pam. I knew it could happen, and I should have stayed away from her.”

Mary made an unladylike sound. “I seem to remember it was the other way around. Pam made her choice when she made that scene in her father’s store.”

“All she wanted was to go to a dance. She didn’t ask for this.”

“Of course not, but it still isn’t your fault, any more than it would have been your fault if she’d been in a car accident. You can say you could have delayed her so she’d have been a minute later getting to that particular section of road, or hurried her up so she’d have been earlier, but that’s ridiculous, and you know it.”

He couldn’t prevent a faint smile at the starchiness of her tone. She should be in Congress, cracking her whip and haranguing those senators and representatives into some sort of fiscal responsibility. Instead she’d taken on Ruth, Wyoming, and none of them had been the same since she’d set foot in town.

“All right, so I’m taking too much on myself,” he finally said. “But I knew it wasn’t smart to go out with her in the first place. It isn’t fair. I’ll be leaving here when I finish school, and I won’t be back. Pam should be dating someone who’s going to be around when she needs him.”

“You’re still taking too much on yourself. Let Pam make her own decisions about who she wants to date. Do you plan to isolate yourself from women forever?”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” he drawled, and in that moment he sounded so much like his father that it startled her. “But I don’t intend to get involved with anyone.”

“It doesn’t always work out the way you want. You were involved with Pam even before I came here.”

That was true, as far as it went. He sighed and leaned his head against the post. “I don’t love her.”

“Of course not. I never thought you did.”

“I like her; I care for her. But not enough to stay, not enough to give up the Academy.” He looked at the Wyoming night, the almost painful clarity of the sky, the brightly winking stars, and thought of jockeying an F-15 over these mountains, with the dark earth below and the glittering stars above. No, he couldn’t give that up.

“Did you tell her that?”

“Yes.”

“Then it was her decision.”

They stood in silence, watching the stars. A few minutes later Clay left, and neither of them thought it strange that he hadn’t said goodbye. Wolf came out on the porch and automatically slid his arm around Mary’s waist, hugging her to his side even as he put his hand on his son’s shoulder. “You okay?”

“Okay enough, I suppose.” But he understood now the total rage he’d seen in Wolf’s eyes when Mary had been attacked, the same rage that still burned in a rigidly controlled fire inside his father. God help the man if Wolf Mackenzie ever got his hands on him.

Wolf tightened his arm around Mary and led her inside, knowing it was best to leave Joe alone now. His son was tough; he’d handle it.

The next morning Mary listened as they discussed their day. There were no horses to deliver or pick up, but Joe had a math lesson that afternoon, and they intended to use the morning inoculating cattle. She had no idea how long it would take to treat the whole herd, but imagined they would both be tied up the entire morning. They would be riding a couple of the young quarter horses, to teach them how to cut cattle.

Joe had changed overnight; it was a subtle change, but one that made Mary ache inside. In repose, his young face held a grimness that saddened her, as if the last faint vestiges of boyhood had been driven from his soul. He’d always looked older than his age, but now, despite the smoothness of hiss kin, he no longer looked young.

She was a grown woman, almost thirty years old, and the attack had left scars she hadn’t been able to handle alone. Cathy and Pam were just kids, and Cathy had to handle a nightmare that was far worse than what Mary and Pam had undergone. Joe had lost his youth. No matter what, that man had to be stopped before he damaged anyone else.

When Wolf and Joe left the house, Mary gave them plenty of time to get far enough away so they wouldn’t hear her car start, then hurried out of the house. She didn’t know what she was going to do, other than parade through Ruth on the off chance that her presence might trigger another attack. And then what? She didn’t know. Somehow she had to be prepared; she had to get someone to keep watch so the man could be caught. It should have been easy to catch him; he’d been so careless, attacking out in the open and in broad daylight, making stupid moves, as if he attacked on impulse and without a plan. He hadn’t even taken the simplest precautions against getting caught. The whole thing was strange. It didn’t make sense.

Her hands were shaking as she drove into town; she was acutely aware that this was the first time since the day she’d been attacked that she was without protection. She felt exposed, as if her clothing had been stripped away.

