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have all that milk with the cream. From now on she would let it separate first and save the cream for butter.
    She started to burn her own clothes, but in the end she washed, repaired, and saved everything but the destroyed corset. No use blaming the clothes for what had happened while she was wearing them.
    Anne had lived her whole life following the dictates of others. Now all the decisions were hers. What to do, when to do it, how to do it, so much depended on her, but instead of feeling weighed down, minute by minute, hour by hour, this new life wove a spell around her, leaving her feeling lighter and freer than she had ever dreamed possible.
    Twice more that morning she found Cord awake. He spoke not a word, but his eyes followed her, and each time she managed to get more water and some broth down him. That afternoon he finally spoke. “How long?”
    “Today is Wednesday, the third day.”
    “You like cleaning up after me, or can I have a pan?”
    She couldn’t help trying to grin at him. “I’ll find a pan.”
    Her spirits soared at the sight of the few small swirls of red in the fluid. He really was going to be all right. It even seemed that he was now sleeping, not unconscious, but perhaps she just wanted to believe that. Late that evening he insisted she strap his ribs tightly in spite of the bruises. She kept her head turned so he wouldn’t see her cry.
    That night she carried the rocking chair into the bedroom and curled up there to keep her vigil. Again she woke to find his eyes on her.
    This time she didn’t hurry to push water or broth at him but knelt on the edge of the mattress. “You know I never meant to cause all this, to get you killed or to cause you so much pain.”
    He didn’t answer but took a steely hold on her wrist. “Take off the shirt.” Once again she had used his shirt for a nightgown.
    The strength of his grip surprised her. “Are you crazy? I will not.”
    “Take off the damn shirt.”
    It was insane. She wouldn’t even have to hit him, just push firmly anywhere on his torso and he would pass out and that would be the end of that. She looked hard into the amber eyes, which now had a stubborn glint, considering. For the moment they were certainly past all modesty, and she thought she knew what he wanted.
    She let go of the edges of the quilt, and it fell around her. Then she unbuttoned his shirt with her free hand and pushed it off her shoulders, not looking at him, but feeling his gaze as he examined every exposed inch.
    “Your back.”
    She turned, letting him have a good look at her back, and when he let go of her wrist, pulled the shirt back in place and rebuttoned it before turning to look at him again. He was staring at the ceiling. “Samuels?”
    “Yes, except my face.”
    “Did they stop him?”
    “He stopped when I brought up the breakfast you fed me. Truthfully I don’t think anybody would have lifted a hand or said a word to stop anything, but I guess it was too much for him right under my father and Reverend Pratt’s noses. He certainly told me in sordid detail what he wanted to do.”
    He still stared at the ceiling. “Any chance of something to eat more than that soup stuff?”
    She stood and carefully examined the ravaged face. “No, soup stuff is all you get until you stop passing blood.” There was no answer, and she headed for the other bedroom to dress, humming to herself.
    Two hours later her new-found serenity was shattered into a thousand pieces.
    The first warning was a series of high pitched barks from the fox-faced dog, and then there were sounds of horses entering the yard. One frantic glance showed Samuels, O’Brien, and both of the Meeks brothers, dismounting and tying their horses in front of the main barn.
    Anne wrenched the rifle down from the wall, picked up a box of shells and the gunbelt and pistol from the shelf underneath and ran to the bedroom, shaking Cord awake by the arm with no regard for his feelings.
    “Load one for me. Load