"Yeah, that's right, it was my idea," he replied warily. His Colt wavered slightly, but he righted it immediately.

"You're a smart fellow," Josh admitted, "but then, all us Logans are smart."

Jeremiah stiffened at that, but made no comment, so Josh went on.

"I guess everything worked out just the way you wanted it, too. I'm here, and your mother," Josh said, his voice still unnaturally calm. "I'm only sorry my wife is still in Philadelphia. I understand you had some special plans for her," he added in a faintly accusing tone.

Jeremiah's face twisted in rage. "The hell with her!" he snapped. "I wouldn't have any white woman, not on a bet!"

Josh started at the vehemence of his tone. "That's not what I heard," he pressed, compelled to explore the truth of this statement. "The sheriff told me that you'd had a white woman back East-"

"And you believed him," Jeremiah interrupted. This time when his gun wavered, pointing now toward the floor, he did not even notice. "Of course you did; they all believed her because why would a white woman lie about something like that? And do you know who she was, Logan?" he taunted. "She was your mother!"

Seeing Josh stiffen in shock, Jeremiah laughed bitterly. "That's right, your mother. She made her father buy me when she got back home, and she kept me right in the house to fetch and carry for her. And sometimes when I brought her something, she'd pet me, and other times, she'd slap me, but I never knew which it would be. She was a mean little bitch, your mother. You're lucky she left you when she did, Logan. And she'd tell me things, too, things about my mother and our father, things nobody should ever have to know about his parents. And then, when I got old enough, she told the lie. She said I sneaked into her room one night and raped her."

As if from a distance, Josh heard Candace's cry of anguish. "Dear God," he murmured, but Jeremiah did not even seem to hear either sound.

"God only knows what they would have done if they'd caught me, but somebody warned me and I got away. The war had just started and there was a lot of confusion. I hooked up with some Yankee troops and went North. I've been a lot of places since then."

In the silence that followed this speech, Josh could hear the sound of shots. Occasionally one would strike the house, but it seemed that the firing had slowed. What did that mean? He could take no time to decide, however, not with Jeremiah still to contend with. "What made you come here after all these years?" Josh asked.

Jeremiah shrugged one shoulder. "I found myself in Texas one day and decided to look up my kinfolks," he said, his voice tinged with bitterness. "When I found out how you'd prospered, I decided to get a little for my own. Figured it was due me."

"Why didn't you just ride in and tell us who you were?" Josh asked, meeting Jeremiah's gaze relentlessly. "We would have welcomed you."

Jeremiah's lip curled in contempt at what he obviously considered a bold-faced lie, but his contempt withered as Josh continued to stare him down as if daring him to challenge the statement. "You would have welcomed your father's black bastard?" he asked. He was trying to sound skeptical, but Josh thought he heard an undercurrent of hope there,«too.

"I would have welcomed Candace's son," he said, "and my brother."

For one instant, total shock registered on Jeremiah's shadowed features, but then the sound of running footsteps on the front porch distracted them all.

"Jeremiah?" an accented voice called.

"In here," Jeremiah replied, and the front door burst open, allowing a wiry Mexican brandishing a pistol in each hand to enter. The bandito took in the scene in one glance.

He asked a question in rapid-fire Spanish, waving one of his pistols to indicate Josh and Candace. Josh caught enough of the question to know the man was demanding why the two of them were still alive.

Jeremiah replied in equally rapid Spanish, but from the look on the little man's face, he was not satisfied with the explanation. He made a grunting noise and lifted a pistol to take careful aim at Josh.

Josh knew he could throw himself to the ground, perhaps dodge the bullet and even regain his rifle, but that would have left Candace directly in the line of fire. Instead, he took the extra second to shove her down before diving to the ground.

As he fell, the blast of a gun filled the room, but Josh kept moving on instinct, picking up the rifle and raising it to his shoulder, vaguely aware of Candace's scream. Only when he had the little Mexican in his sights did he realize what was wrong. The man's face had gone crimson, and just as Josh's finger tightened on the trigger, the man slumped to the floor.

Startled, Josh turned to Jeremiah, whose smoking gun told the story. He had killed the Mexican to save Josh and Candace.

"Josh! Josh, are you all right? What's going on in there?" Grady's voice called from somewhere outside.

Josh shook his head a bit to clear it, waiting to see what Jeremiah would do. Slowly, the black man turned back to where Josh crouched on the floor. After another moment, Jeremiah lowered his gun.

"Josh! Josh, answer me!" Grady called again, sounding frantic.

"I'm fine, Grady!" Josh hollered back. "And Candace is with me."

"We routed them, Josh! They're on the run!" Grady's voice called.

"Good! Go fight the fire. I'll be there in a minute," Josh shouted, and then he lowered his own gun. To Jeremiah he said, "Get out of here. If they see you, they'll kill you."

For a moment, Jeremiah did not move, almost as if he had not heard the order.

"Go on now. Hurry!" Josh urged.

Jeremiah nodded and slowly holstered his gun. "I…" he began, but then stopped, as if he could not find the right words. At last he said, "Goodby, Mama."

The words seemed to echo in the room long after he was gone.

By dawn the next morning the ranch was crowded with neighbors who had seen the flames and come to help put out the fire. Although the barn was now only a pile of charred embers, they had at least managed to keep the fire from spreading. The women had fixed breakfast for the men, and while they were eating, Blanche finally found a minute to take Candace aside and get the whole story from her.

"Who would have ever thought," Blanche murmured in wonder when Candace was finished. "I know Felicity will be glad to hear all this. She must have been worried sick all this time."

Candace shook her head. "She don't know anything about this. Mr. Josh didn't tell her a thing."

"What!" Blanche exclaimed. "What on earth did he tell her when he left her in Philadelphia, then?"

"That we needed him to help with the roundup," Candace reported in disgust. "And that ain't the worst of it, Mrs. Delano. He hasn't written her one letter, not one line, since he's been back, neither."

"Has she written to him?" Blanche asked in disbelief.

Candace nodded. "She'd send two or three letters every week, or at least she did. Lately there hasn't been any. Not for two or three weeks now."

Blanche made a rude noise. "Well, of course there hasn't been. She's probably furious with him, and who could blame her? I'm furious myself. She thinks he just up and left her for no good reason and… Oh, Lord, Candace! When he didn't write, she must have thought he'd left her for good!"

"I don't know what she thinks, but it can't be anything nice," Candace said. "I tried to talk some sense into him, but he won't talk about it, not at all. Mrs. Delano, we've got to do something about this."

"You're absolutely right," Blanche replied. "And I think I know just what that something is. I'll write to her myself."

"Do you think that will help?" Candace asked.

"It got Josh home, didn't it?" Blanche replied with a conspiratorial smile.