the blonde standing before her. "But, Rachel, I declare you could wear a sackcloth and make it look pretty. Now you go take that off before your intended bursts through that door and sees you. That's bad luck, you know."
"Yes, Ma'am, I know." Rachel looked at herself in the full-length mirror before stepping back into the dressing room to change into her underwear, camisole, shirtwaist and chemise. She was glowing and happy and in love. Just the way a bride and expectant mother should be.
"I hope this young man is worthy of you, child," Molly commented as the blonde was gingerly removing the garment. Rachel did not want to disrupt the pinning or get poked by one of the sharp little varmints, either.
"The way this town talks and you haven't heard anything about him?" Rachel inquired, carefully hanging the gown up.
"Oh, I've heard things...I just wasn't sure whether or not I should listen to them."
"Like what?" Rachel's curiosity was getting the better of her.
"That he is a restless soul with a gambler's appetite for trouble. It scares me a little, Rachel, because you really don't know anything about him."
"I know he would hammer down the gates of hell for me. I know he will love me and protect me and do his best to keep the Cranes away from my...our land."
"That's another thing. He marries you and inherits your entire dowry. You sure that's not all he's after?"
"I couldn't be more positive." Rachel emerged from the dressing room and handed the garment to Molly. "Are you sure that's not expecting too much work from you to have that done by Wednesday?"
"Child, I will make the time to finish this. Why, you're like my own flesh and blood getting married. I am invited to the wedding, aren't I?"
Shyly, the blonde clasped her hands in front of her and swung slightly back and forth. "I need a witness, Miz Ledbetter, would you be my matron of honor?"

Molly stopped dead in her tracks. "You don't want an old thing like me to stand up for you, girl, I'm sure Elizabeth Reddick would be pleased to do it."
"But I don't want Elizabeth, I want you."
Tears stung the eyes of Molly Ledbetter for the second time that afternoon. She reached out, taking Rachel's hands in her own. In a quiet, reverent voice, she said, "I would be honored to stand up for you."
*********************************
By the time Trace came to pick up Rachel, she had won three dollars in stud poker, arranged a 'bachelor' party Tuesday night at Wilbur's, had bought a couple more rounds of drinks, picked up the wedding band at the goldsmith's and met with the Native American men in the alley next to the livery.
Through them, she could purchase a herd of cattle. They were the only available resource that wasn't controlled by the Cranes. She could get fifteen prime cows and steers for fifty dollars a head. Although she could afford the full $750, that would deplete her finances, so instead she gave them one hundred ninety dollars in cash, the rest to be handed over when the cattle arrived and bartered the rest of the cost.
The Indians would be allowed to hunt on the Young property and have access to wood from the dense forest. Trace also promised them a quarter of the yield from the corn field she intended to plant next week. The land the tribe inhabited was mostly dirt and rock and not good for growing much of anything. The solemn foursome considered this a good deal. They shook hands on it and Trace walked away hoping if she ever needed them as warriors and allies, they would be there for her. If they despised the Cranes as much as most of the town did, their skills would come in very handy indeed if the rebellion she could see slowly growing became a reality.
Passing a customer exiting the shop, the detective walked into Molly's to collect her fiancée and was not surprised to find Rachel and the kindly proprietor sitting down, having tea. Trace's heart swelled at the absolute adoring and enamored expression on Rachel's face when the blonde spotted her. Jumping up, her bride-to-be flew into her arms and hugged her fiercely, then led her back to the small table where she had been seated.
"Molly, I would like you to meet the man I am going to marry, Trace Sheridan. Trace, Molly Ledbetter, my mama's best friend in the whole wide world."

