********************

Rising on the horizon under the wide prairie sky, the welcome silhouette of Bitterwood Creek shimmered like a mirage above the ocean of long, brown grass that rippled and undulated gently in the hot, dry, late-summer wind. Smiles wreathed their faces and they sat easy in their saddles, their journey's end at hand. Deeply glad to be nearly home after almost three months of travel, first to the reservation and then to the red rock canyons of Oak Creek, Jim and Blair kicked their mounts into a rolling gallop, drawing the big roan and the sorrel along behind on leather leads.

But, as they thundered across the prairie, their horses' hooves kicking up a cloud of dry earth behind them, Blair caught a flicker of movement off to the side. Curious, he squinted into the distance and then, uncertain, he reined in and called to his partner, "Jim, hold up!"

Jim slowed Lobo, and turned to look back over his shoulder. Then his gaze shifted to find whatever Blair was looking at, but all he could see was open land. "What is it?"

"The panther and the wolf," Blair replied as he watched their spirit animals race closer and cut between them and the town before they stopped dead not far ahead. The lines of their sleek bodies were taut; the panther growled low in its throat, and the wolf threw back its head in a long, mournful howl.

Jim frowned and again searched the prairie. "I don't see them," he said as he glanced back at Blair.

"They've stopped in front of us, blocking our path," Blair told him. "And they don't look or sound happy." He lifted his gaze to the buildings on the horizon. "I think there might be trouble in town."

Reaching out with his hearing, opening his sight, Jim strove to determine whether there was danger ahead. Biting his lip, he concentrated hard, but shook his head. "I'm not picking up on anything. Everything looks and sounds fine."

Blair urged Butternut ahead at a slow walk, stopping when he was directly in front of the spirits. "What are you trying to tell us?" he asked, his tones respectful and gentle. "I don't understand."

The wolf whined and pawed at the earth, while the panther stretched out flat on the grass, its body blocking their way.

"I think they're telling us not to go on," Blair murmured, shifting in his saddle to look back over his shoulder at Jim. "But that doesn't make any sense. Why shouldn't we go home?"

"I don't know, Chief," Jim replied, now wary as Lobo paced up beside Butternut. "Maybe they're just warning us that there's trouble ahead … warning us to be careful."

The panther yowled and the wolf yipped, and then they both faded from Blair's sight.

Perturbed by the obscure warning, Blair scowled impatiently. "I guess you got it right, because they both reacted affirmatively, and then faded away." Slumping his saddle, he sighed heavily as he gazed at their destination. "Damn it, I wish they could be a little clearer. What trouble? When? And, man? I'm gettin' really tired of facing one problem after another. I was really looking forward to just settling back into a routine, you know?"

Jim's lips tightened as he studied his partner. The weary, whining tone was one he'd never heard before. Though they'd taken their time on the long ride home from Wichita, he could see the lines of strain and exhaustion around Blair's eyes and mouth; despite the bronzing of the remorseless sun, the kid was still too pale. And he was unnaturally thin, almost gaunt, with hollow cheeks and deep shadows, like bruises, under his eyes. For his partner's sake, Jim, too, had been looking forward to peace and quiet – as much as they ever enjoyed as sheriff and the only doctor within a hundred miles in a bustling town on the stage line, a stopover point for anyone crossing the open prairie from east to west or back again. Blair didn't have his strength back yet; had suffered too much in recent months, had given too much of his life force away. He badly needed rest.

Once again, Jim scanned the town, but he could still perceive nothing that spoke of any threat. Just the opposite, for he could hear hammers pounding nails, as if new buildings were being erected, the easy calls of the citizens to one another as they passed on the main street, and the sound of children laughing in play. Reaching out, he reassuringly clapped his friend on the shoulder. "It all sounds fine, Blair, at least for now."

Nodding, Blair clicked his tongue as he lifted the reins to get Butternut moving again, but he held her to a walk, no longer blithely eager to enter the town. "Guess whatever it is, it's not here yet," he muttered.

"Forewarned is forearmed, Chief," Jim offered, regretting the discouragement and disappointment he could read on his partner's face and in the way Blair held his body. "With luck, maybe the trouble will be a long time coming."

"Yeah," Blair sighed, but his agreement sounded grudging. Still, he straightened his back and lifted his chin. A bleak smile creased his face as he added with a shrug, "At least we'll be home. And that's something to be glad about, right?"

Jim gave him a crooked smile and brief nod in return.

But as he lifted his eyes to the horizon, he hoped that whatever the trouble was, it would be a very long time coming – and, when it did, he profoundly hoped he'd be the one who had to take care of it. But trouble didn't have to mean men too handy with their sixguns or determined to try their luck in making unauthorized withdrawals from the bank. Too often, it meant illness, and he couldn't keep the town's doctor from his work as a healer, however much he might wish he could. Pulling down his hat to shade his eyes, his jaw tightened as he vowed to be extra vigilant when it came to Blair's activities in the next little while. He'd learned well the lesson that Swift Eagle had shared, that shamans couldn't help themselves – that they gave of themselves without regard for their own needs – and it was up to him to make damned sure that Blair didn't give too much.

********************

As they approached the edge of town, Blair could also hear the industrious hammering, and they could both smell the fresh scent of clean sawdust on the air. Jim grimaced against the thick dust and his nose twitched, but he turned the blue lantern down before his partner could caution him to do so. Sniffing, he jerked his head toward the stable and saddlery owned and operated by their friend and part-time deputy, Henri Brown. Like Simon and Joel, Henri, his wife, Hannah, and their two daughters had become family to them, and Blair was eager to see them again. Following Jim's gaze, he spotted Brown's youngest girl, Cherie, sitting in the dust outside the wide open doors to the blacksmith's forge and stable, her expression woebegone, and he wondered what was wrong. But when she looked up and saw who had just ridden into town, his concerns were alleviated when her wide dark eyes lit up and she gave them a huge smile before darting inside.

"Poppa! Poppa! Doc and Sheriff Jim are back!!!" she caroled.

Her exuberant welcome chased away the dread they were both feeling, and neither could resist grinning as they dismounted. They were looping their reins over the hitching post as Henri emerged and boomed, "Hey, hey! Welcome home, strangers!" His kindly face was wreathed in a broad smile of welcome as he held out his arms and enthusiastically embraced them. "We've missed you," he went on after slapping them both on the back. "Come in, come in," he urged, waving them toward his small, wood-frame house. "Hannah has just brewed some fresh tea that'll wash the dust of the trail from your throats."

Hannah appeared at the door, her smile of greeting shy but no less sincere. "Mais oui, yes," she called to them, her Creole tones soft and musical, "please come in and set a spell. Tell us all about your journey. Ah'm makin' supper. There's plenty – and, o' course, ya'll join us."

"Well, that sounds too good an offer to refuse," Jim agreed as he swung Cherie up into his arms to carry her inside.

"It's good to see you all," Blair chimed in. "Good to be home." Turning to Henri, he waved at the roan and the sorrel as he untied his saddlebags and looped them over his shoulder. "Think we could board these fellas with you?"

"Be my pleasure," Brown assured him, his gaze sweeping over the two fine-looking horses and recognizing the roan William Ellison had been riding. His gaze clouded and he asked uncertainly, "All went well, didn't it? Jim's father an' his brother? They okay?"

"Yes, everyone's fine, H," Blair assured him. "And we've quite a story to tell."

Once again Brown smiled as he looped an arm around Blair's shoulders. "Be good to hear it," he replied.

There was something in his tone, something tired or careworn, that caused Blair to look up at him, a question in his eyes. Brown's smile faded briefly, but then he shook his head. "Time enough to fill you in after supper," he said cryptically. "Right now, I just want to enjoy having you and Jim back home."

Thinking of the panther and the wolf, Blair's eyes narrowed and he looked away. Seemed trouble might not be so far off after all. Wanting to simply enjoy their homecoming and in no hurry to hear whatever it was that was worrying Brown, his weariness from the journey bone-deep, Blair simply nodded as he followed Jim and Hannah inside the clapboard house.

Hannah filled simple clay mugs from a pitcher of tea she had chilled in a bucket of icy well water. Long familiar with her southern custom for quenching thirst, they both gratefully drank deep and sighed with pleasure.

"That really hits the spot, thanks," Blair told her, winning another shy smile. He looked around at their daughters and, seeing the older girl, Rose, helping to shuck peas for their dinner, asked, "Hey, why aren't you moppets in school? Is today a holiday or something?"

Shrugging, eight-year-old Rose glanced at her mother, who shook her head and turned away. But Cherie wasn't so easily silenced. "We don't go to school no more," she said with a pout.

"What?" Jim exclaimed. "Why not?"

"Well, it's a long story," Brown hedged, looking at his wife who, her spine rigid, was busy at her worktable, shaping unbaked bread into rolls.

"Henri said he'd bring us up to date after we eat," Blair interjected, sensing the tension and really not wanting to deal with it. In an effort to redirect everyone's attention, he reached for his saddlebags and rummaged inside. "In the meantime, want to see what Uncle Jim and I brought back for you from Santa Fe?" he asked the girls, pitching his voice to evoke anticipation.

Their eyes brightened and they nodded eagerly.

"Oh, no, you shouldn'a brought presents," Brown demurred, but his gratitude was clear on his open face.

"Hey, our pleasure," Jim assured him with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes as he studied his friends when Hannah again turned to face them.

"Yo both so kind," she murmured as she wiped her floury hands on a clean rag.

The girls were crowding around Blair, nearly dancing with excitement as he drew forth the small cornhusk dolls he and Jim had chosen for them. They squealed in delight at the brightly colored silk garments that garbed the dolls, tiny dresses that were finely stitched into flamboyant Mexican designs. There was a crimson one for Rose, and Cherie's doll wore shades of blue. They hugged and kissed him in delight, and then hugged and kissed Jim, too, before hurrying to a corner by a window to examine their treasures more closely.

"They's beautiful," Hannah sighed and beamed at them. "Merci. T'ank you so much."

"Ah, well, we're not done here, yet," Blair told her, his eyes twinkling at the 'oh' of surprise on her lips. He drew out a flat, cotton-wrapped square and handed it to Henri. "We thought you'd like this," he said.

Brown seemed honestly amazed as he took the gift, looking from Blair to Jim before he began to unwrap it. When he saw the silver buckle, he shook his head and, pressing his lips together, he swallowed hard. "Look here," he said to Hannah, sounding hoarse, holding it out for her to see. "Have you ever seen the like?"

"No, darlin', Ah never has," she replied as she touched his arm, her warm eyes filled with happiness for him. When Brown didn't seem to be able to say anything more, she hesitated and then explained, "Ain't nobody never give Henri nothing befo'. Not 'cept us, his kin."

"Oh, well," Blair stammered, glancing at Jim and then back at their friends, "then we're especially glad we brought it along, 'cause it's sure overdue." And then he handed her a small suede sack, held closed by a gold-colored drawstring. "And this is for you, Hannah."

"Fo' me?" she exclaimed on a breath of air, gaping at him.

"Yes, for you," Jim assured her.

Her hand was trembling as she reached for the gift and a smile blossomed on her face as she cut a look up at Henri, who looped an arm around her shoulders. When she drew out the delicately-crafted silver bangle, she gasped, and pressed the back of the hand clenching the sack to her mouth. Tears glazed her eyes and she blinked hard. "Oh, my," she whispered, overcome. "Oh, my."

"It's beautiful, darlin', jes like you," Henri murmured. "Go on. Put it on."

She looked up him and then at each of them, and they all nodded encouragingly. She slipped the bracelet over her slender hand, and it glittered against the dark chocolate of her skin. "T'is is too much," she protested, starting to pull it off.

Blair's throat thickened and he could only shake his head.

Jim reached to close his hand over hers, staying her hurried action. "No, no, please. We thought of you as soon as we saw it. Delicate and yet strong. And, like H said, beautiful, like you."

"Yo the bes' friens we eva had," she told them, tears still spangling her eyes. "Ain't nobody never been so kind as you are to us."

"You're very special to both of us," Blair said, his own voice husky. "You and your family, and Simon and Joel – well, you're our family, and we missed you while we were gone."

"We sure missed you, too," Henri assured them. "Can't say how glad we are that you're back."

"Oh, look at that, you done drank all that tea. Here," she interjected, bustling forward to gather up their mugs, "Ah'll jes get you some mo'." But she paused and then, blushing, she dipped quickly to kiss them both on their cheeks. "T'ank you," she whispered in confusion. "T'ank you."

Pleased to have made them all so happy with their small tributes, Jim and Blair both blushed and grinned like little boys.

The moment was broken when the hooves of what sounded like twenty or more horses at full gallop thundered by along the road outside, shaking the little house.

"What the …!" Jim exclaimed, coming to his feet to look out the window at the strangers clattering by.

"That's the construction gang heading home," Brown told him with a grimace of annoyance. "They ride roughshod through town every morning and every night."

Jim turned to frown at him. "But that's dangerous. They could run down someone old and too slow to get out of their way, or a little kid who'd freeze in fright."

"We knows that, Jim," Hannah replied quietly. "Tha's why we don' let the girls play out front no mo'."

"But –" Jim began, sitting back down and wondering why Brown, as the deputy, hadn't put a stop to it.

