Wildest Dreams

PART THREE

Just as a seed can sprout new life

After being tossed aside,

Forgotten and left to die;

So can love buried by pride and guilt

Come to bloom again...

Stronger, healthier, even more beautiful.


CHAPTER 18

January 1876

Lettie shivered as windows rattled from wicked winds, winds that once nearly drove her insane, but to which she thought she had grown accustomed. Now she hated the sound again, for the howling monster outside brought with it a blizzard that kept everyone buried in their homes. These past winters had become more bearable, with the additional company of Elsie and Mae and all the children, but now winter brought something much more dreadful than the loneliness she'd once felt. Now the wind and snow meant they could not get help for little Paul. Her baby was suffering with a terrible fever, and what she and Mae were certain was pneumonia. She bent over Paul's small bed to bathe his face again with a cool rag, aching at his groans and whimpers of pain.

Straining to lift another pitcher of water, seven-year-old Robbie poured it into a washbowl on the stand near his mother. "What else can I do, Mama?" he asked. "Should I see if Mae has the hot tea ready yet?"

Lettie turned to meet Robbie's blue eyes, blue like his father's. Luke. She needed him, but something kept her from telling him so. He needed her in return, yet she could not bring herself to go to him. What was this barrier between them? And poor Robbie. All her children needed her, but first there had been the agony over losing Nathan again, now this. Little Paul seemed to be dying, and the winter storm outside was not going to allow any Double L man to get into town and back with the doctor quickly enough to help. Robbie tended his little brother almost as faithfully as she did herself, always the little doctor, always wanting to help, just like with Pancake.

"I don't think he can swallow anything," she told Robbie, struggling to keep control of herself in front of the boy. The cloth she'd been holding to Paul's head was already hot, and she turned to rinse it in the water again to cool it off. She wrung it out and handed it over to Robbie. "Would you like do it this time?"

"Okay."

She fought tears at the sight of Robbie gently laying the cloth on his brother's forehead. Her two youngest sons had always been close, always playing together. Robbie watched his five-year-old brother more like a father would. He was so different from Ty, who cared only about learning how to ride and rope and handle cattle; Ty, who was his father's image and worshiped the man like a god. Ty and Robbie had nothing in common, except that they shared the same blood.

She took a moment to stretch and rub her neck and shoulders. Everything ached. She had been sitting by Paul's bedside for two days straight, afraid to go to sleep, hardly eating. She walked to a window, but the snow blew so badly she could barely see the barn beyond the front lawn. Adding to her worry and agony over Paul was her additional concern for Nathan. Where was he? How did he and the Indians survive in this kind of weather? Was he starving? Freezing? She looked down at the ragged old stuffed horse that sat on the window ledge. She had put it in Paul's room, telling him always to take care of it, telling him that someday Nathan might come back for it... come home to stay... but now she knew that was only a fantasy. She surely would never see her firstborn again, and for no truly logical reason, she blamed Luke; just as part of her blamed him now for

Paul's being sick and unable to get help. If they were not so isolated here, so far from civilization...

A tear slipped down her cheek when she noticed something else, a shiny little black stone lying on the ledge beside the horse. She remembered the day she had taken a walk with Paul, before Nathan was found. Little Paul had always demanded so much of her attention, and she had not minded, for he was her precious baby, her last child. When they went for that walk, Paul had found the stone and was fascinated by its color and gloss. He had handed it out to her, telling her he wanted her to have it as a gift. She told him to take care of it for her, that it was very special because it was a present sent from God.

She picked up the stone and rubbed it between her fingers, realizing Paul had put it beside the horse because both were dear not just to him, but to his mommy. It hit her then how she had neglected her baby after Nathan ran off. She had gone into such a depression that she had been lost in it and had not given any of the children the attention she should. That neglect only made Paul's sickness even more devastating now, her agony over his pain made worse by her guilt for not spending enough time with him.

She could not even take comfort in Luke. She loved him so, yet sometimes she hated him. She had taken to sleeping in the guest room since Nathan left, aching to be held, yet needing to be alone. Luke had not demanded that she come to his bed. He had been quiet and withdrawn himself since getting back from the summer's cattle drive. He had dived headlong into claiming more land, involved himself intensely in the Cattlemen's Association, even made a trip to Denver to talk to cattlemen there about ways to deal with farmers and with sheep men who were beginning to filter into Montana. He had invested in the Northern Pacific Railroad and had gone to Helena to talk to the railroad's representatives about the best route to be considered through Montana. The trips had kept him away several more weeks after the cattle drive, and between his absence and the inability on both sides to share their feelings, he was becoming like a stranger to her.

