Lonesome grabbed the woman's kid-clad ankle and growled fiercely. She lost her balance and fell against the buggy, and the horse neighed shrilly. Tossing its head, the horse surged forward, pulling the buggy with it. Mrs. Peterson landed in a heap of voluminous skirts and a cloud of dust, kicked up from her broad rear end.

  "Lonesome!" Choking on his laughter, Stone somehow managed a shrill whistle to accompany his command as he set the rifle against the porch railing.

  The dog gave a final shake of the ankle in its mouth and dropped it. He sat on his haunches, a low growl issuing from his throat and his eyes guarding the intruder.

  "Get that brute away from me!" Mrs. Peterson yelled.

  With an agile movement Stone would never have thought the hefty woman capable of, she pulled her legs under her and shoved herself to her feet. She lifted her leg for another kick, but Lonesome lurched with a snarl, and she hastily backed away, shrieking in anger.

  "Get that vicious thing away from me, Stone!" she screamed again. "I'll have him killed! You just wait and see!"

  Stone strode forward and stopped beside Lonesome, who turned adoring eyes up at him as he licked Stone's hand.

  "Vicious? Why, Tillie, this dog's just a pup. Look how friendly he is." He scratched Lonesome's ear, and the dog leaned against his leg.

  "You... you... liar!" Mrs. Peterson spat. "You just saw him attacking me!" She waved an indignant finger at Lonesome. "I demand you shoot that dog before he tries to kill someone else!"

  Lonesome growled again, and Mrs. Peterson clasped her hands over her huge breasts. "See?" she said with a gasp. "He's going to jump on me again!"

  Stone reached to tip his hat up an inch, before remembering it was on the ground behind the barn. Running his fingers through his hair instead, he pulled out a piece of dry grass and stuck the stem in his mouth.

  "Dog's just doing its job," he drawled with a shrug. "Protecting my property. Keepin' unwanted visitors away. Can't blame him for that."

  Mrs. Peterson dropped her arms, and her bosom wobbled with a wrathful gasp of breath. "I didn't come here to visit," she almost screamed. "I came here to tell you that the women in town will not tolerate you living out here in sin with that harlot!"

  "Michael, don't you dare!" Angela made a leap for his arm and shoved it back to his side.

  "Aw, come on, Angie. Just a couple of drops of rain. That dragon needs to get drenched—to drown some of that holier-than-thou priggishness out of her."

  Angela glanced down at Mrs. Peterson and reluctantly shook her head. "I'd almost be tempted to agree with you if there was a cloud in the sky. But there's not."

  "Let's make this one visible," he said eagerly. "Blacken it a little."

  She stifled a giggle—one more of the frequent giggles Michael always seemed to draw from her. "We can't," she said. "It wouldn't be an appropriate use of our powers right now."

  "Shoot," Michael grumbled.

  Thirteen

  Tess limped around the corner of the house in time to hear Mrs. Peterson's last sputtered comment clearly. She leaned on her crutches, which she had retrieved from the back porch, and glared at the bedraggled woman standing with her hands on her extensive hips, a smirk of outright maliciousness on her face.

  "Why, you old biddy," she muttered, though she could tell that, despite the woman's girth, she was probably the same age as Tess.

  Spying the rifle leaning against the porch rail, she levered herself over and started to reach for it.

  She jerked her hand back. That was just what she had tried to get through Stone's head last night. A convenient gun only prodded a person into acting rashly. She shook her head and turned back to watch how Stone would handle the situation.

  The front door of the cabin edged open. Rain and Flower slipped through and tiptoed across the porch to join her. The children sat down with their backs against the cabin wall, and Rain brushed a clump of soil from the board beside him. Quirking an eyebrow, he glanced up at Tess and silently patted the board.

  She eased her crutches away from her and sat on the edge of the porch. Pulling her legs up, she ducked beneath the porch railing and settled back against the wall to watch the two combatants in the yard.

  "You better listen to me this time, Stone Chisum," Mrs. Peterson said with an edge of self-satisfaction to her voice. "The Ladies' Guild will not tolerate this. One of the things we're striving for is a sin-free environment for the children of this territory."