She had to get someone to watch her, someone she trusted. Who? Sharon? The young teacher was her friend, but Sharon wasn’t aggressive, and she thought the situation called for aggressiveness. Francie Beecham was too old; Cicely Karr would be too cautious. She discounted the men, because they would get all protective and refuse to help. Men were such victims to their own hormones. Machismo had killed a lot more people than PMS.

Pam Hearst sprang to mind. Pam would be extremely interested in catching the man, and she’d been aggressive enough to kick him in the mouth, to fight him off. She was young, but she had courage. She’d had the courage to go against her father and date a half-breed.

Conversation ceased when she walked into Hearst’s store; it was the first time she’d been seen since the end of school. She ignored the thick silence, for she had what she suspected was a highly accurate guess as to the subject of the conversation she’d interrupted, and approached the checkout counter where Mr. Hearst stood.

“Is Pam at home?” she asked quietly, not wanting her question to be heard by the entire store.

He looked as if he’d aged ten years overnight, but there was no animosity in his face.

He nodded. The same thing had happened to Miss Potter, he thought. If she could talk to Pam, maybe she could take that haunted look out of his baby girl’s eyes. Miss Potter had a lot of backbone for such a little thing; maybe he didn’t always agree with her, but he’d damn sure learned to respect her. And Pam thought the world of her.

“I’d appreciate it if you’d talk to her,” he said.

There was an odd, almost militant expression in her soft bluish eyes. “I’ll do that,” she promised, and turned to leave. She almost bumped into Dottie and was startled into a gasp; the woman had been right behind her.

“Good morning,” Mary said pleasantly. Aunt Ardith had drilled the importance of good manners into her.

Strangely, Dottie seemed to have aged, too. Her face was haggard. “How are you doing, Mary?”

Mary hesitated, but she could detect none of the hostility she was accustomed to from Dottie. Had the entire town changed? Had this nightmare brought them to their senses about the Mackenzies? “I’m fine. Are you enjoying the vacation?”

Dottie smiled, but it was merely a movement of her facial muscles, not a response of pleasure. “It’s been a relief.”

She certainly didn’t look relieved; she looked worried to a frazzle. Of course, everyone should be worried.

“How is your son?” Mary couldn’t remember the boy’s name, and she felt faintly embarrassed. It wasn’t like her to forget names.

To her surprise, Dottie went white. Even her lips were bloodless. “W—why do you ask?” she stammered.

“He seemed upset the last time I saw him,” Mary replied. She could hardly say that only good manners had prompted the question. Southerners always asked after family.

“Oh. He—he’s all right. He hardly ever leaves the house. He doesn’t like going out.” Dottie looked around, then blurted “Excuse me,” and left the store before Mary could say anything else.

She looked at Mr. Hearst, and he shrugged. He thought Dottie had acted a bit strange, too.

“I’ll go see Pam now,” she said.

She started to walk to the Hearst house, but the memory of what had happened the last time she’d walked through town made chills run up her spine, and she went to her car. She checked the back seat and floorboard before opening the door. As she started the engine, she saw Dottie walking swiftly up the street, her head down as if she didn’t want anyone to speak to her. She hadn’t bought anything, Mary realized. Why had she been in Hearst’s store, if not to make a purchase? It couldn’t be browsing, because everyone knew what every store in town carried. Why had she left so suddenly?

Dottie turned left down the small street where she lived, and abruptly Mary wondered what Dottie was doing walking around alone. Every woman in town should know better. Surely she had enough sense to be cautious.

Mary drove slowly up the street. She craned her neck when she reached the street where Dottie had turned and saw the woman hurrying up the steps of her house. Her eyes fell on the faded sign: Bay Road.

Bay Road was where Wolf thought the rapist had dodged into a house. It made sense that he wouldn’t have entered a house that wasn’t his home, unless he was a close friend who came and went just like a family member. That was possible, but even a very close friend would give a yell before just walking into someone else’s house, and Wolf would have heard that.

Dottie was certainly acting odd. She’d looked as if she’d been stung by a bee when Mary had asked about her son…. Bobby, that was his name. Mary was pleased that she’d remembered.

Bobby. Bobby wasn’t “right.” He did things in a skewed way. He was unable to apply logic to the simplest of chores, unable to plan a practical course of action.