As they shook hands, Molly no longer had any questions about whether or not these two young people loved each other. They could have heated the whole store with their obvious affection. Neither could keep their eyes off each other and the middle-aged shopkeeper suddenly longed for the days when she and Harvey had shared that rapturous feeling.
"Why, my goodness, you are a handsome devil, aren't you?" Molly remarked, scrutinizing every inch of Trace's face. There was an animal strength about this young man, she thought, yet an almost feline grace in the way he moved. She stood up, her full height coming up to Trace's shoulder. "Just promise me one thing..."
"What's that?"
"That little gal in your arms is very special to me. She's had a lot of awful things happen to her the past year or so. Don't you become one of them."
"No, Ma'am, I do not intend to." Her gaze was steady, unrepentant. "I will promise you right here, right now that I will die before I let anything bad happen to her again. And I don't have any plans to die any time soon." She gave Rachel's shoulder an extra squeeze.
"Amen," the blonde responded.
Molly Ledbetter's eyes softened. "You have my blessing. Not that you asked for it or need it but I do approve. And, Rachel, I think your mama and daddy would have, too. Looks like you got yourself one hell of a stallion here."
Blushing, as images of just exactly what that meant filtered through her brain, Rachel smiled, coyly. "Me, too." She looked up into Trace's eyes. "Guess I'll be finding out soon enough."
Now it was Trace's turn to be embarrassed. She had no doubt she could make good on the description but it was a tad uncomfortable mulling it over in the presence of a woman old enough to be her mother. Clearing her throat, the brunette said, "We need to get going before - what's his name, Henry - before he goes home for the day."
"Oh, that's right, you have to register with Henry," Molly shook her head. "Hope you weren't expecting to keep this quiet. That weasely garter-sleeved clerk just has to put his eagle-beaked nose into everybody's business. He is

just damned unpleasant. Why, he is so ugly, he'll hurt your feelings just to look at him."
"Miz Lebetter, that's not very nice," Rachel told her and then mildly slapped Trace in the arm for laughing. "Henry can't help his looks, he has to make do with what the good Lord gave him."
"Well, the good Lord must've had it out for that boy because his personality matches his face and there just ain't no quit in ugly." Molly picked up the tea cups from the table and put them on the counter. "You two get going, get your registering done. Don't hold that hedgehog up or you'll never hear the end of it."
Rachel left Trace's side long enough to embrace her mother's best friend. "Thank you, Miz Ledbetter. I'll be back Tuesday night for the dress."
"Now don't you worry, girl, that dress will be perfect. Just like you are."
"How much do you think you will want for your services so I will know what I need to bring with me?"
"The only thing I want from you, Rachel, is to give me some babies to spoil."
The detective and the blonde exchanged a knowing glance. "We'll start working on that Wednesday night."
*********************
50
It had almost been a perfect day. Almost. As Trace settled Rachel on the wagon seat, she was approached by Sheriff Ed Jackson and Mayor Jed Turner. Jackson looked smug. His Honor looked uneasy. They stopped a few feet in front of the detective.
"Well, well, well, I hear congratulations are in order," Jackson said, his tone conveying that the last thing he felt was benevolence.
"If you are referring to my upcoming marriage, then yes," Trace responded, not friendly at all. After the trouble Jackson had already caused, she didn't feel the need to be 'right neighborly' toward him. She nodded to Turner. "Afternoon, Mayor."
"Trace," Jed acknowledged, looking as though he wished he were anywhere but there.