  "Well, now, Tillie," Stone responded. "You ought to know just what sins a person should avoid, I guess. Especially sins of the flesh."

  "You bastard!" Mrs. Peterson's veneer of self-righteousness dissolved in a flash. "A gentleman wouldn't mention a lady's past! Besides, I'm not that same person anymore!"

  "No," Stone agreed. "That other person was too puffed up with her own ego to notice if she had to step over a pair of copulating bodies right in her path. I think I liked you better that way, Tillie. At least you weren't always sticking your nose where it would cause trouble for somebody else."

  "It's Mrs. Peterson to you, Mister Chisum. I've been married and widowed, and I'm due your respect now."

  "Was a time you'd have been real happy for me to call you Tillie," Stone mused.

  "You are not going to sidetrack me!" Mrs. Peterson emphasized her words by crossing her arms beneath her breasts. "Dr. Calder came out here and treated a woman living with you. He bought clothing for her in town and put it on your account at the store. One of the members of the Ladies' Guild checked with Pastor Jones and found out that he hadn't been out here to perform a wedding ceremony."

  "That's true," Stone admitted. "You don't think I'd have left you off the invitation list for my wedding, do you, Tillie?"

  "I'd sooner attend your funeral than your wedding!"

  "Sorry. Can't accommodate you there."

  "There's an empty room at the boardinghouse," she ground out. "I checked before I drove out here. I'm perfectly willing to do my Christian duty and take this woman into town and help her get moved into the boardinghouse. You can't keep her out here with you, around those innocent children."

  Stone cocked his elbows behind him and slid his fingers into his back pockets. "Boardinghouse's rooms are all upstairs, and she's got a broken ankle. I'm sure you know that, since you seem to know everything else. It'd be too hard on her, climbing up and down for meals. My cabin's all on one floor."

  "You can't keep that woman out here!" Mrs. Peterson yelled. Taking a few steps in his direction, she leaned forward and propped her hands on her ample hips. "There might not be anything we can do about you and that neighbor of yours, but the Guild will not tolerate you corrupting your children by moving a whore into your bed."

  Stone laid a hand on Lonesome's head when the dog growled a warning. "You seem to have an awfully strong interest in my love life, Tillie," he said in a deceptively mild voice. "Don't suppose you're jealous, are you?"

  When Mrs. Peterson gasped in indignation, Stone leaned toward her and lowered his voice even further, though his words still reached to the porch. "And if I ever hear you mention the word 'whore' again in the same breath you use to talk about Tess, I'll sell tickets, then kick that fat ass of yours up and down Main Street for the show!"

  Rain doubled his arms over his stomach and bit his lips, trying to hold back his laughter. Flower muffled a snort beside him, then gave up the struggle. Despite Tess's attempts to quiet them, both children howled with unrestrained glee, and Rain even rolled to the porch floor, clutching his stomach and drumming his heels against the boards.

  "Oh, lord," Tess breathed when she looked up to see Mrs. Peterson's pale eyes glaring at them. Tess glanced at Stone and lifted her hand to wiggle her fingers at him. Shrugging her shoulders to indicate to Stone that she had absolutely no control over his children, she slid to the edge of the porch and picked up her crutches.

  Stone was doing a good job on his own, but she wasn't about to hide behind a man's muscles.

  Lonesome leapt to his feet and ran to meet Tess, his tail wagging and his tongue hanging out as he followed her back to Stone. He sat down between Stone and Tess, swiveling his head from one of them to the other.

  Tess leaned on her crutches, refusing to make a grab for her bodice when the top gaped open with her movement.

  "Hello," she drawled in a syrupy voice. "I'm so glad to finally get to meet one of Stone's neighbors. Mrs. Peterson, isn't it? I'm Tess Foster."

  Mrs. Peterson's face reddened, and she swung her head wildly. "I..." Flustered, she nodded an acknowledgment.

  "Matilda Peterson," she managed to say. "I drove out here to offer you a ride into town, Miss Foster. It is miss, isn't it?"