"I'll explain everything that's been goin' on after we eat," Henri assured him, glancing at his daughters. Drawing out a cane-backed chair to join them at the table, he urged, "Now, you said you had a story to tell. So, come on, then! Let's hear it!"

Blair looked at Jim, both of them sensing there was something wrong, but respecting Brown's desire to postpone the discussion. So, while Hannah finished preparing their supper, and later, as they ate, they told them of their adventures in the far west. The girls listened in awe, murmuring to each other about 'wild Injuns', until Hannah hushed them, eager herself to hear all they had to say. Brown watched them closely as the story unfolded, and the awareness in his eyes told them he knew when they were sliding over some of the facts. With an arched brow, he let them know he'd want all the details later.

As Hannah was clearing off the table after they'd finished eating the apple pie she'd made for dessert, she waved toward the door. "Go on, now. Go sit for a spell in the evenin' air. Ah'll bring y'all some coffee inna minute or two."

"We can help clean up!" Blair protested as he stood to carry dishes to the wash basin on her work counter, in part because he really did want to help – and in part because he was in no hurry to hear whatever it was he knew Brown would soon tell them.

But she pulled the crockery out of his hands. "Non, non!" she laughed. "Did the prodigal son clean up after his feast? Non, yo all jes' go and leave this t' me."

With soft chuckles of defeat, the men took their hats from the pegs near the door and wandered out to sit on the narrow, sheltered porch that overlooked the street. The sun was setting in the west, the evening still bright and warm, the air clearer now that the wind had died and the dust had settled. Blair sank onto the rough-hewn bench against the wall, while Jim and Henri leaned against the posts at either end of the porch. Brown looked away, off down the street, and seemed reluctant to break the comfortable silence between them.

"Might as well spit it out, H," Jim advised, his tone low and encouraging. "What's been going on here? Why aren't the girls in school?"

Henri inhaled deeply and blew the breath out slowly. Shifting to perch one hip on the wooden railing, he licked his lips. Looking from Jim to Blair and back again, he began, "Not long after you rode out with your father, a wagon train of new settlers arrived. They, uh, come from the south, an' … there's a lot of 'em; near as many as lived in the whole town before they showed up." Once again, his gaze drifted to the street, quiet but for the cheerful sound of the saloon's harpsichord. "They's got their own ideas about what's proper. An' there's some in town who agrees with 'em."

"What ideas would those be?" Blair asked, afraid he already knew the answer.

"They don't countenance the idea of equality," Brown replied, bitterness tingeing his voice. "They don' think their children should have t' associate with mine, an' they kicked up such a fuss that poor Marnie MacDonald was at her wit's end. I … I took my girls outta the school t' make things easier on her."

He looked at Jim and his jaw was tight as he admitted, "An' … their leader, well, he also made a fuss about a 'darkie' actin' all high and mighty, strutting around town with a badge. It was getting pretty … tense, an' there was too many of 'em to fight, though Sam and Silas, and Simon and Joel and their riders, and, well, Pastor Stevens would'a backed me. I'm sorry, Jim. I guess I let you down, but it didn't seem worth men gettin' killed over."

Blair felt as if a dark cloud had settled over the sun, leaving him feeling chilled. He looked up at Jim, who had straightened, his expression one of barely contained rage. Jutting his jaw toward the Sheriff's Office down the street, he grated, "First off, don't be apologizing. Doesn't sound like you could've done anything different, H – though I'm sorry you've had to deal with such…"

He cut himself off and, his jaw clenching, swallowed hard. "Who's over there now?"

"Fellow name of McBride – he's the bossman's righthand man."

"And this 'bossman'," Jim asked with a low growl. "What would his name be?"

"Kincaid. Garrett Kincaid."

Brown sighed and waved toward the center of town. "You probably heard all the building goin' on when you rode in. Kincaid has his personal army erecting a whole lot of places. A mansion for him. A new hotel, 'cause he don't hold with a woman running her own place." He grinned bleakly. "You can jes' imagine how Miz Megan reacted to that." His soft, hollow chuckle died. "He's also buildin' a new church, 'cause Pastor Stevens made it clear we were welcome to worship there, whatever the hell Kincaid likes or doesn't like. An', he's threatened t' build his own bank, saloon and general store, too, if Sam, Silas and Angus don' refuse to do business with the 'nigras'. So far…" Henri shook his head. "They're good men, fine men, but I don't know if they can hold out forever, not if many in town take their business to Kincaid."

"Sonuva –" Jim cursed.

"There's one thing more," Brown interjected. Frowning, he looked at Blair. "I'm real sorry to tell you this, Doc, but … well, Milt Ambrose has set himself up as a doctor. All Kincaid's people are goin' to him, and they say they won't have no truck with no…" His voice caught as if he might choke, but he continued grimly, "Christ killer."

Jim slammed his fist into his palm, but Blair just held Henri's gaze for a long moment, and then nodded. "Well, given everything else, I guess that's no surprise." He shook his head. "I would've hoped that Milt … but I guess, I guess it'd be hard to turn away such good business. And, besides, while I was away, he's the only one who could help the sick."

"If the fools around here go to Ambrose, when they know he's no doctor," Jim snapped, "then they deserve what they get! That's maybe the one good thing I've heard – you might actually get a chance to rest up a bit, not be chasing all over creation looking after everyone."

"Jim!" Blair protested, but stopped himself when Hannah appeared in the doorway, a tray with three steaming mugs of coffee in her hands.

"Yo tol' 'em?" she asked, though there was no question in her voice. "We's sorry," she said to them. "Sorry t' be greetin' ya'll with such news."

Taking a mug, Jim shook his head forcefully. "You and H got nothing to be sorry for, Hannah," he replied, his tone stern but kind. "Sounds to me like a whole lotta people owe the two of you an apology. I'm sorry we weren't here. That you've had to deal with this."

"Non, non, yore brother, he needed you, Jim, and t'was good you went t' him," she demurred. "They's jes mean-spirited people, an' tha's not yore fault."

Blair sipped at his coffee, and was glad of its bitter strength. "You say there were as many in the wagon train as live in town," he pondered. "Where are they all living now?"

"Kincaid says they got rights to the land east of here that borders on Simon and Joel's place," Brown told them. "They're setting up as farmers, mostly. Though I heard talk that they might be bringin' in sheep."

"Oh, great," Jim sighed as he rolled his eyes. "The man really does want a war, doesn't he?"

"Looks like," Brown agreed with a grimace of disgust.

"How are Simon and Joel taking all this?" Blair asked.

"Not well," Henri replied. "But they're being sensible. When they come into town now – which isn't often – they have most of their riders with them. They don't want to provoke a fight … but they're showin' they won't back down from one, either."

"They's too many t' fight," Hannah said as she leaned the tray against the wall and crossed her arms. "Yo know it's true, Henri," she went on sharply. Looking at Jim and Blair, she went on, "Sho, they has their women and chill'uns with them, but they's at least forty men in that mob that must've been rebel soldiers and they knows how to handle their guns. Yo cain't fight dem all, Jim. Not even you can fight dem all."

Jim handed his empty mug to her. "We'll see, Hannah," he returned, his voice tight. "But don't you worry about that tonight." He tipped his hat to her and held out his hand to Brown. "Thank you both for a fine homecoming. Was a wonderful dinner and we're both real glad to see you all again. But it's getting late, and I need to go relieve the new 'deputy' of his duties. We won't be needing his services anymore."

"Jim," Brown began, a warning in his voice.

"I'm the Sheriff," Jim cut in, his expression determined. "And until this town tells me different, I decide who wears a deputy's badge in Bitterwood Creek."

A smile quirked the corner of Henri's mouth. "Like I said earlier, we're real glad to have the two of you back."

Blair saluted Hannah and slapped Brown on the arm as he followed Jim down off the porch. "See you tomorrow," he called over his shoulder, as they untied their horses. Wordlessly, they led Lobo and Butternut across the street and down along the narrow alley beside their house, to the stable in back. As they unsaddled, Blair murmured, "I'm going with you."

"I know," Jim said with a slow smile. "Just keep your badge in your pocket, like always."

Blair thought about that as he draped the saddle and blanket over the half-wall of the stall. He forked hay into the mangers, while Jim drew water from the well and filled the troughs. As they carried their saddlebags and bedrolls inside, he said, "You know, I think it might be time I started wearing the badge."

"Chief," Jim retorted, "you're not a gunman. I don't want you caught in the middle of this."

"Maybe it's time I learned," he returned, and held up his hand to stave off Jim's objections. "Hear me out, Jim," he argued. "From what H said, this is a bad situation that's fixing to get worse. Hannah's right. You can't go up against them all alone."

"You're the doctor, Sandburg," Jim sighed as he pulled off his hat and wiped his brow with the back of his hand. "And I won't be alone. There are good men in this town – and Simon and Joel's bunch'll back me, just like they were willing to back H."

"I wonder if I am still the doctor," Blair muttered morosely, turning away to walk through his small infirmary to the hall that led to the front of the house. "Guess we'll have to see."

"C'mon, you don't think everyone in this town, or all the folks hereabouts are going to stop coming to you? They aren't all damned fools," Jim contested. "Though, I have to say, I really wouldn't mind if you had a lighter load. You're still recovering, Blair. You need to take it easy."

"I won't turn anyone away," he replied with a challenging look.

"Yeah, I know," Jim said as they dropped their bags at the foot of the stairs. Looping his arm around Blair's shoulders as they went out the front door, he went on, "But you can't fault me for hoping that there are a few idiots who'll keep taking their problems to Ambrose."

"He's no doctor, Jim."

"I know that, too – anyone with half a brain in this town knows that, Chief."

"I hoped … I hoped I'd be past this," Blair admitted then, with a troubled glance down the street at the apothecary shop. "After so many years here…"

"Don't buy trouble, Chief," Jim counseled, pausing for a moment before he entered his office to look down at Blair. "You had more than enough patients before this new crowd showed up. I suspect most of 'em will be glad you're back."

"Guess we'll see," Blair sighed. "If they're not too afraid to be seen coming to me."

Jim's lips tightened, and then he turned to shoulder open the door. As they walked inside, he eyed the man behind his desk who was rising to his feet. "McBride, I'm Sheriff Ellison."

Surprised flashed over his face, but though McBride smiled easily, he studiously ignored Blair and his tone had an edge as he responded, "It's good to meet you, sir. Glad to know you're finally back in town."

"Uh huh," Jim grunted. "Now that I'm back, you can go on home." Holding out his hand, he added bluntly, "And you won't be needin' that badge anymore, so I'll take it before you go."

McBride's eyes narrowed. "Now, you don't want to be too hasty, Sheriff. I'm proud to help keep the peace in town. And, uh, Colonel Kincaid, well, he's counting on me to lend a hand. Why, when we arrived … well, there's no need to rely on a boy when there's men to keep the law."

Still waiting for the badge, silence stretched while Jim glared at the man until a flush began to creep up McBride's neck. Finally, Jim replied, his voice icily calm but holding the cutting tones of command, "Bitterwood Creek has more than enough fine deputies, all of them good and brave men who have served this town for years. So long as I'm Sheriff, they will continue to serve. You can tell Mister Kincaid I've relieved you of duty."

"The Colonel might have something to say about that, sir," McBride challenged.

A cold smile curved the edge of Jim's mouth. "Well, I'll look forward to hearing what Kincaid has to say. Give him my regards when you see him." But the smile disappeared as he added, "The badge. I'll take it now."

With clear reluctance, McBride unpinned the star as he came out from behind the desk. For a moment, he paused, his lip curling with contempt as his glance cut to Blair. "You're makin' a mistake, Sheriff," he advised, belligerence in his eyes as he returned his gaze to Jim. "Never a good idea to turn away good help."

"No, it's not," Jim agreed, plucking the badge from McBride's fingers. "Good help – men I'd trust to watch my back – isn't at all that easy to find." Leaning past Blair, he opened the door, and held it wide. "Get out."

Anger at the insult flashed in the man's eyes, but he gave a single, stiff nod. Pulling down the brim of his hat, shouldering roughly past Blair, he strode out the door. Jim slammed it behind him.

"Well, I'd say that went well," Jim observed mildly, moving around the desk to toss the tin star into the desk drawer.

"Yeah?" Blair breathed, not sure whether he felt proud of his partner or just plain scared. "Funny," he went on, his voice tight with trepidation, "I thought I heard a declaration of war."

Pursing his lips and cocking one brow, Jim said slowly, "Maybe."

When Blair grimaced and shook his head, Jim shrugged. "I heard what H and Hannah said, Chief. And I understand this could get messy. But no one is going to come in here and ride roughshod over our people, not so long as I'm wearing this badge."

Blair couldn't help the small smile as he looked up at his partner. "Welcome home," he murmured, his tone now warm with approval, though fear still knotted in his gut. He tilted his head toward the street. "Ready to do our rounds?"

"Yeah, yeah, I am," Jim agreed, skirting around the desk. "Time to let this town know we're back." But then he hesitated and turned back; pulling open the drawer, he picked up the little star and held it thoughtfully.

"Jim, do you think that's a good idea?" Blair questioned uncertainly. "You don't want to make him a target."

