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"Here's to you, old chief," he murmured, pretending his old friend was there beside him.
Melanie sat before the fire in her parlor, trying to concentrate on her embroidery work. But it was hard. She had only a short while ago gone to Shane's farm to see how he was faring after the stampede and had discovered him gone. The same fear that he was going to escape back to his other
way of life had stabbed at her heart, but she had to have more faith in him than that. She would give him time before she panicked. He would come to terms with himself. He was not the sort to run away from a fight.
But she had looked around the farm and understood why a man would throw his hands up in the air and walk away. All of Shane's cowhands were gone. The longhorns that had been killed during the stampede still lay across the land. Josh still wasn't there, to make things right.
She had promptly gone to work with a small crew of men, doing what she could. When Terrance had showed up, looking for her, she had put him to work, even though he grumbled all the while he burned the stiff longhorn carcasses. When Shane returned home, he would find everything in place, as though he had a whole crew of men seeing after his farm.
"I certainly hope you're pleased with yourself," Terrance grumbled, lumbering into the room. He went to the sideboard and poured himself a glass of whiskey. "I'm plumb tuckered out from that work you forced me into at Shane's. Damn it, Sis, why should we be doing his chores? We've enough of our own to keep us busy from sunup to sunset."
"You haven't got one ounce of pity in you for that man, do you?" Melanie asked, giving Terrance a flash of fiery eyes. "What if you were in his shoes, Terrance? It's just a twist of fate that he's where he is in life. He's a wonderful, very likeable man. If you'd give him half a chance, you'd see that too."
"What if he isn't back tomorrow, Melanie?" Terrance asked, moving to stand over her. He leaned down, close to her face. "I'm not going to Shane's again and do what he should be doing himself. If you ask me, he's run off like a scared puppy with his tail tucked beneath his hind legs."
Melanie challenged his steady stare, laying her emb
roidery work on the table beside her. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?" she said. "Behind my back, where I can't see you snickering, I bet you're laughing over all of Shane's misfortunes."
She placed a hand to Terrance's chest and shoved him away from her, then rose to her feet. "Well, go ahead and laugh," she said. "Shane will be back. He'll make things work."
Terrance followed her out into the foyer. He grabbed his hat from a chair, where he had absently tossed it. "You can waste all the time you want to worrying about that man," he said. "But I've better things to do."
Melanie spun around to face him. "Now let me see," she mocked. "Just where are you off to? It wouldn't be a saloon, would it?"
Terrance plopped his hat on his head and, laughing, left the house. Melanie sighed heavily and began climbing the stairs to her room. Suddenly she felt drained, empty, and so very much alone.
Where was Shane?
Didn't he know that she would be worried? Did he care so little about her state of mind?
Then she felt guilty, knowing that he was the
only one who mattered. He had the battles to fight. Her only battle was for him!
As Melanie reached the upstairs landing, a sudden shudder swept through her. She stopped and looked from side to side. Somehow, she did not feel alone. There was a sense of foreboding in the air all around her.
But why? She and Terrance had been home long enough to bathe, eat and relax before the fire.
But when they were gone earlier, had someone gotten into the house? Was he hiding there now?
Her eyes brightened. "Shane?" she whispered, taking hasty steps toward her bedroom. Had he been here all along, waiting for Terrance to leave?
Melanie hurried into her bedroom and searched with her hand for her kerosene lamp beside her bed so that she could light it.
But as she searched through the darkness, a hand suddenly gripped her wrist painfully, then jerked her hard onto the bed.
"Shane?" Melanie asked, her voice quavering.
She peered upward through the darkness and made out a man's shadow. The man's hand tightened around her wrist. His body pinioned her against the bed.
"Shane, you're hurting me!" she cried. "You've never been rough before. Why are you now?"
"Bee-sahn-ee-I-yah-mah-gud! Silence!" a voice said threateningly in Chippewa.
Melanie gasped. This was not Shane! It was an Indian! He had obviously waited for her to be alone.
But why? Did he plan to rape, kill, or abduct her?