Mary broke out in a sweat and had to stop the car. She’d only seen him once, but she could picture him in her mind: big, a little soft-looking, with sandy hair and a fair complexion. A fair, freckled complexion.

Was it Bobby? The one person in town who wasn’t totally responsible for himself? The one person no one would ever suspect?

Except his mother.

She had to tell Wolf.

As soon as the thought formed, she dismissed it. She couldn’t tell Wolf, not yet, because she didn’t want to put that burden on him. His instincts would tell him to go after Bobby; his conscience would argue that Bobby wasn’t a responsible person. Mary knew him well enough to know that, no matter which decision he made, he would always have regrets. Better for the responsibility to be hers than to push Wolf into such a position.

She’d call Clay. It was his job, after all. He’d be better able to deal with the situation.

Only a few seconds passed as her thoughts rushed through her mind. She was still sitting there staring at Dottie’s house when Bobby came out on the porch. It took him a moment, but suddenly he noticed her car and looked straight at her. A distance of less than seventy-five yards separated them, still too far for her to read his expression, but she didn’t need a close-up for sheer terror to spurt through her. She stomped on the gas pedal and the car shot forward, slinging gravel, the tires squealing.

It was only a short distance to the Hearst house. Mary ran to the front door and banged her fist on it. Her heart felt as if it would explode. That brief moment when she had been face-to-face with him was almost more than she could stand. God, she had to call Clay.

Mrs. Hearst opened the door a crack, then recognized Mary and swung it all the way open. “Miss Potter! Is something wrong?”

Mary realized that she must look wild. “Could I use your phone? It’s an emergency.”

“Why—of course.” She stepped back, allowing Mary inside.

Pam appeared in the hallway. “Miss Potter?” She looked young and scared.

“The phone’s in the kitchen.”

Mary followed Mrs. Hearst and grabbed the receiver. “What’s the number of the sheriff’s department?”

Pam got a small telephone book from the countertop and began flipping through the pages. Too agitated to wait, Mary dialed the number for Information.

“Sheriff’s department, please.”

“What city?” the disembodied voice asked.

She drew a blank. For the life of her, she couldn’t remember the name of the town.

“Here it is,” Pam said.

Mary disconnected the call to Information, then dialed as Pam recited the number. The various computer clicks as the connection was made seemed to take forever.

“Sheriff’s office.”

“Deputy Armstrong, please. Clay Armstrong.”

“One moment.”

It was longer than one moment. Pam and her mother stood tensely, not knowing what was going on but reacting to her urgency. Both of them had dark circles under their eyes. It had been a bad night for the Hearst family.

“Sheriff’s office,” a different voice said.

“Clay?”

“You looking for Armstrong?”

“Yes. It’s an emergency!” she insisted.

“Well, I don’t know where he is right now. You want to tell me what the trouble is—hey, Armstrong! Some lady wants you in a hurry.” To Mary, he said, “He’ll be right here.”

A few seconds later Clay’s voice said, “Armstrong.”

“It’s Mary. I’m in town.”

“What the hell are you doing there?”

Her teeth were chattering. “It’s Bobby. Bobby Lancaster. I saw him—”

“Hang up the phone!”

It was a scream, and she jumped, dropping the receiver, which dangled from the end of its cord. She flattened against the wall, for Bobby stood there, inside the kitchen, with a huge butcher knife in his hand. His face was twisted with both hate and fear.

“You told!” He sounded like an outraged child.

“Told—told what?”

“You told him! I heard you!”

Mrs. Hearst had shrunk back against the cabinets, her hand at her throat. Pam stood as if rooted in the middle of the floor, her face colorless, her eyes locked on the young man she’d known all her life. She could see the slight swelling of his lower lip.

Bobby shifted his weight from one foot to the other, as if he didn’t know what to do next. His face was red, and he looked almost tearful.

Mary strove to steady her voice. “That’s right, I told him. He’s on his way now. You’d better run.” Maybe that wasn’t the best suggestion in the world, but more than anything she wanted to get him out of the Hearsts’ house before he hurt someone. She desperately wanted him to run.

“It’s all your fault!” He looked hunted, as if he didn’t know what to do except cast blame. “You—you came here and changed things. Mama said you’re a dirty Indian-lover.”