Looking up, Jim's expression tightened. "No, I don't," he agreed. "But I think that has to be his choice, not ours."

Blair's lips thinned, but he nodded and followed Jim back out onto the street, and across to Brown's house.

When Henri answered, he seemed surprised to see them again so soon. Behind him, Hannah looked up from scrubbing the table.

Holding out the badge in the palm of his hand, Jim said, "This is yours; up to you whether you wear it or not."

Henri's lips parted and he didn't seem to know what to say as he studied the star. Hannah stiffened, and then came to stand behind him, her arms crossed and her lips tightly compressed, as if she was biting off words. Blair could too easily understand their mute communication. Brown had a family to take care of … a lot more to risk than he and Jim did. "We'd understand if … well, if you think …. H, you have to think about the girls. We know that."

Henri looked up at him, and then back over his shoulder at his wife. For a moment, she held his gaze, but then her eyes dropped and her shoulders sagged as she nodded with a small sigh. Brown took a deep breath and turned back to face them. Taking the badge from Jim, he finally offered, "I'll keep this an' put it on when it's necessary but … maybe, maybe I could just, uh, do the rounds with you, like the Doc does – you know, without wearin' it."

Jim clasped his shoulder. "That's more'n good enough for me." He tipped his hat to Hannah and stepped back. Brown reached just inside the door for his Stetson and, strapping on the gunbelt he'd also pulled from a peg, moved out into the night to walk with them as they patrolled the town.

Light spilled out of the saloon along with the lively honky-tonk plunking of the harpsichord but, otherwise, the main street was quiet in the lengthening shadows cast by the nearly-set sun. The bank and the bakeshop, the apothecary and the telegraph office were all long closed for the night. Further along, Jim and Blair eyed the skeletons of the new buildings that Kincaid was having erected. Once they were finished, the core of the town would feel crowded and closed in, with few open spaces to give a glimpse of the prairie, the nearby river shrouded by its bordering sycamores, or the little creek that ran under the willows, oak and aspen. Jim scowled, but he didn't say anything as they strode past the schoolyard toward the residential end of town. Lights glowed behind curtained windows and they could hear voices, if not make out any words.

They swung past the church and the little graveyard, and headed back on the opposite side of the street. When they reached the hotel, they turned in, and Blair smiled to see Megan Connor sitting behind the reception desk, her head bent over her accounts. When she glanced up, perhaps expecting to see one of her guests returning from the saloon next door, she did a double take and then, a wide smile wreathing her face, she leapt to her feet and hurried around the end of the desk.

"Jim! Blair!" she cheered, "you're back!"

The warmth of her welcome eased some of the tension Blair had felt building as they'd done their rounds, and he gladly returned her hug with the enthusiasm of an old friend.

"Ah, the two of you are a sight for sore eyes," she told them, then hesitated as she searched Jim's face. "Your journey? Did you find your brother? Is everything alright?"

"Yes, everything's fine," Jim assured her.

But Henri snorted and chuckled as he added, "Wait till you hear the story. 'Fine', now, maybe, but it had its hair-raisin' moments. Apaches, crooked railroaders –"

"What!" she exclaimed and swept her gaze over them again. "Well, you seem to be in one piece and still have all your hair. But I want to hear all the details. Supper, here, tomorrow."

Blair smiled and nodded. "Sounds like too good an invitation to refuse." Glancing at Jim, he added cheekily, "Especially since we haven't had time to restock our larder yet."

She batted his arm but laughed. "I am glad you're back. And," she went on as she gazed at Brown, "I'm glad to see you're making the rounds again, too. The last few weeks have been … unsettling, to say the least."

"Kincaid giving you any grief?" Jim demanded, all amusement gone from his voice and eyes.

Crossing her arms as if chilled, she shook her head. "Not directly, not yet," she said, her lips thinning. "But I've heard he's made unflattering comments about women not knowing their place." Her eyes flashed. "I almost wish he would say something to my face. I'd like to give that boyo a piece of my mind and maybe even the flat of my hand."

Blair's brows arched under his hat and he had difficulty hiding his grin at her robust confidence. Kincaid had better watch his step around Connor – she wasn't one to suffer fools at all gladly.

"Well, we'd best be on our way. Just wanted to let you know we're back – and if Kincaid or any of his bunch give you any trouble, you let me know," Jim told her as he tipped his hat.

"Don't forget, supper, tomorrow night," she reminded them and hugged them again for good measure before walking them to the door.

Back on the boardwalk, they continued the few steps to the saloon and pushed their way through the batwing doors. The place was as busy as ever, with a card game going on at a corner table, and the ladies of the night flirting with the cowhands and drifters. Blair glanced around and saw a good number of unfamiliar faces, but that wasn't unusual. Some, though, looked up and scowled when they saw Brown, and he wondered if they were some of Kincaid's men or if one of those present was Kincaid himself.

"Sheriff! Doc! Welcome back!" Moe Gurney, the bartender called loudly, his greeting unusually effusive and, with a nod, he acknowledged Brown, "Deputy. Good to see y'all. The usual?"

Jim nodded as he approached the bar and several men shifted aside to make room for them. "Moe," he greeted as Gurney drew three mugs of his homebrewed ale. "I see business is booming as usual."

Gurney shrugged. "Summer's hot and dusty. Man's gotta wet his whistle," he replied and set the foaming mugs in front of them.

"Yeah, and in the winter, it's cold, so a man needs to warm his insides," Jim returned with a tight half-smile.

"As you say, Sheriff," Moe allowed and unbent enough to add a wink. Wiping the polished wooden bar with a rag, he lowered his voice and flicked a look at strangers clustered around two tables at the far end of the room. "New folks done moved in while you were gone."

"So I heard," Jim replied as he took a sip. "Also heard there's talk of there maybe bein' a new saloon built. Silas concerned at all?"

Again Gurney shrugged. "Lots'a business for everyone," he said guardedly. "You'd best talk to Silas himself to get his views." His gaze again drifted to the men glaring at them from the end of the room and then, grimacing as if he had a bad taste in his mouth, he hawked into the spittoon behind the bar. Turning back to them, he leaned his elbow on the bar. "They's trouble, no doubt about it. Just don't know how much, yet."

"Guess we'll find out," Jim replied, his voice low and dry.

"McBride was in a little while ago. Looked a mite riled. Saw he ain't wearing the star no more," Moe observed.

"No, no he's not," Jim agreed. "No need, now that I'm back."

"You met Kincaid yet?"

"Not yet."

A humorless smile cracked Gurney's stubbled visage. You watch yer back, Jim," he counseled. "Man likes to pretend he's quality, but he's a sidewinder, pure and simple."

A slow smile creasing Jim's face, he nodded and cocked his brow at he glanced at Blair. Moe had rarely, if ever, been so forthcoming; he was more often surly and downright sour on occasion. The fact that he was being so clear about his loyalties was both gratifying and worrying. Kincaid evidently had him spooked – and Moe Gurney wasn't a man who spooked easily.

"Thanks, Moe," Jim replied as he tossed coins on the bar to cover their beers. "Appreciate the advice."

"Hey!" a man called aggressively from the end of the bar. "We gotta wait all night to be served? Or mebbe we just oughtta find somewhere's else to drink, if'n yer gonna serve nigras and Jews in here."

Moe shook his head and grimaced. Moving at his own studied pace, he turned to face the irate customer. "We serve all free men, here," he called back. "You don't like it – you c'n go."

"Why you –" the lout shouted and his hand started to move toward his gun.

Moe brought a shotgun into view and cocked it. The music and high-pitched laughter died as everyone in the saloon stiffened. "You wanna a drink, a bellyful of lead, or you had enough for the night?" he asked into the silence as if he didn't much care what the ruffian chose.

Slowly, Jim shifted to put himself between the potential trouble and Blair, his hand hovering over his own weapon.

The stranger's gaze flickered between Moe and the three of them, and his lip curled. "Scum," he spit, but his own hand eased away from his sidearm. "The Colonel's not gonna be happy when he hears about this," he warned, his steely gaze going back to meet Moe's stony eyes.

When Gurney just shrugged, the troublemaker snorted and yanked his hat down over his brow. "You better watch yer step, barkeep," he growled, but he waved his companions toward the door. "We won't fergit this."

"Guess that means you don't wanna 'nother drink," Moe replied, seemingly unfazed by the threats. Once they'd marched out, stiff with hostility and disgust written on their faces, he put the shotgun back under the bar. He nodded to the piano player, who struck up a tune. The card players tossed chips onto their table as they went back to their game and, gradually, the rumble of talk and high-pitched laughter resumed.

"That happen often?" Jim asked.

"No more'n once a night," Moe returned phlegmatically. "Till they git their own saloon built, they ain't got much choice but to come on back here with their business." He began filling more mugs with ale in response to orders called from down the bar. "Have t' say, though, I'm glad yer back, Sheriff. You, too, Doc. Town ain't been the same without you." He moved away to serve the drinks, and to pour shots of whisky for other customers.

"Well," Blair muttered, "that was interesting."

Jim just nodded, his expression guarded, as he sipped on his beer.

Brown upended his mug, swallowing until it was empty, and then he carefully placed it back on the bar. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and shook his head. "Damn," he rumbled.

"Yeah," Blair sighed in agreement. Though Moe's evident partisanship had been encouraging, and Megan's greetings warm, he found himself looking around the saloon at all the men he knew who wouldn't meet his eyes, and those he didn't, who cast him and Brown cool looks of speculation. His shoulders sagged in weariness and discouragement as he turned back to the bar. All he'd wanted, all he'd thought about for the past days on the trail was being home, and finally being able to relax and breathe easily with nothing more to worry about than some kid with the croup or a complicated delivery. Now all he felt was unsettled and anxious, and afraid that the home he'd longed for didn't really exist. Might never exist.

"C'mon, Doc," Jim said, briefly touching his shoulder to get his attention. "It's late, and we've made our point. Looks like all the action is over for the time being, and Hannah's waitin' up for H. Let's call it a night."

Wordlessly, he nodded. They waved at Moe and turned to head back out into the darkness.

********************

Jim scanned the street with his senses, seeking any sign of impending ambush from the disgruntled men who'd stormed out of the saloon, but all was quiet. After watching Brown cross the wide dusty road and enter his home, he guided Blair down the dark alleyway to the back. While Blair bedded down their horses for the night, he hauled buckets of water for the trough, and then a last one, to carry inside for their nightly ablutions. All the while, he monitored his partner, and worried about him.

Blair's evident despair was all too plain, and was unlike the man, who was inclined to hide his hurts automatically, unconsciously. Jim had had to work hard to get him to open up, at least in the privacy of their home, or in quiet moments when they were alone. Futile anger flared at a world that he couldn't control, couldn't make safe … couldn't make see that men like Blair and Henri, Simon and Joel were so good as to be rare and should be respected, even cherished, not reviled. The foul ignorance and arrogance that was poisoning Bitterwood Creek was something Jim didn't fully understand and left him feeling helpless, except to confront it head-on – an approach that all too clearly left both Sandburg and Brown feeling vulnerable and, God help them, maybe even ashamed. As if the trouble was their fault.

Jim knew that Blair's despondency was, in no small part, fueled by his lack of energy and innate vitality. The kid hadn't fully recovered from all he'd given and endured in the last few months. But that realization only served to heighten Jim's anxiety. Blair needed rest but, from what he'd seen and heard since their homecoming, Jim was sorely afraid that tranquility was going to be a hard commodity to find in the next weeks and months.

Why the hell had Kincaid and his bunch decided to settle here? Why couldn't they have kept on going to spread their hate somewhere else?

Sighing, he shook his head. Questions like that were a waste of time. They had to deal with the here and now. When Blair came out of the privy, he looped his arm around his friend's shoulders as they walked across the earthen yard. Inside, they trooped into the kitchen. Jim pushed Blair down onto a chair by the table, and his partner didn't argue the gesture, just dropped his hat on the table and, closing his eyes, leaned his head back against the wall. Jim lit the stove to heat the water, and then a lantern.

"You want some tea?" he asked into the silence that stretched between them.

"No, thanks. Just want to clean some of this dust off my body and go to bed."

"The water'll take a few minutes to heat."

Blair just nodded and lapsed back into silence.

Jim took their hats to hang on pegs by the front door, where he usually also hung his gunbelt. But he hesitated and decided to keep his weapons close, at least until he got a better handle on Kincaid. Could be, the man was just a bully who would back down when confronted. If so, the current tensions in town might resolve themselves without violence. But … it was too soon to tell.

Returning to the kitchen, he loosened the buttons on his shirt. Blair hadn't moved. Hunkering down beside him, Jim gripped his shoulder. "I'm sorry, Chief," he murmured.

A wisp of a smile played over Blair's lips. Then he sat up and leaned forward. "'S not your fault," he replied. But his shadowed gaze grew distant and he looked away, his expression sad.

The water in the pot began a low roiling that only Jim could hear, but it signaled that it had grown warm enough to wash themselves. He squeezed Blair's shoulder and then rose to dump half of the slightly steaming water into their basin. "C'mon," he encouraged, "you go first, and then head up to bed."

