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that his flesh had closed around the shrapnel wounds, he tried to get by the way he had during the last months of the war, by dulling the pain.
    He patted his leather satchel, exhausted beyond endurance. For a moment he almost considered dropping into the shade with his horse. But the stillness of the house beckoned him. Along with the fact that it had been so long since he’d found comfort in a real bed.
    Finding the front door unlocked, he stumbled inside. For a moment he was taken aback by the cozy furnishings, the pastel painting on the wall, the colorful knitted afghan draped across the rocker, the brightly woven rug in front of a couch.
    If he didn’t know better, he’d almost believe someone still lived here. But the man who’d hired him had assured him the occupants would be gone when he arrived. Besides, didn’t most keepers’ dwellings come furnished?
    He pulled off his boots and discarded them by the door before plodding silently across the room and tossing his cap onto the couch. He dug through his satchel for one of his treasured pain pills and popped it into his mouth. Not only would it dull the pain in his hand and arm, but it would help him sleep without the nightmares that had become all too common since that fateful night when he’d sold his soul for food.
    With a weary sigh he shrugged out of his suspenders, untucked his shirt, and slipped his good arm out of the sleeve before carefully sliding it off his injured arm. He dropped it in the hallway and at the same time let his trousers fall down and pool at his feet. He kicked them aside and jerked off first one dirty sock, then the other.
    Finally down to his muslin undershirt and drawers, he glanced at the two doorways on either side of the hallway. One was closed, but the other was open a crack, revealing a bedroom. Though the room was darkened from thick curtains, he could see the outline of a double bed.
    Every muscle in his body ached for the comfort the bed would afford. Without another thought, he pushed open the door, trudged to the bed, lowered himself carefully to the edge, and then sank into the mattress with a low moan of contentment.
    His mind blurred, blocking out everything and everyone justthe way he liked. He shifted only slightly and threw his arm across a mound of soft pillows next to him.
    To his surprise, the mound moved. In fact, it rose like an apparition.
    There was a gasp. Then a long, terrified scream, followed by a hard thump against his face and head, almost as if the pillow next to him had decided to have a pillow fight.
    Or kill him.

Chapter 4
    T error pummeled through Caroline. All she could think to do to defend herself was thwack her attacker with her pillow over and over as hard as she could.
    When finally the person lay motionless, Caroline scrambled off the opposite side of the bed, her breath coming in gasps. She held the pillow above her head ready to defend herself again if necessary, although she knew she ought to open the bottom dresser drawer and locate her father’s pistol instead. But fear rose in her chest and paralyzed her, so that she could only stand and stare at the bed.
    Through the darkened room she made out the lanky form of a man. Her muscles twitched with the desire to bring the pillow back down on him, but when he didn’t move she hesitated. For a long moment she held her breath.
    â€œCaroline?” came Sarah’s faint call from her bedroom across the hallway. “Is everything all right?”
    â€œEverything’s fine,” she called back. At least everything would be fine in just a few moments when she’d driven the intruder from her home.
    At the sound of her voice, the intruder sat up so fast that Caroline jumped at the bed again and brought her pillow down against the man’s head.
    â€œWhat in the name of all that’s holy?” came a muffled voice.
    â€œGet out of my house,” she demanded in a low voice.
    The man bolted out of