“I beg your pardon. I prefer clean people.”

He blinked, confused. Then he shook his head and said again, “It’s your fault.”

“Clay will be here in a few minutes. You’d better go.”

His hand tightened on the knife, and suddenly he reached out and grabbed her arm. He was big and soft, but he was faster than he looked. Mary cried out as he twisted her arm up behind her back, nearly wrenching her shoulder joint loose.

“You’ll be my hostage, just like on television,” he said and pushed her out the back door.

Mrs. Hearst was motionless, frozen in shock. Pam leaped for the phone, heard the buzzing that signaled a broken connection and held the button down for a new line. When she got a dial tone, she dialed the Mackenzies’ number. It rang endlessly, and she cursed, using words her mother had no idea she knew. All the while she leaned to the side, trying to see where Bobby was taking Mary.

She was just about to hang up when the receiver was picked up and a deep, angry voice roared, “Mary?”

She was so startled that she almost dropped the phone. “No,” she choked. “It’s Pam. He has Mary. It’s Bobby Lancaster, and he just dragged her out of the house—”

“I’ll be right there.”

Pam shivered at the deadly intent in Wolf Mackenzie’s voice.

Mary stumbled over a large rock hidden by the tall grass and gagged as the sudden intense pain made nausea twist her stomach.

“Stand up!” Bobby yelled, jerking at her.

“I twisted my ankle!” It was a lie, but it would give her an excuse to slow him down.

He’d dragged her across the small meadow behind the Hearsts’, through a thick line of trees, over a stream, and now they were climbing a small rise. At least it had looked small, but now she knew it was deceptively large. It was a big open area, not the smartest place for Bobby to head, but he didn’t plan well. That was what had thrown everyone off from the beginning, what had never seemed quite right. There had been no logic to his actions; Bobby reacted rather than planned.

He didn’t know what to do for a twisted ankle, so he didn’t worry about it, just pushed her along at the same speed. She stumbled again, but somehow managed to retain her balance. She wouldn’t be able to bear it if she fell on her stomach and he came down on top of her again.

“Why did you have to tell?” he groaned.

“You hurt Cathy.”

“She deserved it!”

“How? How did she deserve it?”

“She liked him—the Indian.”

Mary was panting. She estimated they’d gone over a mile. Not a great distance, but the gradual uphill climb was telling on her. It didn’t help that her arm was twisted up between her shoulder blades. How long had it been? When could she expect Clay to arrive? It had been at least twenty minutes.

Wolf made it off his mountain in record time. His eyes were like flint as he leaped from the truck before it had rocked to a complete stop. He and Joe both carried rifles, but Wolf’s was a sniper rifle, a Remington with a powerful scope. He’d never had occasion to try a thousand-yard shot with it, but he’d never missed his target at closer range.

People milled around the back of the house. He and Joe shouldered their way through the crowd. “Everybody freeze, before you destroy any more tracks!” Wolf roared, and everyone stopped dead.

Pam darted to them. Her face was streaked with tears. “He took her into the trees. There,” she said and pointed.

A siren announced Clay’s arrival, but Wolf didn’t wait for him. The trail across the meadow was as plain to him as a neon sign would have been, and he set off at a lope, with Joe on his heels.

Dottie Lancaster was terrified, and nearly hysterical. Bobby was her son, and she loved him desperately no matter what he’d done. She’d been sick when she’d realized he was the one who had attacked Cathy Teele and Mary; she’d almost worried herself into an early grave as she wrestled with her conscience and the sure knowledge that she’d lose her son if she turned him in. But that was nothing compared to the horror she’d felt when she discovered he’d slipped from the house. She’d followed the sounds of a disturbance and found all of her nightmares coming true: he’d taken Mary, and he had a knife. Now the Mackenzies were after him, and she knew they would kill him.

She grabbed Clay’s arm as he surged past her. “Stop them,” she sobbed. “Don’t let them kill my boy.”

Clay barely glanced at her. He shook her loose and ran after them. Distraught, Dottie ran, too.

By then some of the other men had gotten their rifles and were joining the hunt. They’d always felt sorry for Bobby Lancaster, but he’d hurt their women, and there was no excuse for it.