Blair stood and pulled off his shirt. Taking a clean rag and a bar of homemade soap from the shelf over the work table, he washed his face and neck, his arms and chest, and then Jim took the cloth to wash the sweat and dust from his back. Though he knew the scars no longer hurt, he was gentle and felt the same pangs of rage and pathos he always did when he saw the ugly marks of the lash that had nearly killed Blair years ago. "Get out of your jeans and boots, and I'll wash your feet."

For a moment, he thought Blair might protest that he could wash himself, but then, with a weary nod, Blair stripped and sat down. Jim lifted the basin to the floor and, kneeling, he quickly finished off the cursory sponge bath. Once he'd dried Blair's feet, he urged, "Go on, I'll be up in a few minutes. Leave the saddlebags. I'll take care of them."

"Thanks," Blair replied as he stood to head upstairs, pausing only to give him a brief smile.

Jim tossed out the water made filthy by the grime of their miles of travel since leaving Wichita, and then refilled the metal bowl to wash himself. When he'd finished, after dumping the water out the back door and cleaning the basin, he grabbed their clothing and his gunbelt. In the hall, he gathered up their saddlebags and trudged up the dark stairs.

Covered with a light sheet, Blair was curled on the bed, his face toward the open window. From the sound of his breathing, Jim could tell he was still awake. "It'll be okay," he offered, hoping he wasn't making empty promises.

"Will it?" Blair breathed. He stirred and then shifted onto his back to stare up into the darkness. His voice was low, barely audible, and hesitating as he continued, "I've seen this before, Jim; been through it before. Once people have another choice, another doctor, they … they stop coming to me for help. That's when …" his voice cracked, "that's when I know it's time to move on. But, but I'd hoped, you know, that I was past that here. That this was a place I might be able to stay." Turning his gaze toward Jim, he asked, "Would you … would you be willing to leave Bitterwood Creek?"

Jim's heart ached at the lost, sorrowful tones and words and, for a moment, his throat was too tight to speak. Sandburg deserved so much better than this – had earned so much better. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, he gathered Blair up into his arms, and held him close, his lips on his partner's brow. "Don't be so quick to write everyone off," he encouraged. "You've got a lot of friends in this town, Chief. And they're all ungrateful fools if they turn their backs on you now. But, if it comes to that, all that really keeps me here is you. If the time comes and you decide it's time to move on, you just say when and where, and I'll be leaving with you."

Blair's arms came up around him to hug him back. "Thanks," he whispered. He drew in a long, deep breath and let it out slowly. "This Kincaid. It could be bad, Jim. Real bad. Deadly, if he pushes it."

Jim nodded. "I know," he murmured. "But we haven't met the man yet. Maybe he'll back off. We'll just have to see how it plays out."

"I don't want anyone killed, and I know Henri probably feels the same way – that's why he backed off and took his girls out of the school. For their safety, sure, but for the safety of anyone else who might have stood up for him and them." After a moment, he added, "I wonder what Simon and Joel think about everything that's happening."

"That's something else we need to find out, Chief. But that's for tomorrow. Tonight, you're tired right out and you need to sleep."

Against his shoulder, he felt Blair's face crease in a smile. "Determined to take care of me, huh?"

"Somebody has to," Jim agreed with a low chuckle. "Let it go for tonight, Blair, okay? Let it go."

Blair nodded and extricated himself to lie back down.

Jim listened until he heard Blair's breathing deepen into sleep. But he didn't want to leave Blair alone by heading to his own room just yet; he sat and stared into the darkness as he thought about what Blair had said. It galled him to think people would give up their homes and move on in the face of such virulent hostility; it wasn't fair. Sighing, he could also understand why people would choose to run rather than fight; sometimes the price of battle just wasn't worth it. But it wasn't in his nature to run, to let bastards like Kincaid win. Wasn't in his nature to give up. And this was his fight, too. Not just Blair's or Brown's or Simon's and Joel's. This was about friendship and, on a broader level, about equality and decency. Grimacing, he shook his head as he wondered what the future would hold. He really wanted to believe the town would rally behind them – but he knew all too well how corrosive fear could be.

But he wouldn't solve anything sitting here. He stood and, crossing the hall, climbed into his own bed. Rolling on his side, he closed his eyes and gave himself the advice he'd given Blair. Let it go for tonight. See what tomorrow brings.

********************

Jim woke to a touch on his hand, and the feeling of something warm and heavy being slipped onto his finger. Blinking in the bright sunlight streaming in through the window, he lifted his head and saw Blair smiling at him.

"Morning."

"Morning to you, too, Chief. Ah, what's this?" he asked as he lifted his hand and studied the gold signet ring with a dark blue polished stone. The light flashed on the stone and he squinted, then looked closer at the star he could see in its depths.

"It's a star sapphire," Blair explained as he hitched a hip onto the side of the bed. "When I saw it, I thought of your name, 'Brave Star', and it just seemed appropriate, you know?"

"But, how, where …?" Jim gabbled, well aware that his partner couldn't afford such a luxury. And then he frowned. "And why?"

"Well, the how and where is easy," Blair replied with a cheeky grin. "I got it from Ezra Standish. You know how he was always asking questions, curious about who we were, where we came from?" When Jim nodded, he went on, "Well, one time when he came to keep me company and play some cards, I noticed this ring, said it made me think of you. He wanted to know why." Blair shrugged. "When I hesitated, he said he'd trade the ring for the story … so I gave him an abridged version of our visit with Swift Eagle and Whispering Waters. And, since that didn't seem like enough for such a great ring, I also told him pretty much what happened in Geronimo's camp. He loved the stories, especially since you and Toby hadn't been telling them much; I think he relished the idea of knowing stuff the others didn't. Anyway, he seemed to think it was a fair trade."

Amused, Jim relaxed. "And the why?" he prompted.

"That's a little more complicated," Blair replied, a slight flush blooming on his stubbled cheeks. "Well, first, today is the anniversary of when you saved my life last summer."

When Jim winced and looked away, he hurried on, "I know you don't like to think about that time, but it means the world to me. I like to remember it. And, second …" Hesitating, his teeth worried at his lower lip. "There's no way anyone else can ever understand what we mean to one another. We can't exactly stand up and announce to the world that we're, well, soul brothers, sentinel and guide united in a way they could never understand. But, what you said last night? That you're only here because of me? Well, I feel the same way, Jim. Home isn't a place. It's you. It's us together. I guess … I guess this ring is my way of saying I pledge myself to you. For always. Just, I don't know, seemed right to do that on the anniversary of the first time you gave my life back to me." Once again he paused, then rushed on, the flush on his face deepening. "And I know we don't get all sentimental and stupid about stuff. But … but you're my bright, brave star, the only star that matters in my sky."

Blair looked so earnest and intense as he spouted the sentimental drivel that deserved to make him blush, that Jim didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Swallowing the lump in his throat, with a thin-lipped smile he pushed himself up to embrace Blair tightly. "Thanks, Chief," he finally managed to say without chuckling. The sentiment might've been a bit much, but the love underneath was something he cherished as the most valued gift in his life. "I'll wear it with pride."

Drawing away, he studied the ring appreciatively. "And you know, I think this is the best birthday present I've ever gotten – by far."

"It's your birthday!" Blair exclaimed, his smile illuminating his face – a face that was still too thin and wan, so far as Jim was concerned. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Jim shrugged. "Never seemed important, I guess."

Shaking his head, laughing, Blair punched him lightly on the shoulder. "Happy Birthday," he half-sang. "I'll have to make sure Megan has a cake baked for our dinner tonight. How many candles?"

Jim snorted and gave him a soft whap on the side of his head. "Never mind how many candles, short stuff. And nobody else needs to know it's my birthday, either. Let's just keep that our little secret. You know I hate a lot of fussin'."

"Yeah, I know, tough guy," Blair replied, his tone indulgent.

He stood and stepped away from the bed, but Jim caught his arm. "I love the ring, Chief. I love what it means even more. Thank you."

Pleased, Blair ducked his head. "Good," he murmured. "I'm glad." Tugging loose, he went on with a grin, "Guess I'd better get busy making the birthday boy's breakfast. I think we've got enough flour left, and I'll run across and get some milk and eggs from Hannah. Maybe she'll even have some blueberries. Since you don't want a cake tonight, how about hotcakes this morning?"

"Sounds just about perfect."

When Blair left and bounced cheerfully down the stairs, Jim wondered if his partner was feeling better than he had the night before, or if he was just seeing Blair's usual trick of burying what bothered him. Looking at the ring, though, he couldn't help but smile. Regardless, at least they both knew what really mattered and where they stood with each other. Bitterwood Creek was where they hung their hats. But home? That was something else entirely.

His bright, brave star, huh? Chuckling, he shook his head. But he couldn't deny the warmth that filled his chest or the pride he felt to be the star in Blair's firmament.

His musings were shattered by the loud clatter of horses racing past the house and he frowned. There was always some idiot who rode pell-mell through town, too dumb to realize the risks or how easily he might trample someone. But this deliberate daily rampage felt like a form of not-so-subtle intimidation to him. This Kincaid was sure pulling every stunt he could to make his presence felt and to keep the townspeople on edge. Grimacing, Jim shook his head as he finished dressing and wondered just how much trouble the man would pose in the days, weeks and months ahead.

********************

Later that morning, Jim was sorting through the circulars that had come in during his long absence. When he saw the wanted poster on Vin Tanner, he crumpled it in his fist and tossed it in the trash basket under the desk. The office door opened, and he looked up to see a man his age, maybe a few years older, with light sandy hair, cool blue eyes and a determined mouth. Well built if not as tall, he looked strong, in good shape, and he was dressed in a gray shirt and pants, with a darker gray short jacket. A matched set of pearl-handled pistols hung low on his hips. His boots didn't look like he spent much time mucking out in them, and there was no dust marring the pristine gray suede of his Stetson. When he spoke, his southern drawl came as no surprise.

"Sheriff Ellison? I'm Garrett Kincaid," he said, his tone amiable enough, but the friendly tone didn't warm the ice in his eyes.

"Kincaid. What can I do for you?" Jim asked, his own voice cool as he sat back and looked up from under the brim of his hat.

"Well, more like what I can do for you," Kincaid went on as he drew up a chair to sit down. "Welcome back, Sheriff. From all I hear, you've had a long journey. I trust your father and your brother are well?"

"Just fine," Jim replied, but he offered nothing more.

"Well, that's good news. I imagine your father will be glad to get back to Philadelphia. Not easy for a man of his means to leave his business interests idle for so long. One of the most powerful industrialists in the country, isn't he? A man of influence. And your brother, Steven, has already made his mark on the Western Pacific Railroad. A remarkable family. Why, you yourself have a reputation for being a fine career officer, serving your country with distinction and now, here you are, upholding the law in this vast, new land."

Crossing his arms, Jim quirked a brow. "I'm sure there's a point to all this," he remarked, boredom warring with challenge in his gaze.

Unfazed by his tone or unveiled antipathy, Kincaid smiled coldly. "Why, only acknowledging your sterling heritage and your undoubted courage. You're a man who can command respect; and one I'd like to get to know a whole lot better. I think, despite our different views on the recent unpleasantness between the states, we have a good deal in common."

"That so?"

"Indeed it is, Sheriff. My people are setting down roots here and we hope to make this a great city some day. But, for now, we're content to do our part to improve this town in any way we can; make our contribution. Now, I know you've had to handle the peacekeeping here pretty much on your own.You've not had good, solid men to back you up – just shopkeepers, mostly." Kincaid shook his head as if he regretted being so long in coming to the rescue. "Now, all that's changed. I've got more than four dozen strong men, who have seen action and know how to handle trouble. Any one of them is at your disposal at any time."

"I've got all the deputies I need," Jim replied. "If that's all?"

"Ah, come now, Sheriff. I appreciate that you may be reluctant to ask newcomers to carry more than you think is their share," Kincaid returned, his tone hardening. "But a man of quality like yourself shouldn't be relying on boys, not when there are good men ready and willing to back you up. One thing to cope out of necessity; another to wallow in the swill with the hogs for no good reason. You want to be careful that you don't tarnish your reputation, or lose the respect that you've earned."

Jim's gaze dropped as he struggled to master the rage that erupted at the man's callous arrogance. Grimacing as if at a bad smell, he brushed at his nose and shook his head. Looking up, meeting Kincaid's challenging stare, he replied with icy deliberation, "I have good men backing me up – the best. Men who have saved my life and who I trust."

Kincaid snorted. "You can't be serious," he chuckled, as if they were sharing a joke. "Why, you rode into this town past a quarantine flag to stop the bank from being robbed. You're a hero, descended from the best stock that settled this great country and wrested it away from the savages they found here. There's no honor in pretending to respect darkies; they're no more'n animals – less than animals, 'cause they have no capacity for loyalty. Or, worse, to align yourself with one of the race that killed our Lord. No sir. You best rethink my offer, here, Sheriff. You'll be sorry if you don't."

Leaning forward to place his elbows on the desk, and clasping his hands together to keep himself from leaping up to drive his fist into that supercilious smile, Jim took a breath. "Kincaid, I have no idea why you felt you had to stop here when there are so many other places you could have gone to spread your corrupt poison. If I had my way, I'd run you out of town right now, just on general principle. You're arrogant, and you're a fool – not a good combination. If you've done your homework, you'll know damned well I'm not the only hero who came into town past that quarantine flag. Doctor Sandburg saved any number of lives in this town – there's not a family here that he hasn't helped. And Simon Banks is a pillar of this community, has been for over twenty years, along with Joel Taggart. As for Henri Brown, he's lived here for years, become a successful businessman, and has put his life on the line for the people here."