  "Sure is," Tess returned with a false smile. "And I couldn't possibly take you up on your kind offer without checking with Stone first. He always makes it very clear to all of us here that he's in charge of the ranch."

  Mrs. Peterson's sniff merged with Stone's muted snort.

  "Well, my dear," Mrs. Peterson said, "sometimes we just have to stand up to our men and do what we know is right."

  "Perhaps," Tess mused, "Does the boardinghouse take dogs?"

  "Of course not," Mrs. Peterson replied.

  Tess shrugged as well as she could with the crutches under her armpits. "Then I guess I'll have to turn down your so kind, Christian offer of charity, Matilda." She gave an insincere sigh. "I'm afraid Lonesome would pine away without me, and I couldn't bear that. He seems to have attached himself to me and might not eat if I'm not here to feed him."

  "That vicious brute needs beating rather than feeding," Mrs. Peterson spat. "Just look what he did to my dress."

  "I hope he didn't bite you, Matilda." Tess widened her eyes, feigning horror. "I haven't had him long enough to make sure he doesn't have any diseases—maybe rabies. I'd suggest you see Dr. Calder immediately."

  "Rabies?" Mrs. Peterson screeched. She pulled up her ragged skirt hem, exposing a huge black-clad calf. "Oh, my God. Look. His teeth caught my stocking! There's a hole in it."

  Dropping her skirt, Mrs. Peterson whirled and ran for the buggy as fast as her corpulent body would allow. The springs on the vehicle groaned in protest as she pulled herself into the seat and unwrapped the reins from the brake handle. Not looking back, she slapped the reins on the horse's rump. The buggy lurched forward with another squeal of protest and the horse galloped down the dirt road.

  Michael wiggled one finger, his hands clasped behind his back. A gust of wind blew the buggy top open, and a crash of thunder split the air. Rain poured from a sky that had slowly been gathering dark clouds for the past few minutes, spattering more gently near the cabin, more fiercely along the buggy's path.

  He rolled his eyes skyward and pursed his lips, whistling and rocking back and forth on the cloud.

  "Gee," he mused in an innocent voice. "Think it looks like rain, Angie?"

  She swatted him on the shoulder and collapsed on the cloud in laughter.

  Fourteen

  "MICHAEL. ANGELA."

  Their laughter stopped immediately.

  "Uh-oh." Angela stared overhead fearfully. The voice had only been mildly censuring, but she was filled with an overwhelming sense of guilt. She glanced at Michael and saw his apprehension, which mirrored her own feelings.

  Michael sighed deeply and reached down to help her to stand. "It's okay, honey," he said. "Mr. G knows it was my fault."

  "Not totally," she whispered frantically in return. "I knew you were going to do that when you started gathering the clouds."

  A soft voice broke into their conversation, saying only a few words before it fell silent.

  "Yes, Sir," Michael replied. "I know it was sort of a mean thing to do, but that woman is mean herself."

  "Michael." She tugged on his sleeve. "Don't argue!"

  He ignored her and continued, "And you've got to admit, Sir, that it got the point across without really hurting her. But I promise, I'll think before I act from now on. I know we're supposed to be forgiving, not vengeful."

  He quirked an eyebrow at the sky. "Isn't that right, Sir? The forgiving part, I mean?"

  A muted clap of thunder rolled across the sky, sounding almost like laughter dying away.

  Stone set Tess on her feet beneath the porch overhang and handed her the crutches. Glancing at Rain and Flower, he said, "Aren't you two supposed to be working on your lessons?"

  "Yes, Pa," they answered together. Stifling giggles, they scrambled to their feet and ran into the cabin.

  Tess shook her head, one corner of her mouth lifting in a wry grin. "I'm afraid we weren't a very good example for them out there, but I just couldn't seem to stop myself from taking a few jibes at that beastly woman. Who does she think she is, anyway?"

  "Aw, Tillie's not so bad," Stone said with a suppressed chuckle. "I kind of enjoy arguing with her. And, after all, Lonesome did attack her. Tillie's always been sort of above herself, though, thinkin' she knows what's best for everyone else. She's been ticked off at me ever since I let her know I was immune to her charms in that town back in Texas where her daddy owned the bank."