She put her head back and looked around the lovely little room, with its flowered wallpaper. Luke had built this beautiful, elegant home for her. She could live no better, even in more civilized parts, yet in spite of their comfort, the dangers of the land continued to threaten them. She turned to look at Paul lying there, so miserable. Robbie wet the cloth again and put it to his brother's fevered brow. Yesterday her baby had coughed so hard he had spit up blood. Now the coughing had stopped, but his breathing was labored, nearly every breath bringing a gurgling sound. Her once-lively, loving little boy just lay there with his eyes closed, while outside the wind battered everything in its path.

She heard heavy footsteps coming down the hallway then, heard the familiar jangle of spurs. She recognized her husband's gait, slightly off rhythm because of the broken leg that had never healed quite right. His big frame loomed in the doorway, and he glanced from her to Paul, then walked over to the bed to lean down and touch the boy's hot cheek.

"Do you think Tex and Runner will get through the snow to town, Pa?" Robbie asked his father.

Luke straightened, breathing in a deep sigh. "I don't know, son. They should have been back by now. They might be buried someplace themselves by now, maybe had to take shelter."

"Will the cows all die?"

Luke ran a hand through his hair. "Not if this wind keeps up. There will be big drifts in some places, but in other places the wind will blow the snow away and leave bare spots. If the cattle can get to those places, they'll be all right. The biggest danger is when the snow gets deep without any wind, so there's no place to find grass. Cattle won't dig for grass like horses and deer will. They just stand in the deep snow and—" He stopped short, not even wanting to mention the word "die."

He closed his eyes, realizing he had been babbling like a fool. Did Lettie know what Paul's sickness was doing to him? His precious little son was so sick, and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it. Did his mother really think she was the only one aching over little Paul's sickness and suffering over Nathan. If he could take the pain into his own body, he would do it in an instant. He would rather die himself if it meant little Paul would live.

He turned to Lettie, knew what it would do to her if she lost Paul. She would in turn be forever lost to him in love and spirit. "We just have to pray Tex and Runner get through to Doc Manning," he told her aloud.

Luke, I feel so guilty, she wanted to tell him. Little Paul had needed her more than any of the other children, always a mama's boy, always wanting to be held or read to. In these last few months he had grown closer to Robbie because he'd lost his mother's attention.

"Yes," she answered Luke, turning back to look out the window. Piano music floated into the room from the parlor downstairs, where Pearl sat playing some of Paul's favorite songs. Katie was in the kitchen helping Mae fix supper, but no one had much of an appetite. She felt a big hand on her shoulder then. Why couldn't she turn around and let Luke put his arms around her?

"He'll get here, Lettie. Paul will be all right." When she did not answer, Luke went to Paul. "I love you, Paul," she heard him saying softly. "Daddy's here."

"He's a lot cooler now, Pa," Robbie spoke up. "Touch his hands. They're not hot anymore. See what a good doctor I am?"

"Well, I guess you must be, Robbie. He is—" There came a moment of silence, and then Luke let out a strange, guttural sound. Lettie felt a knot come into her stomach. "Oh, my God! My God!" Luke groaned. "Not my son!"

Lettie managed to turn around. Luke sat on the edge of the bed holding Paul close to his chest, bent over the boy, his shoulders shaking with the deep sobs of grief. She did not have to ask why. Her son was dead. She should have been holding him when it happened, not standing at the window. All these hours she had kept such a close watch, and the moment she got up and moved away, her baby's spirit had left them.

Robbie stood staring in disbelief, his eyes wide and full of terror and sorrow. He ran out of the room then, screaming Paul's name.



"More nesters!" Luke was almost glad to find them. His search to find ways to vent his anger had become almost an obsession. "Cut those goddamn barbed-wire fences and ride through their crops!" He pulled his six-gun and began firing into the air, charging forward ahead of his men, the first to cut down enough barbed wire to ride into a cornfield and begin trampling it. The eleven men with him followed, cutting more fence, stomping their horses over vegetable gardens and through more corn, all of them firing their guns to bring terror to the hearts of the family that had unwisely chosen to settle on government land Luke considered his own for grazing cattle.

Luke charged his horse to the sod house, and a woman came running out of it, hoisting a baby on her hip, screaming obscenities. Her straight hair hung limp and unwashed, and her face was that of a young woman aging too soon, dry and drawn, her lips parched. A worn calico dress hung on her too-thin body. "What do you think you're doing?" she screamed. "You men get out of here!"

