Whip was still talking.

The last count had the pair at nineteen bounties, and more than once they had sold their skills to ranchers who raged bitter and violent range wars. Their guns had several times turned the tide of the fight, and they were handsomely paid. It made me wonder why Joss had not written to me, as he had last claimed to want to settle nearby once he got enough money together. Unwillingly, I suspected Cooper had been right about my brother. He'd grown accustomed to respect and notoriety; a quiet life no longer what he wanted.

"Signorina Stone?" Whip noticed my silence. "Does it upset you that I speak of him?"

I looked up to find his eyes sincere.

"No. I worry, that's all."

"Ah," Whip leaned back and took tobacco from his shirt pocket, beginning to roll his smoke. "Women have so much else to do, yet they always find the time to worry over their men." He smiled at me. "It is a blessing and curse, no?"

I smiled faintly in return. He had no idea. Restless, I pushed from the table.

"If you'll excuse me, I need to see to Jinx's body. He's been out far too long,"

"Forgive me, Signorina Stone, I buried him yesterday," Whip intently examined his cigarette, avoiding my gaze.

"You did? Where?"

"There is a bello place just behind the cabin, in the shade of your blue spruce trees. Many colorful flowers are all around. It was there I dug a deep grave and laid him to rest. It is a good spot I think."

Without another word I went outside and hurried toward the place Whip spoke of. I knew it well. It held an ethereal charm apart from the rest of Blue Water. The blue spruce trees were always in shade here, their ghostly silver mantles making them seem more like a glimpse into a fairytale.

The air was alive with the fragrant perfume of daisies and primroses. Under the branches of the largest tree was a mound of freshly turned earth, rimmed with stones. Several dying flowers were lying on the soil, and I smiled, grateful. Whip had been thoughtful and respectful in burying my friend.

Kneeling next to the fresh dirt I put out a hand, feeling the cool earth under my fingers. I let myself remember Jinx. He'd been a good man, staying when he had no reason to, and losing everything because he did. Large tears bloomed in my eyes, rolling slowly down my cheeks. I hated that I'd never again see his slow, amused grin, or the merry twinkle in his deep green eyes as we spoke over morning coffee.

His presence had filled a void, giving me companionship that I sorely needed when Cooper left. It had not been romantic. Nothing more than camaraderie built on trust and respect existed between us. For that, I loved him completely.

"Thank you for everything," I whispered huskily, wiping a hand across my cheeks. "Goodbye Jinx."

Back in the house, Whip surprised me by washing the dishes and cleaning up. A large, toothy grin appeared at my amazement.

"I grew up in a house full of women Signorina, it is my custom to help out."

"Thank you," I paused for a moment, then decided against what I was about to say. Instead, I turned toward my room. "I'm going to change, and then tend to my garden."

Shedding my clothing was a relief, for they reeked of death and sweat. Hurling them into a basket in the corner, I reached for a well-worn skirt, stained from months of kneeling in dirt, and slipped it on. An equally abused pale yellow blouse swiftly followed. Taking off my shoes and pulling my hair loose from its braid, I picked up my brush.

With long sure strokes I combed out the tresses, taking care to work through the knots, my copper length thick and soft. One hundred strokes, root to tip, completed the grooming process. Finished, I re-braided it, curling the rope into a tight bun at the nape of my neck, securing it with long pins. Before I left the room I went over to the edge of the bed and pulled the letter from the pillowcase, looking at the worn paper for a long while. I just couldn't do it.

Even now, after so much time, I couldn't let go. Putting it back, I smoothed out the sheets and blanket before leaving the room. Not looking at Whip, I picked up my rifle and made sure it was fully loaded before going outside.

Going to the barn, I opened up a large barrel and pulled out a bag of seed that Coombs and Timmons had left with me. I would have a wonderful garden this year, thanks to them. Picking up the shovel and hoe, I carried them to the square plot of earth.

The weather was warm enough to plant now, the soil ready for roots. Binding my hands with strips of cloth I kept in my skirt pockets, I picked up the shovel. Gritting my jaw against the sting of my blisters, I kept at it, clearing my garden of overgrown grass and weeds.

