Felicity slumped down into the sagging canvas chair, the only furnishing in the camp, and closed her eyes against the fatigue of too many sleepless nights. Mr. Logan. The name had haunted her since the first time the boy had spoken it. What would she do when this Mr. Logan came? And what if Mr. Logan was the one? What if he was the man who had been chasing them? How would she get away and…

Felicity shook herself, forcing her weary eyes open. She must be going crazy to be thinking such thoughts! No one was chasing them. Her father had told her that over and over again. She had only imagined they were fleeing from some invisible danger. He had explained that they had to keep moving to get work, so they could never stay in one place very long. And if sometimes they left a town very suddenly, without even finishing all their business, it was only because her father hated towns and sometimes he just had to get away onto the open prairie.

Felicity supposed that losing her father had spooked her, making her imagination run wild. Without his constant reassurance, she had been almost overwhelmed by the sensation of being followed. She had kept moving restlessly, hoping to escape whoever or whatever was behind her almost as much as she hoped to find a destination.

No, she told herself, this Mr. Logan could not be the man who was following her, because there was nobody following her. And she was a grown woman, eighteen years old, no longer a little girl to be frightened by shadows. She did not fear Mr. Logan for that reason. Mr. Logan presented an entirely new and different threat, a threat with which she must deal right now, she suddenly realized. Three riders had just appeared on the horizon. Felicity raced for the rifle.

The three men reined in their horses at the top of the rise overlooking the small camp. "I'll be damned," Grady grunted. "I told you," Cody declared. "A photographer," Josh muttered. "A what?" Cody was unfamiliar with the word. Josh pointed at the gaily painted wagon. "It's a traveling photographer, a fellow who goes from town to town and takes pictures of people."

"Oh, like that picture of you back at the house," Cody remembered.

Josh nodded, recalling how he had once, on a trip to the "big city," succumbed to the temptation to have his portrait made.

The three men studied the scene below in silence. They could clearly see the girl who was watching them right back. She was standing and she was holding a rifle. They saw no one else.

"Where's her horses?" Grady asked after a few moments. "When I was here before, I just figured they was picketed off somewheres, but they ain't, are they?" Cody asked.

Suddenly they all understood the reason the girl was here, still here. She had lost her horses somehow.

"Let's go on down," Josh suggested, "but take it nice and easy. She's got a gun and we don't want to spook her."

Felicity took a deep breath in a futile attempt to still the clamoring of her heart. Now there were three of them, and if one man was dangerous, then three were… well, three times as dangerous. Felicity still had no idea if the rifle was even loaded, but she raised it in what she hoped was a threatening gesture. She only prayed she would be able to hold it up. The thing was monstrously heavy and her arms were already starting to tremble.

"Stay right there," she called in a quivery voice when they were within easy speaking distance.

The man in the middle stopped the others with a lift of his hand. She knew instinctively that this was Mr. Logan, the man the cowboy had called "the boss." She recognized the cowboy who had been here before, of course, and she mentally dismissed the third man. Although he also had an air of authority about him, she could tell by the way his lanky body draped over the horse that he was not too worried about the present situation. He was merely here to follow orders. Mr. Logan was the man in charge.

Felicity brought her attention back to the man in the middle, the one she knew was Mr. Logan. He had a handsome face, square-jawed and strong-looking, with a straight nose and a well-formed mouth that was set now in a grim line. His eyes were narrowed down, crinkling the corners into a web of laugh lines under heavy, masculine brows. He was studying her, and she forced herself to meet his gaze, in spite of the fact that her whole body seemed to be quaking in terror.

"Afternoon, miss," he said, tipping his hat and revealing a shock of silver hair that glistened in the noonday sun.

Felicity blinked at the sight of that white hair. He was older, older than she had first thought. Perhaps he was also kind. Kind and old, a mature man in whom she could place her trust. Oh, please, God, she prayed silently.

"I'm Josh Logan," he was saying. "Did you know that you're camped on my property?"

Something in his voice when he said "my property" sent a shiver of unease over Felicity. "Oh, no, I didn't… I mean…" Felicity stammered, suddenly realizing that he might very well have her arrested for trespassing. "I didn't know where I was. I got lost," she explained lamely. The rifle was so heavy. She shifted it slightly.

Josh watched the girl. She was scared out of her wits, shaking so bad, he wondered that she had not dropped the rifle. She was a pretty little thing, with a head full of golden hair and eyes as blue as cornflowers. And so young. He judged her to be about fourteen or fifteen, as slender as a reed, with only the tiny teacup breasts barely visible beneath her ragged dress to hint at her burgeoning womanhood. How on earth had she gotten out here all alone in this wagon? In an attempt to put her at ease, he forced himself to smile reassuringly.

Felicity watched, mesmerized, as the smile lit up his face. She barely noticed when he swung a leg over the saddle and slid down from the horse.

"Don't be afraid," he said, speaking softly so as not to frighten her further. "We're here to help you. If you'll just tell me where your horses are, we'll hitch them up for you so you can be on your way."

He really was a nice man. She could tell now that he was closer. His eyes were kind. She lowered the rifle a bit.

"My horses are lost," she told him.

"Lost?" he repeated. The smile disappeared and Felicity knew a small regret.

"They bolted the other night during the thunderstorm," she confided, shuddering involuntarily at the memory of that fearsome storm.

"That was night before last," she heard one of the other men remark, but she did not bother to look to see which one. She could not seem to take her eyes from Mr. Logan's face. He was very close now. He smiled again.

"Where's the rest of your family, honey?" he asked. His voice was soothing, like a warm hand on her heart, but when she thought of the answer to his question, tears sprang to her eyes.

No, she would not think of that, she told herself. Mr.

Logan would help her. Desperately she tried to focus on his face, but something was wrong, horribly wrong. Her heart felt funny, as if it were pounding against her ribs, and she was shaking all over. There were spots, too, black spots everywhere. The rifle slipped from her hands but she could not stop it. "Help me," she cried, or thought she did, before everything went black.

Josh rushed forward, catching her just as she fell. "Damn," he swore under his breath as he scooped the frail body into his arms. The other two men were at his side in an instant.

"What happened?" Grady asked anxiously.

"She fainted; what did it look like?" Josh replied sarcastically, casting about for someplace to lay her down. Finding no place suitable, he seated himself on the rickety canvas chair and draped her across his lap, taking the gamble that the chair would hold them both. He looked down into the lovely little face that had gone chalk-white and tried desperately to remember what you were supposed to do when a woman fainted. He had never encountered such a situation before.