Luke recognized her as Betty Walker, the wife of Johnny Walker. The young man and his brother, Jeeter, and his father, Zack Walker, had been warned several months ago to get off Fontaine land. They were squatting there in hopes of farming the land without legally paying for any of it. Luke suspected when he first found them that they had stolen some of his cattle for their own meals. They were a sorry lot, better at making trouble than at farming.

"Where's your husband?" Luke demanded.

The woman looked around frantically. "He's in town! They're all in town! I'm here alone." She backed away. "You get out of here, Luke Fontaine! How dare you do this?"

Luke rode closer to her. "And how dare you Walkers come back here to settle on someone else's land! When Johnny Walker and his pa and brother get back here, you tell them to get their things together and find someplace else to settle! I warned you last spring! This is Fontaine land, and I won't put up with grazing land being plowed under, or with barbed-wire fencing. You understand that? If you stay here, we'll keep destroying the fences and the crops! We don't want any nesters around here! Next time somebody is going to get hurt!" He turned his horse and rode off, the woman's curses filling the air around him.

"Damn you, Luke Fontaine! You're a bastard! A bastard!"

"Maybe so," Luke muttered. His father had said so, hadn't he? Maybe the real Luke was now emerging, the one who hated his father, hated everything, hated himself; the bastard child who was doomed to fail. Yes, he was achieving his dream of building his own wealth, of proving he could succeed on his own; but he had failed as a father, failed as a husband, even failed as a son. He had never received one reply to the letters he'd written to his father. His dream had cost him two sons... and a wife. As much as he loved Lettie, he had never realized just how important she was to him until he had lost her. They still shared the same house, but it was as though she was not there at all; and he had withdrawn his own presence as much as possible. He could not bear the way she looked at him, could not bear sleeping alone in their bed at night.

Ever since Paul's death nine months earlier, the barrier that had already formed between them had grown even higher and wider. Things got worse when they got the news about the slaughter of George Custer and more than two hundred of the Seventh Cavalry at the Little Big Horn. They couldn't help wondering if Nathan had been a part of the awful massacre, if he was even still alive. The Sioux were being hunted relentlessly now by the army. Life must be hell for them, and many Sioux had fled to Canada.

Luke couldn't face his guilt, and the only way to avoid it was to stay away. He used roundup and branding time as an excuse, then the summer's cattle drive. Now this, a tour of his own land and surrounding government land he considered his own, routing out nesters, sheep herders, searching for rustlers. He wasn't sure how he would get through the winter. He hoped it would not be a bad one, so that he could make it into town to the saloons and play cards and drink away his loneliness and sorrow. The trouble was, he still loved and needed Lettie. She was the only woman he wanted, but neglected needs made him wonder how much longer he could go on without a woman.

In the distance Betty Walker continued screaming her curses. He wondered just when it had all changed for him, when he had gotten so cold and hard. It wasn't just Paul's death, or even when Nathan ran off. It had begun long before that, slowly building in his soul. It had begun the day his father kicked him out, had festered even more when Nathan was first taken and he had been unable to get the boy back. Those two things had given him the determination to prove he could make it in life, and do it here in Montana. Nothing was going to stop him, and nothing had. He remembered Lettie asking him once never to let himself become like Tex was, ruthless and cold-blooded, but that was exactly how he felt. This was much easier than loving, much easier than caring.

He rode to a hill overlooking the pitiful homestead and watched his men finish trampling the crops. Tex rode up beside him, taking off his hat and raising it while he let out a war whoop. "That ought to convince them to move on," he told Luke with a grin. "Them Walkers ain't nothin' but trouble."

Luke nodded, taking one of his favorite thin cigars from a shirt pocket and lighting it. "The big problem is going to be those Mormons who are bringing in sheep. Hank Kline up at the Lazy K says he's had a hell of a time with them." He puffed on the cigar a moment. "The Cattlemen's Association has made the unanimous decision that each rancher can get rid of them any way they choose." He looked over at Tex. "If we have to kill all the sheep, that's what we'll do. We're heading on northwest, Tex. Runner said that's where he spotted some of them. I'll give them an ultimatum, a few days to get the hell out of Montana. If they don't go, the buzzards are going to have themselves a feast on lambchops."

Tex grinned even more. "I'm with you, boss."

