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father's fearful presence, she was like a different woman. She was relaxed and gay. Enid noticed the sudden change with sly interest, but she never said a word.
    Amelia took a few minutes late one afternoon to gather some early spring flowers in the meadow under the mesquite trees. It was a lovely March day, just the right temperature, with the sun making soft shadows on the ground. She felt free as she gazed at the high peaks of the mountains in a chain around the horizon. If only she could jump on a horse and ride away, far away, and never have to worry about her father's health again!
    But at least he wasn't here now, she told herself. She was free. Free!
    She laughed and spread her arms, dancing around in a circle to an imaginary waltz, her heart so full of the beauty of her surroundings that she felt near to bursting.
    The sound of horse's hooves startled her and froze her in an awkward position with her skirts flying around her ankles. She stopped so suddenly that she almost fell over.
    King reined in under a big mesquite limb and stared down at her from under the shadowy brim of his black hat.
    "Have you gone mad in the sun?" he asked politely.
    "Perhaps I have," she said. She felt cold even in the hot sun with his icy eyes biting into her.
    "I wanted to warn you not to stray far from the house," he said solemnly. "A couple of Mexicans have shot a rancher just over the mountain from here. They haven't been apprehended."
    Her hand went to the high lace collar at the throat of her green gingham dress. "Oh, my."
    "There's no need for immediate concern. My men will watch the house. But don't go far."
    "I won't." She noticed the sidearm he was wearing. That was new to her, the old black gun belt with the nickle-plated .45 Colt swinging from it, its worn black handle speaking of use.
    His eyes followed her gaze. "My father gave it to me when I turned eighteen," he informed her. "It went with me when I joined Colonel Wood and Colonel Roosevelt in Cuba in '98 and we charged up Kettle Hill to route the Spanish."
    "Yes, I remember. You fought in the Spanish-American War. So did Quinn, in the same volunteer cavalry." She remembered how worried she'd been, for both of them. Alan hadn't gone. College had been much more important to him than fighting a war.
    "Quinn enjoyed soldiering," he told her. "Probably that's why becoming a Ranger had such appeal for him. We had two Texas Rangers in our immediate outfit. Quinn became pals with them."
    This was the first time he'd ever really spoken to her as a person instead of a nuisance. She found herself smiling.
    "Our uncle was a peace officer in Missouri," she said. "He was killed by outlaws in a bank robbery."
    He nodded. Quinn had related the story often in their college days. He leaned over the pommel, and his eyes went to the bouquet in her slender hands. "What are those for?"
    "The dinner table," she said. "Enid asked me to pick them."
    "My mother loves flowers." His eyes lifted to hers. "Do you?"
    "Oh yes. Back home I had a rose garden," she told him. She looked around with patent disappointment. "I don't suppose roses live out here…"
    "Some do," he said. "But other kinds of flowers do better. I'll take you out on the desert one day, Miss Howard, if you survive a west Texas summer, and show them to you."
    "Would you?" she asked with undisguised pleasure, her soft brown eyes lighting up as she looked at him.
    Those eyes made him uneasy. The old, familiar turbulence that he didn't understand tugged at him and made him vulnerable. He'd avoided Amelia for years to stay them, but now she was captivating him all over again. At least Darcy didn't manage to drain his resolve. He found her attractive and even desirable, but he wanted her only with his mind, not with his emotions. Amelia made him feel as if tender fingers were stroking his heart. He wanted her until it was painful.
    "I have to get back to work," he said abruptly, sitting up straight. "Remember what I said." He wheeled