The sun touched my back with wonderful warmth as I worked, limbering up stiff muscles. Several times I walked down to the river that ran the length of the valley, though I had a pump in the front yard. It felt good to move, stretching out cramped and sore muscles.

Twilight had come by the time I'd finished, the sun setting on the western edge of the mountains. Gingerly unwinding the cloth from my hands, I inspected the burst blisters and raw skin. It would take days to heal at this rate, I told myself, but still, it felt good to accomplish something. Gathering my tools, I carried them back to the stable, then stopped briefly at the pump.

Working the handle, a large gush of cold water flew from the spout, hitting my outstretched hands. I splashed it across my face, neck and back. It was deliciously refreshing after the warmth of the sun. Another few pumps got me clean enough for supper.

Opening the door, the fragrant aroma of homemade noodles, tomato sauce, fresh baked bread, sizzling steaks, steamed vegetables, and soft apple jelly pastries hit me. Whip grinned slyly, having set a full table. Cleaned up and washed, clothes neat, he stood next to the chair he held for me. I was too amazed to argue and sat where he offered, watching mutely as he served up a plate, pouring fresh coffee.

"Men from my country are not afraid of the kitchen, Signorina Stone," he explained quietly, sitting opposite me. "You have worked hard all day, and I was taught never to be lazy. I hope you do not mind me in your kitchen."

"No," surprised, I could only shake my head. "In all the things I've seen and done, this is a first, Mister Rigo."

"Then please," flipping a napkin open, he tucked it into his collar with flourish. "Enjoy."

Somehow, over passage of time, I forgave Whip for being among those who'd murdered Jinx. He proved delightful company, with a zest for life and an enduring sense of humor. We got along well, and made a good team.

"Vincenzo, vedo piloti in arrivo!" I called from the roof of the cabin.

Whip looked quickly toward where I pointed and dropped the plank in his hands, catching up his rifle. I had mine on the roof and eased my position a little, trying to get a better look. If trouble came, I was in a bad spot to get caught in. Standing at the base of the ladder Whip spoke without turning to look at me.

"Your Italian is very good, Miss Lilli, you learn my words fast,"

"It's not very different from the Spanish I learned as a child," I answered, studying the advancing riders.

Over the last fourteen months I had learned to respect, and then trust Vincenzo Rigotti. As had many who came to this land from foreign places, his name had been simplified, and he went by Vin Rigo. Every now and then, for no reason other than it tickled me, I used his proper designation.

Our lives were hard. Without horses, our options for food were few. The only way to get a sustainable amount was to hunt, which meant leaving Blue Water. That opened us up to Indian attack, and we were on foot. Often our lives depended very literally on the other person, trusting each other to stay alive. In the time he'd been here, we'd been very nearly killed more times than I care to remember.

Visitors to Blue Water had been few, something I remarked as unusual. The last one through explained why. Stopping only long enough for coffee a bite to eat, and water for his horse, he'd given us the news of the outside world.

"Up 'til now, an' accordin' to all the peace talks, the Teton Sioux an' Cheyenne were given exclusive rights to the huntin' grounds in the Unorganized and Minnesota Territories." He spoke around a mouthful of fried fish. "They're wanderers, an' the rich prairies made good food sources for the buffalo. Slowly but surely them Indians are bein' driven farther north by gold strikes in the southeast.

"It's not so bad now, but I been around minin' towns 'afore this, and I know what's comin'. Them Indians don't take kindly to white folks takin' up all their space, an' started fightin' back by raidin' the miners an' settlers. They figure they was here first, and aim to keep what land they got. Can't say I blame 'em much.

"Not too far back, soldiers was sent out to attack them, make a show of force, ya know? Let them Indians know that the white man will fight back. This country's bein' carved by roads an' filled by immigrants, game is becomin' harder to find, an' the Indians are realizin' they're bein' swallowed up by settlers. Their way of life is disappearin', an' they don't aim to go without a bare-knuckle fight, if you get my meanin'.

