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old self. He was probably as happy about that new baby as Rafe and Emmeline were, in his own crusty way, and he’d make a fool of himself over the child, once it came. For Kade, the prospect was bittersweet.
    He crossed to Sister Mandy, took her plate and silverware, set them on top of his own. “Who,” he said, leaning down and lowering his voice, “was that fella I saw you with yesterday, out behind the hotel?”
    Her eyes flashed as she looked up at him. “His name,” she said in a burst, “is Gig Curry, and if you’ve got any sense at all, you’ll stay clear of him.” The instant the words left her mouth, she tightened her lips, as if she hadn’t meant to let them get by. “Like as not, he’s heading up a gang of cutthroats as bad as he is.”
    “What’s he got to do with you?”
    “Nothing.”
    “Lying is a sin, Sister. Or didn’t you learn that at the convent?”
    She stood, nearly clipping him under the chin with the top of her head, and he was forced to step back, their two plates rattling in his hands. He felt a peculiar quiver deep in his middle, being so close to her. “You might know a thing or two about sin yourself, from what I hear,” she retorted, and slipped past him, hurrying into the house and letting the screened door slam smartly behind her.
    Kade didn’t move right away, and he was jolted to find himself grinning a little, for all his bafflement. The muscle under his belly was still jumping.
    Presently, when he’d recovered a little, he went inside, carried the dishes through to the kitchen, and set them in the sink. When he got back to the front room, Denver Jack was putting away his fiddle, and the cowboys who’d wandered over from the bunkhouse to sidestep Red’s cooking and socialize a little were tipping their hats to Emmeline, offering shy congratulations and saying their farewells.
    Kade caught Mandy’s eye and smiled, and she responded with a glare.
    The crowd had thinned appreciably with the cowboys gone, and Concepcion started looking about for her shawl. Jeb, who had been perched on the arm of an over-stuffed chair for most of the evening, the ring no longer in evidence, made to rise, and Rafe yawned, though a smug light lingered in his eyes, as if he were the first man in the history of the world ever to get a woman pregnant. Angus, leaning against the framework of the broad doorway leading into the small parlor, straightened. Emmeline had begun casting glances toward the kitchen; no doubt her thoughts had turned to washing dishes. He’d never seen a woman who thrived on hard work the way she did, except for Concepcion.
    Kade spoke up. “I believe,” he said solemnly, “that an occasion like this calls for a prayer.” He paused, waiting for the roof to fall in, but the beams held. “Sister Mandy, would you do the honors?”
    Mandy reddened under the cheekbones and her aquamarine eyes took fire. Something tightened in Kade’s groin.
    “Sounds like a fine idea to me,” Angus boomed. He was about as religious as the pump handle out by the horse trough, but his spirits were high that night, with three of his sons in one place and a baby coming, and he must have been feeling generous.
    Emmeline looked amenable, and so did Rafe. Jeb was amused, as he was by just about everything; it was Concepcion who sliced a sharp glance in Kade’s direction. He saw it out of the corner of his eye and steadfastly ignored it, though he reckoned he’d pay later.
    Sister Mandy’s eyes flashed again, fit to singe the fine hairs off Kade’s flesh, but then she stepped resolutely into the center of the room and knotted her fists together in front of her chest. The knuckles, Kade noted with a satisfaction he knew was downright unbecoming, were white as a skull bleached in the desert sun.
    A reverent silence fell. Concepcion and Emmeline folded their hands and bowed their heads. Rafe, Angus, Jeb, and Kade kept theirs up, and not a one of them shut their eyes.
    Sister Mandy cleared her