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resembled a trapped beast. "I'll wait on your porch," he said, and fled.
    What was the matter with him?
    * * *
    Reese reached the safety of Mary's porch and sat on the bench against the wall. He'd broken out in a cold sweat at the first word from the mouth of a boy who looked too much like—
    A pain shot through his belly; Reese doubled over with a moan. The murmur of voices from the street in front of the school forced him to straighten, clamping his lips to keep the agony from spilling out. Two Rock Creek matrons stared at him as if he'd done something obscene. He nodded at them, thumbed his hat, and they hurried on their way.
    Reese stood then moved toward the door of Mary's cabin. He could not sit on the porch, for all the world to see, and lose what was left of his mind. He needed privacy, and he needed it now.
    He tried the door, swearing when it swung open with ease. Didn't the woman know about locks? But if she did and she'd used one, he'd be on his knees on her porch. Reese kicked the door shut behind him and fell to his knees in Mary's front hall.
    "Just a minute," he assured himself, pressing his hot, damp forehead to the cooler plank floor. "In a minute it will go away, and I'll be fine."
    Memories whirled through his mind—faces, names, the agony of the innocent, and the voices of the dead.
    "Shit!" This hadn't happened in so long, he'd hoped it wouldn't happen again. The others had never seen him like this, and they never would if he could help it. The men he'd collected would have no tolerance for weakness—even less than Reese did.
    How long he remained there on his knees, Reese wasn't sure, but the voices of the children calling good-bye to Mary brought him back to himself, to the small house, to little old Rock Creek. A shudder racked his body. The shivering increased, causing every muscle and bone to ache.
    With a willpower born of his past and dredged from the depths of his self-control, Reese focused on the here and now—the rough plank beneath his cheek, the scent of linseed oil on wood, clean, quiet air that held not a hint of smoke or a trace of screams.
    * * *
    After Reese practically ran from the room, Mary rushed the children through the rest of their lesson, dismissing them early, even though she should have made them stay late. But she couldn't keep her mind on their primers, and from the number of pronunciation mistakes, neither could they.
    Most days, after the children went home, Mary swept the floor and planned the next day's lessons. Today was not most days. The floor could stay dirty, and she could teach tomorrow without a plan if she had to. What good were eight years in a classroom if she couldn't?
    She left everything where it sat and stepped outside. Reese wasn't on the porch as he'd promised, and for a moment her heart seemed to stop. Whatever had made him go pale as a pillowcase might have made him bolt too. She'd still have five men, but she was afraid those five without Reese would be worse than El Diablo in the end.
    Mary ran across the small bit of brown grass and dirt separating the school from her cabin and burst through the front door. The place was as silent today as it was every day when she came home after school. But regardless of how lonely she felt here, this was her place. She'd never had one before.
    "Reese?" she called, mortified when her voice shook.
    "Here."
    If she hadn't been listening with all her heart and soul, Mary wouldn't have heard the single, soft word from the next room. Her shoulders sagged in relief. She took her time shutting the door then drew a few deep breaths before she joined him.
    He appeared as ridiculous in her parlor as he had sitting on the green couch at the hotel. Standing at the front window, he peered through a small crack in the drapes. He'd rolled a cigarette and held it in his fingers as if to smoke. But no flame reddened the tip, and the thin white band only served to emphasize how dark, how sizable, his hands were—those hands that