"Runaway slaves and a Jew who was looking to take advantage of people in distress," Kincaid scoffed. "Hardly the sort anyone would want associated with their families. Why, I wouldn't allow that so-called doctor, more like a charlatan, to touch me or mine with his filthy hands."

"If you're relying on Milt Ambrose, then I hope you never suffer serious illness or injury, because you'll die," Jim retorted with heavy contempt. Standing, unable to stomach the man's presence, he gestured toward the door. "I think we're done here. You and your people abide by the law, treat every citizen in this town and around here with respect, and stay out of my way. If you can't do that, then you'd best tell your people to stay away from Bitterwood Creek." He swallowed and then grated, "Better still, given all the building I see you're doing in town, maybe it would be a good idea to either move on or built your own town somewhere else, since nothing much here seems to be low enough to meet your standards."

Coming to his feet, Kincaid shook his head. "Your attitude is unfortunate, Sheriff. I had hoped we might be friends." Straightening, his expression flattening, he threatened, "I intend to ensure we soon have elections in Bitterwood Creek, to appoint a proper town council. And I expect to be successful in my campaign to be mayor of this fair community. Be advised, your term as Sheriff will depend very much upon my judgment as to your … fitness for this important post. Could be, Ellison, that you'll be the one moving on. If you're still alive to go."

"Is that a threat?"

"Merely a warning. This town is growing, getting busier all the time, what with all the transients passing through. You've got a dangerous job, and without the right backup, your life could very well be at risk." Turning toward the door, Kincaid added, "Think about it, Sheriff. I'm not a particularly patient man, but I'll give you a day or two to come to your senses."

"It'll be a cold day in hell before I take your advice, Kincaid. You're just damned lucky this is a free country – something you didn't fight to achieve – so I can't lock you up for being a bigot, and your freedom of speech lets you get away with spouting garbage. But you hear this. You threaten or harass anyone under my jurisdiction and I'll throw your sorry ass in jail. We clear?"

"Abundantly, but I'm a man of my word, so you have two days to reconsider. After that, you're on your own," Kincaid retorted, his tone hard as he turned to the door.

"One more thing, Kincaid," Jim called. "Tell your men to quit riding roughshod through this town. It's damned dangerous, and one of these days someone is going to get hurt."

For a long moment, Kincaid glared at him. "This is my town now, Ellison, and my men will do whatever they want," he growled, his fists clenched and fury in his eyes. "You best get used to that idea, real quick." He made a visible attempt to regain his temper. "Good day, Sheriff," he drawled with contempt as he strode out, slamming the door behind him.

"Yeah, right," Jim huffed and rolled his eyes. He yanked down the brim of his hat and stood with his head bowed, hands on his hips, as he thought about Kincaid and his threats. The man was too arrogant, too full of confidence to be a simple bully, though he was clearly used to getting his way through intimidation alone. Hell, he was drunk on his own power, reacting with cold fury when confronted. Jim would have liked it better if he'd blown up, lost it – the control Kincaid had shown was worrisome. He wore those guns like he knew how to use them, he understood power – and he was sure enough of his superiority to not only give warning but to allow time for Jim to marshal his own resources.

This man was going to make a very dangerous enemy. And it didn't help that he had a small army to back him up.

His mouth twisting, Jim shook his head. There was no way of predicting how Kincaid would play it. All that talk about wanting to run for mayor sounded as if he might try to maintain a pretense of being an upstanding citizen. That could make things a lot tougher to deal with, because the attacks, when they came, would be from the shadows.

He thought about Blair and Henri, and how vulnerable they'd both be if they continued as his deputies. Kincaid and his men would target them first, out of plain malice. Biting his lip, he wished he'd listened the night before when Blair had tried to discourage him from dragging Brown back into the fight. At the time, he'd wanted to make a few points about it being Henri's choice and about the fact that he respected the man. But now, he regretted not waiting until he'd had a better handle on the risks.

As for his partner? Jim closed his eyes and fought the quiver of fear in his chest. He'd rather face Kincaid and his men alone than risk Blair, but he knew there was no way Blair would allow that. He took a shuddering breath and let it out slowly. He was just going to have to be extra careful to watch both their backs.

When he thought about Blair going out on his own to tend patients beyond the town, he had the disloyal hope that maybe people would be fools enough to rely on Ambrose. It would hurt Blair to be shunned, but … but the dangers of him being out there alone on the prairie made Jim shiver with foreboding. No. No way could Sandburg carry on as if everything was normal. No, he'd have to have an armed escort whenever he left town. Rubbing his mouth, Jim sorely wished that Toby had come back to Bitterwood Creek with them.

He was going to have to ask Simon and Joel to spare one of their men; there was no other choice. Jim had spotted a couple of the Gold Ribbon riders in the saloon the night before, so he knew their friends would know by now that they were back. Since there was no way of getting a message out to them without being spotted by Kincaid's men, he had to hope that they would soon come into town to welcome him and Blair home.

In the meantime, he had to get a whole lot better grip on where folks stood in town. Last night, Moe Gurney had been pretty clear, and Jim assumed that his boss, Silas McCready, would also resist Kincaid's desire to dominate, if only out of pure cussedness. The pugnacious saloon owner had once faced down the US Cavalry; he wasn't likely to be intimidated by Kincaid. But … the threat of losing his business to another saloon might give him pause. Hard to say, but if he had to wager, he'd bet on McCready being as irascibly independent as ever. And it would be interesting to see where Sam Sloan stood. Simon and Joel were his richest depositors, and that by a very wide margin.

Deciding that speculation was a waste of time, Jim headed out to do the rounds of the town and its informal leaders.

********************

Once Blair had cleaned up the kitchen, he dusted his office and treatment room, making sure he was ready for any walk-in patients. One hour passed, and then another, and he wondered if Bitterwood Creek was enjoying a spell of unprecedented good health. Snorting to himself, working hard to stifle the bitterness that threatened, and the sorrow, he pulled on his hat and stepped out onto the boardwalk.

The late June morning was scorching, and there was no wind to lighten the stifling humidity. He looked up at the empty sky, wishing for clouds that would signal a storm and a break in the weather. Bemused by his idle hopes, reflecting that it seemed he was never satisfied, for when it was cold and damp he wished for heat, he stepped down onto the broad street and crossed to the apothecary.

"Milt," he greeted, as he walked inside. "Wanted to let you know I'm back. How've things been?"

Ambrose looked up from a powder he was crushing with a pestle, and appeared surprised to see him. "Doc," he replied, and then seemed … awkward. "Didn't know you were back."

"Yeah, got in late yesterday afternoon. We stopped at the Browns' for dinner," Blair replied, striving to maintain an easy manner. He'd liked this man, had trusted him. Maybe Henri had it wrong. Maybe Milt wasn't looking to set himself up as another doctor in town. The idea of that happening worried Blair, not from the competition so much as from his certain knowledge that while Milt could handle some simple ailments and uncomplicated fractures, he was far from well enough qualified to deal with more serious problems. "Sorry we ended up being away a lot longer than originally planned."

"Uh, that's fine," Milt rejoined with a shrug. "I handled everything."

"Good," Blair replied. "I'm glad to hear that." And he was. He'd been worried that someone he'd learned to care about might've suffered from his absence. Had worried that anyone, whether he knew them or not, might have needed more knowledgeable care than Milt could have given. The silence that fell was uncomfortable, and he ventured, "I hear there's been a sizeable new group of settlers come into the area. And I see there's a lot of new building going on down the street."

"Yes, that's right. Fine man, name of Garrett Kincaid, led in a wagon train of folks that have doubled our population. He's got a lot of plans for Bitterwood Creek. Going to put us on the map."

Blair gave him a wry smile. "Funny, I thought we already were on the map."

Milt looked away, and then set his pestle down. "Look, there's no point beating around the bush here. I've offered my services to the newcomers as their new doctor, and Mr. Kincaid was right pleased about that."

"Milt, I can understand your … interest and willingness to help these people, but –"

"But nothing, Blair. I've got as much training and more'n most sawbones, an' I understand drugs better'n nearly any of 'em."

"No question, but you don't have a great deal of experience, no surgical experience at all … and you've not had any formal training," Blair returned. Lifting his hands, striving for peace between them, he went on, "Look, you have to do what your conscience dictates. But, if you need help, if you run into something you can't handle or haven't ever seen before, I hope you'll call me in to consult, that's all. So I can help you. It's about ensuring the people here get the best care possible, right? About helping them."

Milt crossed his arms. "That's a generous offer, no mistake," he allowed. "But … I don't think it'll come to that." He scratched his nose and then sighed. "The fact of the matter is that these people don't want to have nothin' to do with you. Nothin' personal. They just don't feel a Jew is anyone they want to associate with. You understand."

Nothing personal? Blair rubbed his mouth to give himself time to bite back on the several retorts that threatened. When he'd regained his composure, he simply nodded. "Yes, I understand. But the offer still holds. They don't necessarily need to know you're consulting me – and I'd rather help from a distance than think someone died because you didn't recognize the disease or know exactly how to treat a severe injury. And too many women and infants have died in childbirth in the history of this town to lose any more. So, it's up to you, Milt. Your call." He hesitated and then added, "I'm assuming that we'll still do business. That I can come here to acquire compounds or place orders for medicines."

His lips thinning, Milt shook his head. "I'm sorry, but no. My patients wouldn't approve of me doing business with you."

His gaze narrowing, Blair looked at him until Milt flushed and dropped his gaze. "Uh huh," Blair grunted, sorely disappointed in the man. "Nothing personal, right?" Without waiting for a response, he turned to leave the shop. "You know where to find me if you need my help."

Back outside, Blair could hear the industrious sawing and hammering from the construction sites in the center of town and he thought, bitterly, that they could be metaphorically, if not literally, pounding nails into his coffin. He felt as if the heavy, stifling air was suffocating him as he wrestled with his emotions to lock them down. Wasn't like he hadn't gone through this before in other places, other towns.

But he'd never felt quite so personally betrayed before. Hell, he'd taught Milt everything the man knew about doctoring. God, he was furious with the arrogance of the man, and his willingness to risk the lives of the people who would be trusting him. He was also swamped with the frustration and helplessness of being utterly impotent to intervene. The best he could hope for was that Ambrose would have the sense to come to him when he got in over his head. Unfortunately, he knew that wasn't likely to happen and men, women – and dammit, helpless little kids who didn't have any choice in the matter – would die, when their deaths might have been prevented. Blair felt sick to his soul that his heritage, his very being, was the stumbling block, the reason those people despised him. And he felt the gnawing of the old despair, the familiar sorrow and loneliness of knowing that once he was no longer needed, he was also no longer wanted.

He was about to retreat to the cocoon of his office when his gaze fell on the Sheriff's Office. No, he reminded himself, it's different this time. I'm not alone. I do have a place here. And … and if I don't, I won't be moving on alone.

Glancing at the hotel, he remembered Megan's welcome the night before, and that of Henri and his family. And he remembered Jim's counseling; that he had to give the town a chance, not just assume that they'd turn away from him now that Milt was setting up his own practice. Sure, some would be glad to never see his face again, and he could pretty much name them. But dammit, he did have friends in this town, and he needed to remember that, not be ready to give up so easily. So, okay, he'd give it time. With a population of nearly four hundred, there was certainly a need, still, for his services. Lifting his chin, all trace of the hurt and the old pain, of the anger and discouragement gone from his face, he set off along the boardwalk, determined to face the town. Determined to keep doing his best.

In a few steps, he was at the bakery, and he went in to greet Maisie Dunning. The stout, middle-aged widow's face was beet-red in the heat, and she looked tired, but her eyes lit and a smile bloomed when she looked up from setting out loaves of fresh bread. "Doc!" she cried, dusting off her hands. "You're back! Bless your heart, it's good to see you!"

"Hey, Maisie," he called, warmed by her welcome. "It's good to see you, too. How've you been keeping?"

"Oh, well enough," she told him as she fanned herself with a hand. "But this heat lays me out a bit," she went on. "Can I offer you a cup of coffee and a nice fresh scone with a bit of jam?"

"You sure can; I've missed your baking," he replied as he took a seat at the counter, glad to give her an excuse to slow down. He well knew that the hot, humid weather was hard on her, especially as she worked from before dawn every day in front of the hot ovens. "Why don't you sit a spell and bring me up to date on all the gossip?"

She set his coffee and small snack down, and bustled around the counter to sit beside him. "Don't mind if I do," she puffed.

He noted the swollen ankles peeking out from under her long, gingham skirt. When she patted him on the shoulder as she sat with a weary sigh, he captured her hand and pressed his fingertips to her wrist. Her pulse was pounding too fast and her hands, too, were puffy. "Maisie, I think you might need to take it a bit easier, especially in this heat," he murmured, concern in his eyes. "Have you been having any pain in your chest or arms? Or feel a kind of heaviness, making it hard to catch your breath?"