Luke turned to watch his men set fire to a small shed below. A little boy came running out of the sod house to cling to his mother's skirts... a boy about Paul's age. Paul. His precious little Paul who had his father's dark hair and his mother's pretty green eyes. Little Paul, bright, lively, always running and laughing... now lying under the ground, forever silent. The thought of it still made him so sick inside he wanted to vomit. Sometimes he thought his heart would literally burst from the ache of it. He couldn't face his son's death. He could hardly bear seeing that little grave behind the house. Somehow, someone had to pay for letting Paul die. He couldn't vent his wrath on God himself, so he would vent it on these people who dared to try to destroy what he had built. The ranch was all he had left.

Tex rode back down the hill to gather the men. He wondered at the change in Luke Fontaine. Everybody knew that since Nathan had run back to the Indians, there had been a strain on the Fontaine marriage. Things had gotten worse since their littlest boy died. Luke probably had the prettiest wife in all of Montana, but the man looked for all kinds of ways to stay away from home. It was too bad. He could remember when Luke and Lettie were about the happiest couple he'd ever come across. He'd never been in love like that, never had kids; and now that he saw what loving and losing a son could do to a man... and a woman... he didn't want any. Caring that much was not for him. Some of the men said Lettie Fontaine had lost her mind with grief, and for some reason, she blamed her husband for the boy's death. That was too bad. Luke was a good man. The things he was doing now were simply not the kind of things the Luke he had always known would do, but then frustration over the love of a woman, combined with the kind of grief everyone knew he was suffering, could change a man; and Luke Fontaine had definitely changed.



Lettie walked into the parlor, surprised at the visit from someone she thought she'd never see again. "Nial!" Much as she had resented the man for being so forward the first time she had known him, it was good to have company. For months she had not had the desire to go into town and attend the women's gatherings, had not had the desire to do anything but stay home and visit Paul's grave almost daily. Women friends had stopped coming out, and she knew it was because they didn't know how to comfort her; and they probably knew her marriage had been crumbling ever since Paul's death. They didn't know what to say to her anymore. Poor Henny had had a stroke and couldn't get out. She should go see her again. It had been months. But she just couldn't seem to leave home. Nothing seemed to matter anymore except the house and the children she had left to her.

Nial smiled, removing his hat. "How good to see you again, Lettie. My God, it's been four years since I left for England."

"No one was sure if you would ever come back. What has happened? What brought you back to Montana?"

You did, my beautiful Lettie, he wanted to answer. She had not changed, except that she was too thin. He could see the sorrow in her eyes. Why wasn't Luke here, instead of carousing in town? "Well, you know how I always felt about this land. It's too beautiful for a man to stay away from forever. And the man who was managing the ranch for my father quit to buy a ranch of his own in Colorado. I was getting bored in England, so I decided to come back and take over Essex Manor again. After all, the cattle industry is booming now, better than ever!" He reached out and took hold of her hand, squeezing it in an effort to show how glad he was to see her again, but he longed to take her into his arms. He had thought that four years away would change these feelings, but the moment he set eyes on her again...

"Sit down, Nial!" Lettie pulled her hand away and offered him a love seat. "Would you like some tea? I'll go have Mae make some for us."

"I would enjoy that." He shivered. "The March winds are mean this year."

Pain moved into Lettie's eyes. "The wind is always mean out here." She left the room for a moment, then returned to sit down beside him. "A lot has happened since you left, Nial." Her smile faded.

Nial frowned, turning to set his top hat on another chair. "So I have heard. First your missing son was found, then ran off again. And then..." He took her hand again. "I heard about your little Paul, Lettie. I came here to express my sympathy, to you and to Luke. Alas, I am told it is difficult to catch your husband at home. Perhaps I'll see him at the next cattlemen's meeting in Billings. I understand he has been spending a lot of time in town this winter."

He could see the pain in her eyes. He hated to see her suffer, but if her son's death could open the door to getting her away from Luke, he would take advantage of the situation. A woman in grief was easier to manipulate, wasn't she? The news of Paul Fontaine's death over a year ago had reached him all the way in England, by letter from the manager of Essex Manor. A child's death could either bring the parents closer together, or tear them apart. Apparently, in this case, it had separated Luke and Lettie—perhaps enough that he could at last find a way to have this woman for himself. The right words, giving her the comfort her husband was apparently failing to give her, could pull her right into his waiting arms, and that hope was really what had brought him back to Montana. He let go of her hand, not wanting to seem too forward right away.