"The buffalo herds have been all but wiped out, an' that's their main food supply, but it ain't just that. Them buffalo represent a whole way of livin', an' the herds just ain't there no more. The Indians been lied to, bundled up an' sent away from their homelands their ancestors walked for generations, and they ain't treated no better'n a stray cur dog. They're fed up, and stewin' for payback. Every man worth his salt can feel it comin'. I ain't seen a white man in nigh on two months, at least not one alive, an' I got no intent of givin' up my scalp."

So now, watching the group of riders enter the valley I was unsure whether to be anxious or relieved. It was high summer in Blue Water, the sun hot. I'd been up on the roof patching a hole caused by the winter storms, with Whip's careful instruction. I found he knew a great deal about many things, and he was patient in explaining details to me.

He was on the ground because he was stronger than I and had less trouble lifting the planks up to the roof for me to slide into place. We'd been at this all morning, and now as the air thinned and warmed, we were out in the open.

"I think perhaps you should come down, Miss Lilli," he murmured. "If there is shooting, the roof is a dangerous place to be."

"I believe you are correct, I've counted fourteen men, and each man seems to have a spare horse."

"Soldiers?" he queried.

"I'm not sure," I picked up the rifle then dropped it just as quickly, a surprised cry on my lips.

The barrel was sizzling hot and I'd burned my hand on the metal. Picking it up again using my skirt as a protection, I carefully stood and walked to the ladder, swinging my leg around it catch the top rung. Though he kept his eyes on the advancing party, Whip steadied the ladder for me, and then put it inside the door. He would take no chance someone would attempt to gain the roof.

With him standing guard, I went inside and pulled out the last two boxes of ammunition, tightening my lips at the low amount left. Setting them on the table within easy reach, I rejoined Whip outside. Gone were the days of excitement and eagerness when people came into my valley. Now I regarded them with the wary suspicion and mistrust of experience. Innocence, I reflected morosely, was only for the young.

As if sensing my mood Whip cracked a slight grin at me.

"Who knows? Perhaps they come with news that there is gold in the valley, and you are the owner. You can sell out and live like a rich woman anywhere in the world,"

"Wouldn't that be something," I replied dryly. "Don't hold your breath though."

It took me a moment for that to really sink in. When it did I felt a wave of cold sadness wash through my whole body. It was the first time someone had mentioned leaving Blue Water, and I had not vehemently denied the possibility. I was tired, I realized, tired of fighting endless battles, tired of living hand to mouth, wondering if it would be hunger or Indians that would finish me. I felt much older than my twenty-one years, worn down by hardship and old hope.

"Well, they are not soldiers," Whip broke my revere, studying the approaching group with care.

They were a weary lot, slumped in their saddles, coated with dust and moving slowly. Even the horses plodded along as though they could barely take the next step. Every man was wearing a gun, and more than half had a rifle across their saddle. I counted six who wore a bandage or wrapping for a wound.

It was not until they came to the last hundred feet that I recognized one of them. His face was drawn and haggard, his jaw coated with thick stubble and dust. When he caught sight of me, he tried to straighten up and smile.

"Afternoon, ma'am."

"Mister Gable?" Pleased, surprised, I stepped forward.

Lars Gable swung off his gelding and took off his hat, beating it against his trousers in an attempt to shake the dust. It did little, the action taking more strength than he had to spare.

"Miss Stone?" He took the hand I offered, shaking it briefly but firmly. "Been a coon's age."

"You look as though you've come a long way, please, come inside, all of you." I turned my attention to the rest of them. "I have no coffee, and not much food to share, but there is fresh water and enough bunks for the lot of you to sleep."

At my invitation the men began to dismount, moving with care, both out of weariness and noticing the ready rifle in Whip's hands. Walking with Gable as he led his horse to the corral, I felt his curious look.

"Say it."

"Well...I heard tell you got married?" he gestured toward Whip. "That the fella?"

I almost laughed. Almost.

"No, he's been stuck here since the last skirmish with the Crow. They helped themselves to our horses." Rubbing my arm, I slid a glance toward Gable. "My, uh...my marriage didn't take. He left. I'd consider it a favor if you'd not say anything. It's in the past."

"My lips are sealed, ma'am."