"No pain, Doc, just a bit tired," she told him. "Guess I'm not as young as I used t' be."

He nodded in understanding. "I want you to sit with your feet up as much as you can, you hear? And come over to the office later; I'll give you something to make into a tea, to help the swelling in your ankles and hands. I want you to eat as many fresh vegetables as you can and," he waved at the baked goods arrayed on her shelves, "don't be sampling your own wares. Save them for me and everyone else in this town to enjoy. Okay? Oh, and no more coffee for you – water. Lots of water."

She gave him a look of fond bemusement. "Hardly back an' you're already takin' care o' me." Heaving a big sigh, she admitted, "You're right. I've not been feeling myself this summer. Mentioned it to Milt Ambrose, but he told me it was just the heat and age catchin' up to me." Looking away, she murmured, "Worried me, that did. I can't afford to not be able to take care of myself."

"You'll be fine," Blair soothed. "But you do need to take better care of yourself. I'd like you to walk a bit more, too – fifteen, twenty minutes a day. It's good for your heart."

"Alright, Doc, you know best. I'll be over yonder to get that stuff for the tea in a little while. You want me to bring along some fresh bread and some of those biscuits the Sheriff likes so much?"

Grinning, he nodded. "Absolutely. Now that we're back, we'll need our usual standing order with you. Have to say, I've missed your bread. Best in the country."

Her smile once again lit her face. "Did the Sheriff find his brother? And is he okay?"

"Everything's fine," Blair replied, and gave her an abridged version of their journey. "Now, what's been happening here while we've been gone?" he asked as he sipped his coffee.

"Ah, well, big doin's, what with that Mr. Kincaid and his people moving in," she said with a tightening of her lips. "Like to run the town, he would. Thinks almighty well of himself, he does."

"Sounds like you don't like him?"

"Like him? No, he's not a likeable man. For all his easy smiles, there's a meanness in him." Her gaze dropped and she shook her head. "Him and his folks don't much care for anyone different from them … like Deputy Brown and … you."

"I know. I've heard a little bit about that already."

He saw anger in her eyes when she looked up at him. "I don't hold with folks like that. Too ignorant by half." She jerked her head toward the wall, and the apothecary beyond. "But some'll make friends with the Devil himself if they think they can make a dollar out of it." She reached out to pat his hand. "But, mark my words, they deserve one another. Damned fools."

Quirking a brow, a smile playing around his mouth, Blair was glad to see more of her usual feistiness emerging. "Some folks just don't know any better," he offered.

"An' some are just plain bad news," she retorted. A worried frown puckered her brow as she gazed at him. "You be careful, Doc. I mean that. People like Kincaid an' his bunch – they can't be trusted."

"Thanks for the warning, Maisie – and for your concern. I appreciate it and I'll take care," he assured her. "Good to know that there are some folks in this town who don't see the world the way these newcomers do."

She nodded, but her frown deepened. "There's lots who are scared, though. Scared to speak their mind, to stand up for what they know is right. I'm worried about this town, Doc. I'm worried that it's changin', an' not in a good way."

He didn't know what to say to that, or how to reassure her that things would work out fine. He wasn't at all sure they would. "Guess we just have to do what we've always done," he finally said quietly. "Look out for one another and do our best."

"I suppose," she agreed. "But I have to tell you, Doc, I don't want to live in a town that only knows how to hate."

Startled, he asked, "You're not thinking of leaving? Where would you go?"

"Oh, I'm not ready to pack my bags yet, so don't you worry about where you're gonna get your fresh bread," she replied with a reassuring pat on his shoulder. "But … well, I've got a sister back east, an' she's got a son whose gone out to some place called the Black Hills, in the Dakota Territory. He writes me now an' again, good lad. An' he says they could sure use a bake shop in a place called Deadwood, an' some good old-fashioned home cooking." She shrugged. "Never thought I'd be moving anywhere at my age, but," she gave him a wink, "might find me a husband if I went out there."

He laughed. "Maisie, you're a fine woman and I'd think any town would be the better for having you. And not just because you're such a wonderful cook. You've got a good heart. But I'd be sorry to see you go."

She blushed in confusion at his praise, but then she added, "I hear they could use some good doctors out that way, too. If the time comes to pack up, which I dearly hope it won't, but if it does … could be I won't be the only one ready to move on."

His laughter died and he sighed as he contemplated the astute and brave woman. "Could be you're right," he allowed. "But let's both hope it won't come to that."

He finished his coffee and scone, and paid her for their weekly order of bread and baked goods. "I'll see you later," he said over his shoulder as he headed back onto the boardwalk. As he closed the door, he saw a stranger come out of the Sheriff's Office and walk briskly away, toward the center of town. Behind him, from the open window, he heard her say, "That's Kincaid. Best you avoid him an' his lot, if you can."

He glanced at her and, with a small smile of gratitude for her support, tipped his hat in a salute to her. As he ambled along, he thought about who he'd visit next. The bank was just up ahead, but he had no excuse to drop in on Sam Sloan in the middle of the day. And he didn't feel like facing the sly contempt of the bank clerk, Clive Tucker. That man, and his wife, Urseline, had been a thorn in his side since the day he'd arrived in town, and he had little doubt that the Tuckers would have fallen quickly into Kincaid's camp. Moving on past, Blair decided, though, that he would like to check in with Sarah Sloan and Delores McCready, Silas' wife, the two women he'd trained to be midwives before he and Jim had ridden to meet with Swift Eagle and Whispering Waters. Man, that was only three or so months ago … and yet it felt like a lifetime.

Now that he had a destination in mind, he picked up his pace and soon felt sweat trickling on his brow and along his back. He cast a hopeful look at the sky, but it was still clear with nary a wisp of cloud. Giving the construction sites a wide berth, he eyed the skeletons of several buildings which would reach to two and three stories, and the burly men – all of them strangers – perspiring under the hot sun as they hammered lengths of wood together. He hoped they were drinking plenty of water, or they'd be sick with heat stroke before the day was over. Briefly, he considered stopping to offer the advice but, ashamed to know their numbers intimidated him and they'd not thank him for his concerns, he held his peace.

Once again embroiled in a maelstrom of emotion, his boots kicking up puffs of dust as he strode past the schoolyard, he continued on to the residences close by.

********************

Hot as it was outside, inside the bank it was even worse, the air stifling and oppressive. Jim barely glanced at Clive Tucker who had his nose buried in a ledger, as he strode across the polished plank flooring to Sam's office. At least, the floor was supposed to glow with a fine, rich sheen, just as the broad front window was intended to be crystal clear – a tough feat to maintain in a dusty town where the main street became a swamp of mud when it rained. Dusty boot prints marred the floor's shine and the glass was opaque with grit. The vertical row of ornate metal bars behind the glass window were new, though, their brass trim still bright.

Chewing on his lip as he knocked on the open door, Jim wondered why Sam had decided the extra security was necessary – not that Jim didn't think the bars were a good idea. He'd never been fond of that damned window and had often wondered at the stupidity of thieves who never seemed to tumble to the idea that they only needed a sizeable rock to smash their way inside.

"Jim!" Sam exclaimed, standing with a broad smile and coming around the desk with his hand out in greeting. "You're back! I'm glad, very glad to see you."

Amused and a bit mystified by the unusually effusive greeting, Jim pulled off his hat and shook the banker's hand. He and Sam had always gotten along, but they'd never been friends.

"Sam," he acknowledged. "It's good to see you, too." Jerking a thumb back at the newly barred window, he asked with a small smile, "You expecting some trouble, or just come to your senses about security?"

Waving him to one of the comfortable chairs in front of the desk, Sam answered as he returned to his own, "A little of both, you might say." His mouth twisted and he shook his head. "I guess you've heard about the new settlers?"

"Yeah. Kincaid just left my office," Jim replied, giving nothing away as he closed the door and sat down. "What's your take on him and the people with him?"

Sam's gaze dropped and he rubbed his mouth. Jim wondered if he was going to hear something bland and unobjectionable – the bluff, heavy-set banker was well-schooled in tact and in keeping his views to himself. But Sam sighed and shrugged. "No point in hiding what I think, I guess. I'm all for Bitterwood Creek growing, you know that. But I'd just as soon these folks would'a kept on going. Kincaid strikes me as a man who has aspirations toward being a dictator – and he's got his own small army to enforce his word. And they're all a pack of high and mighty, self-righteous bigots that give Christianity a bad name. I've no use for any of them."

"Guess none of them has deposited any of their coin in your bank," Jim observed wryly, arching one brow at the caustic assessment.

"No, none of 'em has," Sam agreed with a rueful smile, but he sobered as he went on, "And none of them will, so long as some other folks leave their deposits here."

"Folks like Simon, Joel and Henri?" Jim surmised with grim certitude.

"That's right – and folks like Doc, too," Sam sighed. Leaning forward, his elbows on the desk and his hands clasped, he said heavily, "I'm worried, Jim. That's why I put those bars up, to tell you the truth. I don't think Kincaid and his gang would hesitate to steal what's in the vaults. In their view, Simon, Doc, and the rest don't have the right to have any money. He doesn't think of them as being human."

His gaze hooded to hide his furious disgust, Jim nodded slowly. "Yeah, that's the impression I got from the man, too. At least in terms of what he thinks, if not about any designs he might have on the bank." Turning his head toward the wall between them and the bank's main lobby, he asked, "What're the odds that Kincaid knows exactly what's in your vault?"

Sam bit his lip and drummed fingertips on his desk. "I'm sorry to say, I think there's a good chance of that. But, well, Clive's a fool but he's not completely stupid. Until Kincaid gets his own bank built, Clive needs his job here. I think – I hope – he'll be discreet at least until Kincaid offers him a new position." Sighing, he leaned back in his chair. "I can barely abide the man, but he's good with figures. Keeps a good accounting. Wouldn't be sorry to see the last of him, though, 'cept I'm not sure who I'd get to replace him." After a pause, he asked, "What did Kincaid want with you?"

Jim hesitated but decided there was no point in making a secret of the situation, at least not with those he was pretty sure he could trust. "Kincaid said I have two days to get rid of my current deputies and hire on his men."

"The man doesn't mince words, does he?" Sam rejoined, a scowl darkening his heat-flushed face. "Guess this means there's going to be trouble sooner rather than later."

"Well, maybe," Jim agreed. "But he also told me he plans on being the new mayor, so I don't think he wants to be too blatant about breaking the law."

Sam studied him, searched his eyes. "I wouldn't blame you a bit if you took off that badge right now and walked away. The town hired you to keep the peace, not stand against an army. Jim, Kincaid won't tolerate any opposition. In my case, he's building his own bank and no doubt hopes to ruin me. You?" He shook his head. "He'll resent your authority. Man, he'll have you killed."

"He'll probably try," Jim allowed, his gut tightening at Sam's evident certainty. Sloan was good at reading people and was rarely wrong about them. He had to be astute in his business, able to judge character and the measure of a man. Jim's last hope that Kincaid might've been bluffing crashed and burned. Licking his lips, he asked, "You think the town'll just stand back and let Kincaid run right over them?"

"Maybe not all," Sam reflected. "The new bunch holds their prayer meetings in their camp, in protest that Pastor Stevens won't shun the Browns. Miz Connor and Maisie won't give them the time of day. Dan Raymond has been writing editorials about the importance of toleration and respecting the equal rights of all. Silas told Kincaid straight out that he'd serve any man with the coin to pay and he didn't give no nevermind about what color that man might be. And Angus, well, he said pretty much the same thing – so Kincaid is also building a saloon and a general store." He paused and sighed. "The man doesn't care about raising the ire of shopkeepers, a few proud women, or even a man like Silas. He knows they aren't going to seriously fight back, any more than I can." He spread his hands. "I'm sorry, Jim, but you know the people in this town. None of us are gunmen. Kincaid's bunch would cut us to ribbons."

When Jim didn't say anything, just rubbed his chin and looked away, Sam went on, "Simon and Joel, and their riders – they'll back you, you know that. But, sure as the sun rises, that'll mean bloodshed." He thumped a fist on the desk in sudden anger, and stood to pace. "I hate this. I really despise what's happening here. We had a nice little town, with good folks. And now?" Taking a deep breath, he stopped and faced Jim. "I don't want to live in the kind of town Kincaid wants to build. I sure'n hell don't ever want to see that man become mayor. But … but I don't know how to stop them. And … I'm ashamed to say, men like him scare me."

"Be a fool not to be scared of a man like that," Jim said, low and even. "I don't have any answers, Sam. But I don't want to live in that kind of town, either. If we have any hope of stopping him, it's now, before he's fully entrenched. Maybe if we make it uncomfortable enough, he'll decide it's not worth settling here and move on."

"We?"

"Well, you're right that I can't stop him alone," Jim asserted aggressively, feeling as if his back was against the wall and not liking it. "Doc and Brown will back me up, sure, but they're not gunmen and I hate to put them at risk if … well, if the town's not going to back us. And, yeah, I know Simon and Joel will help – if they know the help is needed and when. But I'm betting Kincaid has the road between here and the Gold Ribbon watched. I'm not sure it'd be safe for anyone to ride out there to give them a heads-up. Hell, I don't even think it's safe for Doc to ride out to see any patients beyond the edge of town."