Wolf’s heartbeat settled down, and he pushed the panic away. His senses heightened, as they always did when he was on the hunt. Every sound was magnified in his ears, instantly recognizable. He saw every blade of grass, every broken twig and overturned rock. He could smell every scent nature had left, and the faint acrid, coppery tang of fear. His body was a machine, moving smoothly, silently.

He could read every sign. Here Mary had stumbled, and his muscles tightened. She had to be terrified. If he hurt her—she was so slight, no match at all for a man. The bastard had a knife. Wolf thought of a blade touching her delicate, translucent skin, and rage consumed him. He had to push it away because he couldn’t afford the mistakes rage could cause.

He broke out of the tree line and suddenly saw them, high on the side of the rise. Bobby was dragging Mary along, but at least she was still alive.

Wolf examined the terrain. He didn’t have a good angle. He moved east, along the base of the rise.

“Stop!”

It was Bobby’s voice, only faintly heard at that distance. They had halted, and Bobby was holding Mary in front of him. “Stop or I’ll kill her!”

Slowly, Wolf went down on one knee and raised the rifle to his shoulder. He sighted through the scope, not for a shot, but to see how he should set it up. The powerful scope plainly revealed the desperation on Bobby’s face and the knife at Mary’s throat.

“Bobbeee!” Dottie had reached them, and she screamed his name.

“Mama?”

“Bobby, let her go!”

“I can’t! She told!”

The men had clustered around. Several of them measured the distance by eye and shook their heads. They couldn’t make the shot, not at that range. They were as likely to hit Mary as Bobby, if they hit anything at all.

Clay looked down at Wolf. “Can you make the shot?”

Wolf smiled, and Clay felt that chill run up his spine again at the look in Wolf’s eyes. They were cold and murderous. “Yeah.”

“No!” Dottie sobbed the word. “Bobby!” she screamed. “Please, come down!”

“I can’t! I’ve got to kill her! She likes him, and he’s a dirty Indian! He killed my father!”

Dottie gasped and covered her mouth with her hands. “No,” she moaned, then screamed again. “No! He didn’t!” Pure hell was living in her eyes.

“He did! You said—an Indian—” Bobby broke off and began dragging Mary backward.

“Do it,” Clay said quietly.

Wolf braced the barrel of the rifle in the notch of a sapling. It was small but sturdy enough to be steady. Without a word he sighted in the cross hairs of the scope.

“Wait,” Dottie cried, anguish in her voice.

Wolf looked at her.

“Please,” she whispered. “Don’t kill him. He’s all I have.”

His black eyes were flat. “I’ll try.”

He concentrated on the shot, shutting everything out as he always had. It was maybe three hundred yards, but the air was still. The image in the scope was huge and clear and flattened, the depth perception distorted. Mary’s face was plain. She looked angry, and she was tugging at the arm around her shoulder, the one that held the knife to her throat.

God, when he got her back safe and sound, he was going to throttle her.

Because she was so small, he had a larger target than would normally have been presented. His instincts were to go for a head shot, to take Bobby Lancaster completely out of life, but he’d promised. Damn, it was going to be a bitch of a shot. They were moving, and he’d limited his own target area by promising not to go for a kill.

The cross hairs settled, and his hands became rock steady. He drew in a breath, let out half of it and gently squeezed the trigger. Almost simultaneously with the sharp thunder in his ear he saw the red stain blossom on Bobby’s shoulder and the knife drop from his suddenly useless hand even as he was thrown back by the bullet’s impact. Mary staggered to the side and fell, but was instantly on her feet again.

Dottie sagged to her knees, sobbing, her hands over her face.

The men surged up the hill. Mary ran down it and met Wolf halfway. He still had the rifle in his hand, but he caught her up in his arms and held her locked to him, his eyes closed as he absorbed the miracle of her, warm and alive against him, her silky hair against his face, her sweet scent in his lungs. He didn’t care who saw them, or what anyone thought. She was his, and he’d just lived through the worst half hour of his existence knowing that at any moment her life could be ended.

Now that it was over, she was crying.

She’d been dragged up the hill, and now Wolf dragged her down it. He was swearing steadily under his breath, ignoring her gasping protests until she stumbled. Then he snatched her up under his arm like a sack and continued down. People stared after them in astonishment, but no one moved to stop him. After today, they all viewed Wolf Mackenzie differently.

