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campsite after weeks of ignoring Shannon. Howie was inside the wagon with Callie, leaving Shannon alone when Blade arrived.
    He moved into the circle stormclouds gathering in her blue eyes, hunkering down beside Shannon where she sat close to the wagon. “How is Mrs. Johnson?”
    “Hanging on,” Shannon said tightly. “It’s too early for her to deliver.”
    “These things happen.” Blade shrugged philosophically. “Do you need help if the baby decides it’s time?”
    “Mrs. Wilson and Mrs. Cormac have already volunteered.”
    “They are both capable women, and Mrs. Johnson is young and healthy. There’s no need for you to worry.”
    If Blade’s words were meant to reassure her, Shannon reflected, they failed miserably. She lowered her head, trying to overcome her apprehension. Suddenly her head jerked up, startled when she felt Blade place his hands over hers in a gesture that struck Shannon as very intimate.
    The flickering campfire softened the hard planes of his face and the expression in his dark eyes was one of warm regard instead of the usual stern disapproval he exhibited toward her. For a brief moment Blade had lowered his guard, allowing Shannon an unintentional glimpse of the sensitive man beneath his austere facade. He looked—my God, Shannon thought, thunderstruck—he looked like any other man burdened with responsibilities and worries!
    Then, just as swiftly as he had appeared, the man Shannon thought she had discovered vanished, replaced by the half-breed, Swift Blade. When the warmth of his hands left hers, Shannon felt strangely deprived, yet vastly relieved.
    “Don’t fret, Shannon,” Blade said softly. “Callie will be just fine. I suspect the baby is large enough to survive should she deliver early.”
    Then he was gone. One moment he was there beside her, the next he was gone, nearly convincing Shannon that she had imagined the whole thing.

Chapter Three
     
    L ate that night Callie went into premature labor. Mrs. Wilson and Mrs. Cormac were hastily summoned and Shannon was shooed outside to placate Howie who was on the verge of panic. The poor man was beside himself with worry, and with good cause. At dawn Callie appeared to be no closer to delivery than she was at midnight. By noon the entire wagon train was aware of Callie’s travail and her difficulty in delivering. As dusk approached both Mrs. Wilson and Mrs. Cormac came out of the wagon to announce that Callie was growing visibly weaker and they feared for her life. Both good women looked exhausted and Shannon immediately offered her assistance.
    “There is nothing you can do, honey,” Mrs. Wilson said, patting her hand consolingly.
    Those words seemed to send Howie, already prostrate with grief, over the edge. “Please do something,” he begged, tears rolling down his cheeks. “Don’t let Callie die.”
    “Perhaps I can help.”
    All eyes turned to Blade. His silent approach never failed to amaze Shannon. Obviously he had heard both Mrs. Wilson’s words and Howie’s impassioned plea.
    “What seems to be the trouble?”
    Mrs. Wilson flushed, unaccustomed to discussing intimate details of childbirth with a man. Blade sensed her reticence and resisted the urge to rail at her misplaced modesty. Didn’t she realize that a woman’s life was at stake?
    “How can I help if I don’t know what the trouble is?”
    Mrs. Wilson glanced at Howie and, when he voiced no objection, explained, “The baby won’t come. We think it’s turned wrong.”
    Grasping the situation instantly, Blade turned to Howie. “Do you trust me, Howie? Do you trust me enough to let me help your wife?”
    At first Howie seemed disturbed by the thought of another man touching his wife. But contemplating her death was even more abhorrent. If Blade could help Callie, what did it matter that he was a man—or an Indian? Howie reasoned sensibly. “I’d be grateful if you could help Callie,” he said evenly, realizing by the shocked faces around him that