His gaze falling away, Sam returned to his chair. "You're asking that if push came to shove, would this town support you? You and Doc Sandburg and Brown?"

"Yeah, that's what I'm asking."

Sam wiped the sweat from his flushed face and Jim could see the small tremors in his hand as he fought with his fear. Swallowing heavily, Sam finally replied, "I guess I don't know. What happens if we don't?"

Jim gave him a bleak smile. "Then I guess you'll all be stuck with Garrett Kincaid."

"That mean you won't stick around to see how it all turns out?"

Jim wasn't sure what to say to that. It galled him to imagine pulling up stakes and leaving the town defenseless, but he didn't like the odds. Standing, he pulled on his hat. "I don't know, Sam. I'll have to think about it. I'm willing to take my chances against Kincaid, but I don't feel right putting Doc or Henri's lives on the line with me, not if we're on our own. Three against what? Forty, fifty men? Those are bad odds, Sam, and you know it. We wouldn't last a day, so what would be the point?"

"I'm sorry, of course, you're right," Sam admitted, seeming embarrassed to have needed to have it spelled out. His gaze skittered around the office, as if searching for something. "You said Kincaid gave you two days?" he asked, grasping for straws.

"That's what he said."

Sam inhaled deeply and was clearly struggling to find his own courage. "Okay, look, I'll ride out to the Gold Ribbon. Nobody'd think twice about that; hell, Kincaid would be hoping I was on my way to tell them to get their money out of my bank. As if that would ever happen – those two men have pretty much financed this town; backed all the loans whether folks know it or not for nigh on twenty-five years. So far as I'm concerned, so long as they're willing, I'll be their banker. Anyway, I'll let them know you need backup by the day after tomorrow. And … and I'll talk to Silas and Angus, and some of the others. Give me a chance to see what I can do to make the odds a little better."

Reaching for the doorknob, Jim nodded. "I'm happy to give you that chance. I like this town, like living in it. I just don't like the idea of dying – or worse, my friends dying – for a town that would rather bow to the likes of Kincaid than fight back. I appreciate your help, Sam … and your honesty. Good luck with the others." He hesitated, his gaze once again staring through the office wall. "Maybe wait until tomorrow to ride out. Wouldn't want anyone to make a connection between me being here and your visit out there."

Sam's jaw tightened at the reminder of the possible informer on his payroll, but he nodded with grim understanding.

********************

Blair found Sarah Sloan watering her garden, trying to save her vegetables and flowers from the brutal heat. She greeted him with a broad smile, but he couldn't help but notice that she looked hot and tired. Pitching in, he hauled buckets of water from their well to fill her watering cans. Talking as they worked, he told her a little about their journey and was pleased to see her smile proudly when she told him she'd successfully helped deliver three babies while he'd been away.

********************

Jim glanced at his pocket watch when he came out of the bank. Slipping it back into his jeans, he strode along the boardwalk into the heart of the town. As he passed the busy construction sites, he opened up his hearing and wasn't surprised to hear some of the men pointing him out, but he frowned when one rasped, "That's the Sheriff. Guess that means the Jew is back, too," and his companion muttered, "Bastard."

His gaze raked the site, but he couldn't tell which of the several strangers had been talking. Frowning, he carried on to the school, arriving just as the door opened and yelling kids make a break for the yard, evidently very glad to be released from class for a short break.

Mounting the steps, he went inside and found Marnie MacDonald cleaning off a blackboard.

"Miz MacDonald? Got a minute?" he called softly.

She jumped and whirled at the sound of his voice, her hand at her throat, and then she laughed nervously. "Oh, Sheriff Ellison, sorry, you scared me."

Frowning, realizing she'd been really frightened, he asked, "Why were you so scared?"

Flustered, she hesitated. "Oh, oh, it's nothing. Just silliness. There're just so many strangers in town and … well…"

"Has anyone been giving you a difficult time? Bothering you?" he demanded.

"N-no, not exactly," she demurred, waving off his concern. Pulling herself together, she asked, "What did you want to see me about?"

Not happy with her avoidance tactics, he drew off his hat as he studied her. "I think you might have an idea," he replied. "I'm worried about the Brown children. They miss coming to school."

"Oh," she gasped flushing, and her gaze dropped. She bit her lip and seemed close to tears as her hands fluttered nervously. "I feel awful about all that. It's just that … that Mr. Kincaid … and some of the new parents made such a fuss."

Jim nodded. "That why you jumped when I came in? You thought I was one of them?"

Sighing, looking miserable, she nodded. "They scare me," she whispered. "They said … I'm afraid they might hurt those children."

Looking away, Jim found himself wishing that Nellie Bascombe was still the schoolmarm, but the poor woman had been murdered the year before; she was sorely missed by the community. Nellie wouldn't have been so easy to scare. "Look, how about I bring the girls to school and then walk them home after?" he suggested. "Maybe if they see I'm interested, they'll back off." Then, knowing that children usually aped their parents' beliefs and attitudes, he asked uncertainly, "Would you be able to keep them safe from the other kids? Be willing to expel any that give the girls a hard time?"

She twisted her hands anxiously, but then took a deep breath. "I can handle the children," she replied, lifting her chin. "It's the parents who frightened me. So, yes, I'd be willing to try, if you're willing to escort the girls, to ensure their safety."

Pleased to see she had some gumption, Jim smiled at her approvingly. "Good girl," he praised. "I'll bring them tomorrow."

********************

"Whew," Sarah sighed, fanning herself and discreetly stretching her back when they finished the watering not quite an hour later. "I'm grateful for the help, Doctor Sandburg." Shading her eyes, she scanned the sky. "Feels like rain should be coming, but I don't see any clouds."

"Not yet," he agreed but she was right. The heaviness of the humidity, the lack of wind, all presaged a storm sometime in the near future.

Peeling off her gardening gloves, she asked, "Have you seen Delores yet?"

"No. I planned to head over to her place next."

"Well, let's go call on her and see if she'll offer us a cup of tea," Sarah suggested with a conspiratorial grin. "I'm too hot to want to stoke up the fire in my own kitchen."

He laughed and agreed, and they ambled along behind the houses to the nearby McCready place where they found Delores hanging out washing on the line.

"Doc! You're back!" Delores called, sounding glad to see him. "Hey, Sarah – Lordy, it's hot. How 'bout a glass of lemonade, fresh made and still cold?"

Both Blair and Sarah eagerly agreed and they were soon all settled on the wide verandah that ran along the front of the house, the overhanging roof shading them from the merciless sun.

"Ah, that's good," Blair sighed after taking a long sip of the tart, refreshing drink. "So, how've you been keeping?"

"Well enough," Delores replied and then smiled shyly. "I helped birth two little girls while you were gone. Made me feel proud to help."

"Good for you!" he praised her, including Sarah in his glance. "Both of you. This town and the people who live 'round these parts are very lucky you ladies agreed to help out. I have to admit, I felt better leaving for a while, knowing the two of you would be looking after things. Between you and Milt Ambrose, sounds like I was hardly missed."

Their smiles tightened as they glanced at one another, then faded completely as they each set their glasses down. "Don't you believe it, Doc," Delores told him. "We managed, but it weren't the same. Folks are lucky that no one got bad sick while you were away, or had a terrible accident."

Sarah fussed with her skirt, avoiding his eyes as she asked, "Have you spoken to Mr. Ambrose since you've been back?"

"Yes, yes, I have," he admitted, guarding his tone as he looked from one to the other. "I know he's set himself up as a doctor, especially for the new settlers. And, I suppose, there'll be some in town who will continue to see him with their problems, even though I'm back."

"I think it's scandalous," Delores snapped. "You taught him everythin' he knows. An' that's well an' good, but the man doesn't know enough to be putting out his own shingle. Just plain ungrateful, greedy and arrogant, if you ask me. Folks who go to him when there's a real doctor right across the street are just plain stupid."

"Well, from what I understand, the newcomers wouldn't be comfortable being treated by me," he replied, not meeting their eyes. "And make no mistake, he has a good deal more skill than some who call themselves physicians."

Sarah's open face clouded and she shook her head. "We're both real sorry about all this, Doc. These new people … they hold with strange ideas. I know Sam is bothered by their attitudes. Do you know that Kincaid is building his own bank, so he doesn't have to mix his money up with Simon's and Joel's? I know some folks from the South have problems understanding that black people aren't slaves anymore, but … Sam's afraid Kincaid is dangerous."

"Silas has no use for him," Delores sniffed. "Nor any of his lot. I won't have nothin' to do with those people."

"Ah, I'm sorry to hear that," Blair replied, leaning toward them, his elbows on his thighs. "The whole point of knowing how to help other people is to help them. Some of those women might need the skills and knowledge you can offer them. Milt Ambrose, well, he hasn't learned any of what you two know. And they won't come to me."

"Are you saying you'd want us to help them, even with the … the awful things they say about you, without even knowing you?" Sarah asked, sounding surprised.

He nodded. "Yeah, if you're agreeable to helping them. And if you think there might be complications, you can always come to me for advice. They wouldn't have to know about that."

Delores' eyes filled and she quickly swiped the tears away. "You're a good man, Doc Sandburg. A better man than the likes of them deserve to have carin' about them." She bit her lip and looked at Sarah, and then heaved a sigh. "Alright, I'll help them if they ask. But … it don' seem right."

"I'll help, too, but the chances of their men allowing the women to come to us aren't all that high," Sarah surmised with a frown. "That Kincaid doesn't seem to have much respect for womenfolk, and he's in contention with our husbands. I expect he'll tell them all to have nothing to do with us."

"Well," Blair sighed regretfully, "all we can do is let folks know we'll help. We can't force them to accept good care." He gave them a wan smile. "I'm glad not everyone in this town thinks like Kincaid does."

"I wish they'd never stopped here," Delores growled. "Silas agrees with Sam that they're likely to make trouble." She hesitated, then added in a rush, "You take care around them, Doc. Don't want nothin' to happen to you."

"Oh, don't worry about me," he assured them, though he was touched by the concern. "I've probably heard whatever they'd have to say to me before. Some folks just don't take to anyone who is different from them."

Sarah's lips tightened. "Maybe so, but that doesn't make them right. But Delores is right, Doc. There's a viciousness about Kincaid. You shouldn't be riding out on your own. I don't think it's safe."

Despite the heat of the day, he felt a chill at her words and their obvious worry. Sitting back, he looked out over the road at the homes of all the people he'd come to know over the years, and listened to the heavy hammering from the other side of the schoolyard. "I … I won't refuse a call for help," he said, but then returned his gaze to their anxious eyes. "But I'll be careful, as careful as I can be."

"You make sure the Sheriff knows where you're goin'," Delores advised. "And, well, when you're makin' calls during the day out to farms or ranches, maybe me or Sarah could ride out with you. Maybe they'd think twice about hasslin' you with a witness sittin' right there."

Startled by the offer, he held up his hands. "Oh, no," he protested. "No. If you really think it could be dangerous, I'm not going to drag either of you into what could be trouble. But … I thank you for the offer, Missus McCready. It's brave and generous … and very kind."

"Nothin' kind about it; just lookin' out for our own interest, is what it is," she replied, blushing at his words. "Like I said before, we don't want nothin' bad happenin' to you, Doc. Don't know what this town would do without you, and that's the God's own truth."

Looking at her plain, earnest face, he felt ashamed of his thoughts of the night before and that morning. Jim had been absolutely right. He had a lot of friends in this town, people who cared about him, regardless of his heritage. "You're a good woman, Delores," he murmured, his voice husky and thick with emotion, "both of you are. And I'm very grateful for your concern and your support." He cleared his throat and, wanting to ease the worry in their eyes, he assured them, "I'll take your warnings seriously, and I really will be careful. But … but, in my experience, there's rarely any real danger. Just, just nasty words and a … a kind of shunning. Please, I don't want you to be worried about me."

"It's too bad," Sarah sighed, "that some people are just so ignorant and hateful. You don't deserve that Doc, and we're sorry you have to put up with it. It's not right."

"No, but it's life," Blair replied with a wry smile. "Maybe, in time, they'll learn to see things differently. I hope so, anyway."

He took his leave a few minutes later, and walked back through the town, stopping now and then to chat with several men and women who welcomed him back warmly. But he couldn't help but notice that there were others that he knew who turned away when they saw him. Trying not to let the shunning bother him, he kept his chin up and his stance loose as he walked past the new construction.

For a moment, he was so preoccupied that he didn't notice who was passing, until Pastor Stevens caught his arm and boomed, "Why, Doc Sandburg! My word, son, it's wonderful see you back in town, doing your rounds!"

"Pastor Stevens," he replied with a broad smile. "I'm sorry, my mind was a million miles away. How are you, sir?"

"I'm fine, Doc, just fine," Stevens replied, his voice still pitched to carry.

Belatedly, Blair realized they were right smack in front of the busiest building project, and they were starting to attract attention – and then he understood what the preacher was doing. He flushed and his smile wavered as he said quietly, "Pastor, you don't have to do this."

"Ah, but yes, Doc, I most certainly do," the Reverend said with warm emphasis, no longer shouting his lungs out. "You're one of the best men I've ever known, and I'll not have ignoramuses like these brutes dictate whom I will respect and whom I will ignore. But I am sorry, Doc, if I've made you uncomfortable."