Wolf ignored her car and thrust her into his truck. Mary pushed her hair out of her face and decided not to mention the car; they would pick it up later. Wolf was in a rage, his face set and hard.

They had almost reached the road that wound up his mountain before he spoke. “What in hell were you doing in town?” The even tone didn’t fool her. The wolf was dangerously angered.

Perhaps she wasn’t as cautious as she should have been, but she still wasn’t afraid of him, not of the man she loved. She respected his temper, but she didn’t fear him. So she said, just as calmly, “I thought seeing me might trigger him into doing something stupid, so we could identify him.”

“You triggered him, all right. What he did wasn’t nearly as stupid as what you did. What did you do, parade up and down the streets until he grabbed you?”

She let the insult pass. “Actually it never came to that. I intended to talk to Pam first. I stopped at the store to ask Mr. Hearst if she was home and bumped into Dottie. She acted so strange and looked so worried that it made me wonder. She almost ran out of the store. Then, when I saw her turn onto Bay Road, I remembered Bobby, what he looked like. He came out on the porch and looked at me, and I knew he was the one.”

“So you made a citizen’s arrest?” he asked sarcastically.

Mary got huffy. “No. I’m not stupid, and you’d better not make another smart remark, Wolf Mackenzie. I did what I thought I had to do. I’m sorry if you don’t like it, but there it is. Enough was enough. I couldn’t take the chance someone else could be hurt, or that he might start taking shots at you or Joe.

“I drove to Pam’s house and called Clay. I had no intention of confronting Bobby, but it didn’t work out that way. He followed me to Pam’s and heard me talking on the phone. So he grabbed me. You know what happened then.”

She was so matter-of-fact about it that he tightened his hands on the steering wheel to keep from shaking her. If she hadn’t been crying just a few minutes ago, he might have lost his tenuous control on his temper.

“Do you know what might have happened if I hadn’t come back to the barn for something and noticed your car was missing? It was just chance I was there when Pam called to tell me Bobby had grabbed you!”

“Yes,” she said patiently. “I know what could have happened.”

“It doesn’t bother you that he came close to cutting your throat?”

“Close doesn’t count except in horseshoes and hand grenades.”

He slammed on the brakes, so enraged he could barely see. He wasn’t aware of shutting off the motor, only of closing his hands on her slender shoulders. He was so close to pulling her across his knees that he was shaking, but she didn’t seem to realize that she should be frightened. With a faint sound she dived into his arms, clinging to him with surprising strength.

Wolf held her and felt her trembling. The red haze left his vision, and he realized that she was frightened, but not of him. With her normal damn-the-torpedoes attitude, she’d done what she’d thought was right and was probably trying to put up a calm front so he wouldn’t be alarmed.

As if anything could ever alarm him more than seeing an unbalanced rapist hold a knife to her throat.

Frantically he started the truck. It wasn’t far to his house, but he didn’t know if he could make it. He had to make love to her, soon, even if it was in the middle of the road. Only then would the fear of losing her begin to fade, when he felt her beneath him once more and she welcomed him into her delicate body.

Mary brooded. It had been four days since Wolf had shot Bobby; the first two days had been filled with statements and police procedures, as well as newspaper interviews and even a request from a television station, which Wolf had refused. The sheriff, not being a fool, had hailed Wolf as a hero and praised the shot he’d made. Wolf’s military service record was dug up, and a lot was written about the “much-decorated Vietnam veteran” who had saved a schoolteacher and captured a rapist.

Bobby was recuperating in a hospital in Casper; the bullet had punctured his right lung, but he was lucky to be alive under the circumstances. He was bewildered by everything that had happened and kept asking to go home. Dottie had resigned. She’d have to live the rest of her life knowing that her hatred had taken seed in her son’s mind and caused the entire nightmare. She knew Bobby would be taken away from her, at least for a time, and that they would never be able to live in Ruth again, even if he was ever a free man. But wherever Bobby was sent, she intended to be close by. As she’d told Wolf, he was all she had.

