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begin the day with an argument. She said calmly, "We've already discussed that. The stitching stays until Bea says differently. If it's uncomfortable, it means you're healing."
    "I know that," he replied testily, "but the damn itching is driving me mad."
    Hester fished around in the pocket of her black skirt. "Bea sent this unguent. She says it will help."
    He took the small silver tin from her hand, pried off the top, then sniffed at the stuff inside. "Smells female."
    "Cures all," Hester replied, thinking of how he would try a saint. "Bea said to rub the salve into the skin by the stitches. Can you do it alone or do you need assistance?"
    He handed her the tin without a word.
    "Are you always so rude?" Hester asked.
    His one good eye bore into her, but she didn't flinch. He said, "Normally, no."
    "That's something," she stated, though she tended to believe he was lying.
    After he unbuttoned his shirt, she put a bit of Bea's unguent on her fingertips, then sat beside him on the small cot. Forcing herself to concentrate on the wound and not on the nearness of their bodies, Hester very gently rubbed the ointment into the long line of stitches that ran below his ribs. His skin was warm, and as she added more ointment to her fingertips and continued, it became next to impossible to ignore the soft heat rising from his golden chest. That heat, in tandem with the feel of her hands gliding slowly over his firm flesh, made her acutely aware that she'd never touched a man's body with such intimacy before. She hazarded a glance up to his face and found herself being watched. She quickly lowered her eyes back to the job at hand.
    Galen thought her hands held magic; her every touch brought soothing relief. He closed his eyes at one point, unable to do anything other than savor the balm flowing from her indigo hands. He knew most of the relief could be attributed to Bea's unguent, but Hester's touch seemed to have a healing effect all its own. "You're very good at this, Hester Wyatt..."
    Hester continued to gently work the unguent into his skin, telling herself she was not affected by his soft pronouncement.
    "I'm done now, Galen."
    He'd been lying back with his eyes closed. In response to her words, the one good eye opened and held her. Her heart began to beat so fast, she felt compelled to say something, anything. "Bea says the ointment should be put on three times a day."
    "Good, because I was wondering how I might bribe you into agreeing to do it again...later..." His voice was thick; the air filled with tension. Hester could feel herself becoming warm also. "I have apples to pick in the yard—"
    He nodded.
    She pocketed the tin of ointment and fled.
    Outside, Hester ventured into the wild apple orchard behind the house.
    At one time, the orchard had been her father's pride and joy and encompassed nearly two hundred well-manicured trees. When he sold himself, Katherine had no choice but to let the orchard go wild because she was unable to afford the expense of hiring a caretaker. Over the years, the branches had been pruned and nurtured only by nature. In the late fall, like now, the one hundred or so trees which remained continued to bear tart, red fruit.
    Hester had picked nearly a basketful of the apples downed by the last rain, but she halted upon seeing Galen, aided by Bea's cane, come slowly hobbling in her direction. Her first instinct was to quickly scan the countryside for possible witnesses. It was not uncommon for slave catchers to be lurking amongst the trees outside houses on the Road. However, she saw nothing but the open fields of her land and the brilliant leaves of the autumn-kissed trees off in the distance. She wondered what Galen found so pressing he could not wait for her to return to the house. At least he'd had sense enough to put on the old fisherman's sweater from the chest, she noted approvingly. The air of the sunny mid-October day held the chilly warning of the winter soon to come.
    He was breathing