Blair's throat was thick as he shook his head. "No, sir, not at all. You've only ever made me feel … welcome and valued. Thank you for that. But, uh, I worry about you, about reprisals."

"You let me and God worry about that; you just take good care of yourself, and don't let these dunderheads get you down."

Blair took a deep breath and nodded. "I'll do my best not to let them get to me."

"Good!" the Pastor bellowed heartily and embraced him. "God bless you, son, and keep you safe!"

Blair couldn't help the chuckle that built in his chest at the show the good man was putting on, but he swallowed his laughter, lest the preacher misunderstand. Patting the older man's back, he murmured, his voice hoarse, "You're a real class act, Pastor. One of a kind. God be with you, too, and may He bless all your days with peace."

"Don't know as I've ever had a finer blessing," Stevens said, pulling away to grin down at him. "Give my warm regards to the Sheriff, would you? I'm glad you're both home, safe and sound."

"I will, for sure," Blair assured him.

When they parted to go about their business, Blair was aware of the silence from across the street, all hammering and sawing having come to a halt. He swallowed his trepidation and forced himself to turn slightly toward all the strangers staring darkly at him, and tipped his hat to them in a casual salute, as he walked along the boardwalk, back toward home. Well, if they didn't know who I was before, they sure know now, he thought with an inner sigh, and remembered Delores' and Sarah's words of caution to him.

Life sure had gotten complicated, all of a sudden.

He stopped at the general store to purchase supplies for the house. Angus MacDonald was as taciturn as ever, but Blair didn't take it personally; that was just Angus' way. While the storekeeper pulled cans of beans, chili, salt pork and corned beef from the shelf to fill his order, Blair chose a small variety of fresh vegetables from the bins – ears of corn, potatoes, carrots, cabbage and a small turnip, pea pods – and he gathered up a couple tomatoes and a few of the lemons that must've come in on a recent stage. Taking his armload to the counter, he asked, "How's your back, Angus? Any more problems?"

"Nah, those exercises you gave me work real good, Doc," MacDonald replied, and unbent enough to give him a crooked smile. "Guess you've seen all the new buildin' goin on," he added, his tone once again sour.

"Yeah, I did. Lot of new people moving into the area," Blair replied.

Angus snorted and wiped the sweat from his brow with a broad, checkered handkerchief. "Guess I'm gonna have some competition soon."

Blair smiled. "Well, if we're doubling the size of the population, or just about, I guess it's natural that more stores and services will be offered." He paused and then added, "Gonna be another doctor in town, too. Milt Ambrose is takin' on the care of the new folks."

Rolling his eyes as he loaded Blair's supplies into a box, Angus muttered, "Milt Ambrose is a fool. An' the folks who trust him for their doctorin' are bigger fools."

"I'm sure he'll do his best," Blair offered with as much conviction as he could muster, as he pulled out his money pouch.

But, to his surprise, Angus waved off his money. "Forget it," the man said gruffly. "Put it against what I'll owe you, the next time I need some doctorin'."

Gaping at him, never having known the careful, if not exactly parsimonious, Scot to give away supplies before, Blair exclaimed, "But, Angus, you're one of the healthiest people in Bitterwood Creek! You don't have to –"

"I know I don't," MacDonald cut in. Pushing the box toward Blair, he insisted impatiently, "If'n it makes you feel better, consider it a way of sayin' I'm glad you an' the Sheriff're back. Besides, you never did take anything for those exercises you gave me, an' they really do work real well, an' I'm grateful."

"Okay, Angus," Blair agreed with a broad smile as he hefted the box. "I really appreciate it, thanks. And I know Jim will, too."

********************

On his way back through town, Jim stopped at the newspaper office. Dan Raymond looked up from his desk, where he was writing on a pad of paper, and smiled at the sight of him. "Thank goodness, you're back," he said, standing to shake Jim's hand.

Quirking a brow, Jim grinned wryly, "Sounds like you missed me."

Waving him to a chair, Dan turned to the pot of coffee he kept going on a small stove in the corner behind his desk. He filled two cups and, after handing one to Jim, sat down. "You met Kincaid yet?"

"This morning," Jim replied as he blew over the hot liquid.

"I did some digging, to see if I could find out more about him," Dan said with a frown. "There wasn't much. He was a colonel in the rebel army. Guess he was the younger son of a cotton plantation owner, and after the war ended, there wasn't much left of the family's wealth." He sighed and shook his head. "Guess a lot of people were displaced. Anyway, seems he tried to make a go of it for a year or two and finally gave up. Those people he brought with him? Most of 'em were men under his command, and their families. They're an angry, bitter bunch. Seem to feel the world owes them a favor."

"Sam said you've been runnin' some pointed editorials," Jim observed.

Nodding, Dan set his mug down. "Got some reaction," he reported. "Someone threw a rock through the front window after the first one. Got a few scrawled threats after another one – you know, the usual, 'Gon ta burn yer place down,' and 'Don need no nigger-lovers round here.'" He snorted. "Ignorant jackasses."

"Guess there's no way of knowing exactly who's sending the messages?"

"No, 'fraid not. Wouldn't be Kincaid, himself, though; he's an educated man and too proud to mangle his spelling."

"Happens again, you let me know," Jim directed, and swallowed the last of the strong coffee. "Meanwhile, next time I see Kincaid, I'll tell him to keep his people in line."

"He won't take that well," Dan warned.

"Don't care," Jim grated as he stood. "Seems Mr. Kincaid and I are bound to clash. I've already warned him to watch his step."

Dan laughed. "See. Now you know why I'm glad you're back. Not that I blame Brown for folding, all things considered – but it was downright unnerving to see how fast Kincaid had one of his men wearin' a star."

"He's not wearing it now," Jim advised him.

Sobering Dan warned, "Watch your back, Jim. When I did my research, I heard some nasty stories about people getting ambushed in places where Kincaid and his party were passing through. Nothing was ever proved … but I don't really believe in that many coincidences."

Sighing, Jim shook his head. "Neither do I, Dan. Thanks for the coffee – and the background information." About to leave, he hesitated and looked back. "If things go off the rails, there's too many of them to stop on my own."

"I know," Dan agreed solemnly. "I've been worrying about that. Jim … nobody expects you to even try to face them down alone; nobody sensible, anyway. Guess most of us are afraid you'll pack it in as a bad deal. We just don't know what we'll do if that happens."

"Well, I'm not gone yet," Jim told him. "Guess we'll see how it plays out over the next little while." With a half-grin, he added, "According to Kincaid, he's gonna be mayor by Fall an' he made it plain I'd be looking for another job as soon as he is." Turning toward the door, he drawled over his shoulder, "I'm hopin' he'll wait to fire me, rather than have somebody shoot me in the back."

Before returning to his office, he stopped in at the Telegraph and Land Registry Office.

"Hey, Johnny," he greeted young Winston as he came through the door. "Any good news today?"

"Sheriff, hey, heard you and the Doc were back," Johnny replied. "That's today's good news." Glancing at the telegraph key, he shrugged and grinned. "Just about the only news."

Leaning his elbow on the high counter between him and the clerk, Jim tipped back his hat and asked, "I was wondering about the new settlers in town. They file the proper land claims yet?"

"Not yet," Johnny replied, shaking his head. "I asked that Mr. Kincaid about it, an' he tol' me they're homesteading. Providing they put up their buildings and improve the land before winter, they got a right."

"Uh huh," Jim grunted. "Well, there's lots of open land, that's for sure," he sighed. "Just hope they know enough not to crowd in too close to folks who already have a claim."

"They're camped almighty close to the Gold Ribbon land," Johnny told him, quirking a brow to indicate he knew that could be trouble.

"Wonderful," Jim muttered. Silently cursing Kincaid, he rapped his knuckles on the counter, then gave the boy a tight nod and turned back to the door. "Thanks, Johnny. That's good to know."

********************

When Blair got home, he ruthlessly shut down his thoughts as he put the supplies away and, despite the heat, stoked up the stove and put water on to simmer. He needed to do something active and mindless, so he chopped up the vegetables, added a can of corned beef, and covered the pot. After putting the kettle on to boil, to make a big pot of tea that he'd let cool and chill in cold water from the well, he sat down at the table and leaned his head back against the wall – and could no longer keep his thoughts and emotions at bay.

He couldn't decide how he felt because he felt so much, all of it mixed up and churning in his gut. His mind told him that, if he was smart, he'd pack up his stuff and take the next stage out of town. He'd seen the hate play out before and, though he'd said that morning that he'd only ever had words tossed at him, over the course of his life, he'd suffered the blows of far more than just nasty vocabulary. In a schoolyard, years and years ago, some kids had even thrown rocks, while others had jeered curses. Still, when all was said and done, the words had left the most lasting scars. For a very long time afterward, for years after the bruises had healed, he'd felt a sick sinking in his chest whenever he thought about those curses. Wondered if he was somehow marked, afraid that his life would be … too terrible to imagine.

And, man, for a lot of years, he'd thought those curses were all coming true, haunting him all the days of his life. Even when he'd thought he'd finally beaten them, when he'd graduated with his medical degree, and was engaged to a beautiful woman, he hadn't been able to shake the feeling that it was all too good to be true.

And it had been too good. Hadn't been true. He'd thought he'd lost everything, and had very nearly lost even his life in the war. Feeling sick inside, he'd been sure those curses were following him down through time.

He'd been born a Jew. He couldn't change that fact. In ways that he didn't fully understand, he wouldn't even if he could. It was who he was, what had shaped him, inherent to his character. Not so much because Naomi had raised him in any traditional sense as a practicing Jew, but because others defined him by his heritage, made judgments about him, scorned and reviled him – and he'd had to learn to go on, to not let the futility and rage at the injustice consume him. But no matter how well he managed to struggle on, to do the best he could do, he'd come to doubt that anything in the world around him would ever change, that it would ever get better – that he'd ever find a place he could really settle and put down roots, secure in his life and world, accepted by the people around him. Oh, he supposed he might have settled in one of the Jewish quarters in one of the larger cities, not that he was accepted a whole lot better by the Jews themselves, when he was so untutored in their beliefs and customs. But he hated the cities, felt trapped in them and couldn't countenance living all his life hemmed in by the walls, the stench, and the noise.

So he'd wandered … until he'd come to Bitterwood Creek.

Closing his eyes, he massaged his temples, trying to ease the deep, pulsing ache inside. He'd thought he might have found a place, his place, finally. He'd begun to think he'd beaten the curses after all. That he'd outlasted them. And … and, God, Jim was everything. For all the hardships and dangers they'd suffered in the past two years and a bit, he wouldn't trade a moment of it, not a moment.

But … what now? Oh, not that he didn't believe Jim, and what he'd said. He held onto that as an anchor in the tempest. Only … only the curses had found him again. And he didn't know what to do. Deep down, he was scared, but not only for himself this time. This time, if he stayed, if he didn't run in the face of clear threat, the risks weren't only his to bear. Nor was the threat only to him. Good friends stood on the edge of the same abyss: Simon and Joel, Henri and Hannah and their sweet kids … even maybe Megan and Maisie, given Kincaid's apparent attitudes toward women. They could all lose everything.

And not just them – which was the realization that both chilled him to his soul and warmed him at the same time. Jim would be on that line with him. And he'd found out this morning that there were others in this town willing to stand on that line, too. God, he couldn't bear it if something bad happened to any of them because of him, because they cared about him, and because they were brave, and noble.

How could he let any of them risk sacrificing themselves?

How could he not?

How could he run now when so many were showing him they believed in him and wanted him to … to stay? When they told him they needed him, what he had to offer – and he knew that was the truth? He was a good doctor. He was … good at healing, at relieving suffering.

In the past, he'd only had himself to consider. He could pick up and go before the dangers got too great.

Now he had a friend he'd die for, other friends who counted on him … a whole town full of people who needed him, and a goodly number truly wanted him to stay.

He didn't know what to do.

The kettle whistled, startling him out of his thoughts and, as he poured the steaming water onto the tea leaves, he heard the front door open and close. Maisie shouted his name and he called to her to come on into the kitchen. A moment later, she bustled in with two fresh loaves of bread and what looked like a dozen cloud-light biscuits bundled in cheesecloth. Her face was still flushed beet-red from the heat and hurrying, and perspiration dampened her brow.

Settling her in a chair, not taking 'no' for an answer, Blair insisted she stay long enough for a cup of tea. Once he'd poured her a cup and she was blowing on it, he hurried to his office to get a stool for her to rest her swollen feet on. When he took her pulse, she blustered and tried to wave him off, but he could tell she was pleased by his concern for her health and small comforts. While she sipped on her tea, he went to his little dispensary to gather small pouches of medicines for her.

Returning to the kitchen, he dropped to one knee beside her and explained what to do with the medicines as he handed her each individual pouch. "You understand?" he asked, believing her when she nodded solemnly. Maisie was an astute woman and she knew to be careful with what he gave her. "Good. Now, I don't want you drinking any coffee until I tell you it's okay. And I'm serious about you getting out of that shop to walk for fifteen minutes or so at least once a day – a good brisk walk. In this hea