"Actually, I was more referrin' to knowin' that you'll be in my jail before you have a chance to walk down that aisle."
Handing the reins to Rachel, Trace turned and nonchalantly leaned against the wagon, studying the sheriff. "And why would that be?"
"Trace," Mayor Turner spoke up, clearing his throat uncomfortably, "Ed here got a telegram from Cottonwood. Said there's a five thousand dollar price on your head."
"What?!" Rachel looked at Trace, stunned.
Trace shook her head calmly at her bride-to-be, putting her hand up to stop any further frantic reaction. "He's lying."
Jackson sneered. "Is that so?"
"Yeah, that's so," Trace shot back, trying to keep her cool. She wanted to tell this bastard that if there even was a Cottonwood, she wasn't from there, had never been there, so there was no way there could be a bounty on her. "I'd like to see this telegram."
"You don't need to see it. Who do you think you are challenging me? I'm the law around here, son, and if I say it's so then it's so and you just need to take my word for it!" Jackson yelled, thinking the elevation in his voice would emphasize his authority.
The detective burst out laughing, riling the sheriff to the point of veins bulging in his neck. "You can't be serious. Take your word for it? Does anyone actually fall for that?"
"Damn you, Sheridan, I'm the sheriff and if I say it's so, then it's so!!"
"Mayor? Have you seen this alleged telegram?" The detective focused on Jed.
"Well, no, Ed just came and got me and told me about it and said we needed to go arrest you before you left town."
Trace beckoned the mayor over to the side, out of hearing range from Jackson, who appeared to be close to hyperventilating, and addressed Turner in a hushed voice. "Mayor, you know the sheriff has it out for me. You know the sheriff is stuck up the Cranes' asses and is pissing his pants to think that Ben is going to come back to town and find Rachel married and he couldn't do anything to stop it. There is no telegram, there is no price on my head and I give you my word that I will not leave town. When that moron produces a legitimate telegram from -" she had to think up a name, quickly. Looking up she saw the silver gilted spheres of the pawn shop, "Marshal Silvers saying that there is, then and only then will I surrender to that piece of crap wearing a badge."
Nodding, Jed turned to Jackson. "Ed?"

"Yeah?"
"Who sent you that telegram from Cottonwood?"
"What?" This question obviously surprised him, if the tone of his voice was any indication.
"You hard of hearin'? I said, who sent you that telegram? What's the damned sheriff's name?"
Too much hesitancy confirmed the mayor's suspicion, cleared Trace and infuriated the devious and caught sheriff. "Uh..." Jackson had obviously not expected to be questioned as, usually, no one wanted to deal with the wrath of the Cranes and whoever Ed was picking on always suffered the consequences of his coercion.
"Thank you," Trace smiled, triumphantly, hauling herself up to the seat beside her intended. "You boys have a nice day." With that, she snapped the reins and Moses slowly started clomping forward. Rachel proudly linked her arm with her fiancée's and smiled sweetly at both men.
They weren't even a wagon's length away when they heard the mayor turn on the sheriff. "Why, you horse's ass! What thee hell ails you? Maybe you want to make a blasted idjit out of yerself in front of that Sheridan feller but I sure as hell do not!"
"B-but Jed...you know what will happen when Jacob and his boys come back and Rachel is married...I'm trying to do that boy a favor!"
"You're trying to save your own crooked hide, you imbecile! Next time, don't bother me, 'less you got proof! I am fed up to here with your horseshit!"
***************
"Trace? I know how you knew that Ed was lying because you would obviously know if there was or wasn't a bounty out for you...but how did you know how to trap Ed like that?" They were well beyond the outskirts of the main street.
"Because he thinks he is smarter than everyone else and those he isn't smarter than are intimidated by his connection to the Cranes."
"You do know that he will probably show up at the wedding and object."
"On what grounds?"
"He won't need any. He's Ed Jackson."
"Oh? Well, we'll just see about that."

Wondering what Trace had up her sleeve, Rachel decided not to question it. The detective had not steered her wrong yet and the blonde fully believed that Trace would not let anything disrupt their special day. Leaning her head against Trace's shoulder, Rachel closed her eyes, dreaming about Wednesday night.
"Rach?"
"Uh huh?"
"I asked Isaac Tipping to be my best man."
Opening her eyes, Rachel looked over at the brunette. "Really?"
"Well...I don't really know anyone that well and Isaac seems to be a good kid. Plus, he wants to help around the ranch a little bit."
"Doing what?"
Trace chewed on her lip. Why was it she had no problem going toe-to-toe with the sheriff yet the thought of the petite blonde being upset with her caused her to pause. "Helping me fix up the fence..." she said, almost demurely.
"I thought the fence was all fixed."
"It is...we're going to reinforce it." Off Rachel's confused expression, Trace explained, "I bought barbed wire."
"Barbed wire? Wh -?"
"Half of the order is in the back," Trace said, as Rachel turned around to look, "and Isaac is going to pick up the other half on Thursday then help me put it up."
Rachel looked at the detective, her expression more inquisitive than suspicious. "When did you decide this?"
"A little over two weeks ago. Rachel, the land needs protection and we can't be everywhere at once. With barbed wire wrapped around the fence, no one will just be able to crash through, not without causing damage to their herd or their horses. And if they want to physically knock it down then that will make them extra work and a project they will not be able to complete without me noticing."
"You thought a lot about this." Again, it was a statement of acknowledgement instead of a question.