  When Tess gazed toward the road the buggy had taken with a disbelieving look on her face, he laughed and continued, "She wasn't always that big. And she wasn't always so hoity-toity, especially when it came to matters of the flesh. I have to hand it to her, though. She stuck by her daddy after I sent him to jail. I hear she still gets letters from him."

  "You sent Tillie's father to jail?"

  "He was embezzling from his bank. Tillie married one of her beaux right after her daddy went to prison, and they moved to Oklahoma. Her husband got killed in a stagecoach wreck less than a year after they were married, but he left her pretty well off. I'll admit I was surprised to see how fat she'd gotten when I ran into her in Clover Valley. She must've let herself go after her husband died."

  "I still don't like her. Did you hear what she called me?"

  "Well, maybe she'll leave us alone for a while now—at least until she's sure she's not going to die of rabies."

  "That was mean of me, wasn't it? Especially since we could see that the skin wasn't broken under that hole in her stocking."

  "Yep," he agreed. "You're one mean lady, Tess Foster." Lifting her chin with his index finger, he murmured, "Maybe I ought to try to kiss a little of that meanness out of you."

  "Maybe you should," she whispered.

  He bent his head and kissed her tenderly. A long moment later he raised his head and nodded toward the swing on the other end of the porch.

  "Let's sit a minute," he said quietly. "Before I fall completely and irrevocably in love with you, I'd like to know just who it is that's crawlin' into my heart."

  She gasped and stumbled backward, shaking her head wildly. "No! You can't! We can't let this happen!"

  As Tess wobbled on her crutches, he grabbed for her. His hands on her shoulders to steady her, he stared down into her frightened green eyes, scowling in disbelief.

  "You kissed me back like you were feeling the same way! You've wiggled yourself into my life—into my kids' lives—made us start caring for you! What the hell's your reason for backing off now?"

  Tess wrenched her eyes from his and bit her lip. He'd never believe her. How could he? It was almost too outlandish for her to believe herself, and she was the one living it. Just about a week ago, she had climbed down the back side of Saddleback Mountain and fallen a hundred and one years into the past. Found the man she hadn't even realized she had been searching for all her life—found two kids who were the smartest, most wonderful children who could have ever lived.

  But that was just it. They had lived—had lived seventy years before she had even been born. And it was confusing as hell when she tried to reason it out. Was she actually living her future now, or was it in abeyance? How could she live her future in the past?

  She admitted to feeling an ever stronger urge to push aside her former life and stay here with Stone and the kids. Yet she seesawed the other way each time that feeling surfaced. She'd worked so hard to overcome her impoverished background and get to the point in her profession where she appeared to be only a scant distance from the top of the mountain. If she won the case she was working on, her entire future would be assured—her future back in 1994. She knew she had the brains and guts to have a brilliant career, and at one time that had been her most fervent desire.

  Yet she kept recalling the lonely, late-night hours in her office—her apartment gathering dust—the antacids she bought more frequently lately.

  And there was another worry she couldn't seem to find an answer to: If she did find the time warp and reenter it, would she emerge in her own time period? Or, if time was passing back there, would she reenter her world with a lot of explaining to do about her absence—perhaps at a point where her career would be in ashes due to her absence?

  Her main struggle right now, though, was whether she even gave a darn. The years ahead of her in her own time stretched forward in a lonely void. Here, in 1893, she had found the possibility of true love and a family. There, in 1994, she would have left them in the murky past—her only contact with them the genealogy section of the library.

  "Damn it! Answer me, Tess!"

  Stone shook her slightly, and she covered her face with her hands, her crutches dropping to the porch with a clatter. A small, miserable sob escaped her confining hands. She heard Stone give a muffled snort of annoyance as he swept her into his arms for the third time that day and carried her over to the swing.

  "Stop that," he demanded after he sat her down in the swing seat. "You're not going to pull that on me again. You know I can't stand it when you cry. You're not playing fair."

  "I..." She dropped her hands and sniffed. "I'm not playing. You just don't know. And I'm sorry. I don't usually cry at all. I..." A hiccup shook her shoulders, and she buried her face again.