"Yes, he has," Lettie answered, looking at her lap. "Paul died over a year ago, and it hasn't been the same between us." She sighed deeply. "I think Luke blames himself because we live so far from town. The doctor couldn't get here in time. There had been a terrible blizzard, and..." She rose. "It's a long story. Luke has a lot of ghosts that haunt him. He thinks I blame him, too. I want to tell him that I don't, but he's turned so cold and silent, I can't find the right words; and I don't think he'd believe me anyway, because at first I did blame him. Now he's like a crazy man, burning out nesters, chasing out the sheep ranchers." She blinked back tears and turned to face him, her face crimson from spilling her feelings. "I'm so sorry. I don't know what made me say all of that."

Nial smiled gently. "You just needed someone to say it to, that's all. I don't mind, Lettie; but it should be Luke you talk to, not me. He's probably in town right now spilling his own emotions into a glass of beer, or perhaps crying them out on the shoulder of Annie Gates or one of the other—" He hesitated when he saw the devastation in her eyes. Yes, he had hit the right nerve! It was only a rumor that Luke Fontaine had been sleeping with the town's prettiest and highest-paid whore when he was in Billings, but it was enough to suggest to Lettie that her husband had not only abandoned her emotionally, but was probably cheating on her besides.

"Annie Gates?" she asked.

Mae brought in a tray of tea, and neither of them spoke for a moment. Lettie came over to sit back down, but Nial noticed her hand shake as she poured his tea.

"I'm sorry I let that slip, Lettie. It's entirely none of my business, and it might not even be true. I didn't come here for any of this. I only meant to express my sympathy and let you know that I am back." He touched her arm. "If I can be of any help, in any way, please let me know." He turned to squeeze lemon into his tea while Lettie poured her own cup and added sugar to it. He had to force himself not to smile, for he had apparently shaken her to the bones with his remark about Annie Gates.

"Yes, I'll do that," she answered. She sipped some of her tea and closed her eyes for a moment, as though to compose herself. "How did you know so much about what's been happening here?" she asked.

"My ranch manager kept me updated. I suppose you fear your son, Nathan, might have had a part in the Custer massacre?"

She sighed deeply. "I can only hope he didn't, and that he's all right. He could be in Canada now, for all we know. Or he... could be dead." She took another deep breath, needing to change the subject. "How was England, Nial?" Was that true concern she saw in his eyes? It felt good to know someone cared. "I don't suppose you found yourself a wife?"

"No wife," he answered. "Oh, I did my share of courting, but none of them had the stamina it would take to come out here and live in such desolation, away from London's paved streets and lovely theaters. There aren't many women like you, Lettie, with strength and courage. I'm just sorry for what you have gone through since I was here last."

Lettie saw the admiration and sorrow in his eyes, and she realized the man's feelings for her had not changed. She turned to pour a little more tea. "Well, maybe you'll find a wife right here in Billings," she said, hoping he would take the hint that he should look elsewhere. Strangely, his attention did not annoy her this time. It only confused her. So many things confused her since Paul had died and Nathan disappeared again. She felt removed from herself, as though she were watching life from outside of her body.

"Chloris Greene has never married. She seemed to be quite taken with you. Have you seen her since returning?"

"No. I may pay her a visit, but she's so young."

"Not anymore. She must be at least twenty by now. Maybe she has been waiting for you to come back."

He smiled. "You flatter me." I wish you had been waiting for me, Lettie.

"How do you like our new home?" Lettie asked then, turning and looking around the parlor.

Nial wondered if she had read his thoughts and was trying to change the subject.

"We finished it after you left. It's no stone mansion," she continued, "but it's big and airy and has plenty of rooms. Luke insisted I design it however I wanted."

"It's absolutely lovely, elegant," he answered. Just like you, Lettie. "I saw Pearl for just a moment before you came in. She is such a beautiful child! How old is she now?"

Lettie set her cup on the coffee table. "She'll be ten this year. My children are all growing up much too fast!"

Nial laughed. "Pearl told me she is doing very well with the piano. I don't suppose you could get her to play for me?"

Lettie smiled. She loved talking about the children. Those she still had were her whole world now. "She loves showing off. I'm sure she'd be very happy to play for you.

And before you leave Robbie will probably want to show you Punkin's new puppies. Punkin is the daughter of our big yellow mutt, Pancake. Robbie prides himself in taking care of all the dogs and cats. He dreams about being a doctor one day, but not for animals. He wants to doctor people." Her smile faded. "I'm afraid the poor child was deeply affected by his little brother's death. He was right there at Paul's side when it happened." It should have been me. I should have been holding him. If only I could have him back for that one last moment, just long enough to tell him again that I love him.