It was over, and Mary knew that Wolf would never be treated as an outcast again. The threat was past, and the town was safe. Just knowing who it was and that he’d been caught made a lot of difference in Cathy Teele’s recovery, though what had happened would always mark her life.

So there was no reason why Mary couldn’t return to her own house.

That was why she was brooding. In those four days, Wolf hadn’t said a word about her remaining with him. He’d never said a word of love, not even during their wild lovemaking after he’d snatched her to safety. He hadn’t said anything at all about their personal situation.

It was time to go home. She couldn’t stay with him forever, not when there was no fear for her safety now. She knew their affair would probably continue, at least for a while, but still the thought of leaving his house depressed her. She’d loved every minute of her time on Mackenzie’s Mountain, loved sharing the little commonplace things with him. Life consisted of the small things, with only scattered moments of intensity.

She calmly packed and refused to let herself cry. She was going to be under control and not make a scene. She loaded her suitcases into her car, then waited for Wolf to return to the house. It would be childish to sneak off, and she wouldn’t do it; she’d tell him she was returning to her home, thank him for his protection and leave. It would be immensely civilized.

As it happened, it was late afternoon when Wolf got back. He was sweaty and coated with dust, and limping a little, because a cow had stepped on his foot. He wasn’t in a good mood.

Mary smiled at him. “I’ve decided to get out of your hair, since there’s no reason to be afraid of staying by myself now. I’ve already packed and loaded everything in the car, but I wanted to stay until you got home to thank you for everything you’ve done.”

Wolf paused in the act of gulping cool, fresh water down his parched throat. Joe froze on the step, not wanting them to see him. He couldn’t believe Wolf would let her leave.

Slowly, Wolf turned his head to look at her. There was a savage expression in his eyes, but she was concentrating too hard on maintaining control to see it. She gave him another smile, but this one was harder, because he hadn’t said a word, not even, “I’ll call you.”

“Well,” she said brightly, “I’ll see you around. Tell Joe not to forget his lessons.”

She marched out the front door and down the steps. She’d gotten halfway to her car when a hard hand clamped down on her shoulder and spun her around.

“I’ll be damned if you’re setting foot off this mountain,” he said in a harsh tone.

He towered over her. For the first time Mary felt it was a disadvantage that she only reached his shoulder. She had to tilt her head back to talk to him, he was so close. The heat from his body enveloped her like steam. “I can’t stay here forever,” she replied reasonably, but now she could see the look in his eyes and she shivered. “I’m a small-town schoolteacher. I can’t just cohabit with you—”

“Shut up,” he said.

“Now see here—”

“I said shut up. You aren’t going anywhere, and you’re damn well going to cohabit with me for the rest of your life. It’s too late today, but first thing in the morning we’re going into town for our blood tests and license. We’re going to be married within a week, so get your little butt back in that house and stay there. I’ll bring your suitcases in.”

His expression would have made most men back up a few steps, but Mary crossed her arms. “I’m not marrying someone who doesn’t love me.”

“Hellfire!” he roared and jerked her up against him. “Not love you? Damn, woman, you’ve been wrapping me around your little finger since the first time I set eyes on you! I’d have killed Bobby Lancaster in a heartbeat for you, so don’t you ever say I don’t love you!”

As a declaration of love cum marriage proposal, it wasn’t exactly romantic, but it was certainly exciting. Mary smiled up at him and went on tiptoe to loop her arms around his neck. “I love you, too.”

He glared down at her, but noticed how pretty she looked with her soft pink sweater bringing out the delicate roses in her cheeks, and her slate-blue eyes twinkling at him. A breeze flirted with her silky, silvery-brown hair, and suddenly he buried his face in the baby-fine strands at her temple.

“God, I love you,” he whispered. He’d never thought he would love any woman, least of all an Anglo, but that was before this slight, delicate creature had bulldozed her way into his life and completely changed it. He could no more live without her now than he could live without air.

“I want children,” she stated.

He smiled against her temple. “I’m willing.”

She thought about it some more. “I think I’d like four.”

A slight frown creased his brow as he held her tighter. “We’ll see.” She was too small and delicate for that many pregnancies; two would be better. He lifted her in his arms and started for the house, where she belonged.

Joe watched from the window and turned away with a grin as his father lifted Mary against his chest.