"And what about Katie and Ty? What are they up to?"

Lettie rose. "Ty spends almost every day practicing roping. He is going to go with Luke this year on the spring roundup and branding. He's so excited about it he hardly eats. He's becoming a handsome young man. He looks more like fifteen than twelve." Tall and handsome, like his father. Luke! Please don't sleep with that whore! Please be patient with me. "Katie is the little homemaker, always helping Mae in the kitchen." She walked out into the wide hallway and called upstairs to Pearl. "Come and play the piano for Mr. Bentley," she told the girl.

Pearl hurried out of her room, red pigtails flying, green eyes on fire with delight. Her fair-skinned face showed a few freckles, and it was obvious she was going to be a beautiful woman someday. Lettie smiled and gave her a hug. "You have an audience, love." Lettie nodded toward Nial, and Pearl grinned and curtsied.

"I'm not real good yet, but I'm getting better," she told the Englishman.

"Oh, I hear you play beautifully."

"Really? Who told you that?"

"Oh, Will Doolan brags all over town about your playing!"

Pearl laughed. "Uncle Will tells such big stories." She hurried to the piano and opened it, positioning herself on the bench. She began playing some hymns, and Nial agreed that, for her age, the child was a wonder at the keyboard.

"She could go far with this," he told Lettie after several minutes of playing.

Lettie felt the pain of wishing Luke were here to listen. Because of the death of one son and the desertion of another, he was missing out on these special times with the rest of his children.

"You might consider letting her study music when she is older," Nial was saying. "I know of a very good music school in Chicago. I have contacts there, people who would take excellent care of her."

Lettie met his eyes, gratitude in her own. "Music is all she talks about. Thank you for the offer." Here was a man who cared about the finer things in life, who seemed to care more about her children's futures than their own father did right now. Had she misjudged Nial Bentley? Was it wrong to appreciate his friendship and attention in this dark time? Anne Sacks had little time for visiting. She was busy with two young sons, as well as helping Billy build his own small ranch on land Luke had given the young couple. Mae was constantly cleaning and cooking, and in her free time she had begun seeing one of Luke's hired hands, Bob Franks. The children's tutor, Elsie, had married Peter Yost, and when she was not teaching, she was at her own modest home Peter had built for them about a half mile from the main house. Now she was expecting a baby.

It seemed everyone had abandoned her, or was it just her imagination? Maybe it was she who had abandoned all her friends. She had to be careful of her feelings. Depression, guilt, and grief had distorted her ability to reason. Maybe they had also distorted her view of Luke. She wanted everything to be the way it used to be between them.

Pearl played for nearly an hour, reveling in the attention of the newcomer. She did not remember Nial Bentley from the one other time he had visited here, but she liked his fascinating accent and the way he doted on her talent. Her own father used to listen to her often, until Paul died. It seemed as though a lot of things had changed since then. Her father was almost never home, and her mother seldom smiled. Nial Bentley had made Lettie smile again, and she was glad when her mother asked him to stay for lunch. He told them all stories about London; and about cities like Chicago and Omaha. She tried to imagine what such places must be like, and she dreamed about going there someday, began to daydream about being a famous pianist. Mr. Bentley seemed to know everything about everything, even about a university in the state of Michigan that he suggested Robbie might want to attend someday to study to be a doctor. All he had to do was pass the necessary entrance exams.

The only thing she didn't like about the Englishman was the way he grasped her mother's hands before he finally left. There was an intimacy about the way he held them that struck her as something that should be reserved only for her father. But her father wasn't here. He so seldom sat at the family dinner table now, and she knew something was terribly wrong between her parents. She didn't understand it completely, but it worried her, especially when her mother told the other children and her that perhaps they had better not be too enthusiastic around Luke about Nial's visit.

"Your father and Mr. Bentley have had their differences in the past," she told them, without explaining what those differences were. "And lately your father gets angry so easily. It might be best not to make too much of Mr. Bentley's visit. He was just trying to be friendly."

"I don't like him," Ty grumbled. "He's soft, and I don't like the way he looks at you."

Lettie met her son's eyes and saw Luke there—protective, jealous, possessive. It seemed those emotions and more had left Luke, all except hate, with no purpose left in life but killing or ousting every stranger on his land and continuing to build his little empire, with or without her at his side.