"Yes. If we are going to take a stand, we need to start now, before the Cranes get back. I want everyone to know we mean business. And Rachel...I think I can turn people in this town around, I really do."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean...it sounds like everybody is damned tired of being run by the Cranes. I think all they need is a little incentive to make it stop."
"And you think you can be that incentive?"
She looked at her bride-to-be and smiled, reassuringly, at her. "I know I can."
Rachel wanted to believe that was true but since Trace had not even dealt with the Cranes yet, the blonde felt she had a reason to be afraid and skeptical. Time would definitely tell.
*********************
51
The next day was Tuesday and both women had a full day ahead of them. The morning began with a kiss, a loving embrace and a big breakfast. Rachel could not contain her building excitement at her approaching wedding day. So much to be done, so little time to do it in.
The first order of business, which Trace impatiently indulged the blonde by doing, was to fit the detective into Frank Young's wedding trousers. The brunette stood there, fidgeting, while Rachel pinned the black cotton slacks with a satin pinstripe running the length of the outer seams at the waist and an inch at each inseam. Once Trace stepped out of them, she could get to her daily chores and then start on that fence before returning to the house, taking a shower and going into town for her 'bachelor' party.
At approximately noon, Trace came back to the house to announce to Rachel that they were the proud grandparents of five little baby bunnies. The blonde could not help but smile at the big, tough detective's soft heart when it came to the rabbits and it prompted her not to reiterate, at this time, that Trace should not get too attached to the tiny critters for, at some point, they would be on her plate.
The detective also arrived just in time to try on the pants that had been taken in. They weren't perfect but they fit well enough to compliment the tall stance of the brunette. Thanking Rachel with a kiss that neither wanted to end, Trace then hitched up Moses, loaded tools onto the back of the wagon and headed out to the area of the property that seemed to be the hardest hit by the cattle drive.
Carefully, she began to affix the barbed wire to the wooden rails in a manner that immediately looked ominous and threatening. Trace had completed about fifty feet of

fence when she heard the unmistakable sound of hoofbeats closing in. Turning, she smiled, recognizing Isaac Tipping as the boy rode up and dismounted a big, gorgeous palomino stallion, strong and well-muscled.
"Hey, Trace," Isaac greeted.
"Hey, yourself, Isaac."
Admiring the detective's handiwork, the teenager grinned. "So this is how you do it, huh?"
"Yep." Trace sighed, glad to be able to take a break. "When you come back and bring me the rest of my order, I'll put you to work. But you'll need some good strong gloves and tools like these," the detective indicated the implements by her feet.
"I can get them from the store. Trace?"
"Yes?"
"I'm invited to your gatherin' tonight at Wilbur's, ain't I? I mean, bein' you best man and all."
"You allowed to be in Wilbur's?"
"Hell, yeah," he stated, indignantly.
"Then I would be proud to have you there, best man," the detective smiled. Looking up at the position of the sun, Trace decided she might as well be done for the day and loaded everything back onto the wagon. "Isaac...I have a favor to ask of you."
"Anythin', Trace, you just name it."
"Well...don't be so quick to agree because it will involve you not going to my party."
The teenager's shoulder's sagged a little. "What is it?"
"Matthew is going to bring Mrs. Reddick by here this evening to keep Rachel company while we're in town. Now, you know the sheriff doesn't like me and I don't trust him and, since he is not invited to the celebration tonight, I want to make sure he doesn't come poking around here, bothering the ladies. Now...when I go to town I will have a five gallon can of eggnog spiked with two quarts of whiskey. If you meet me by the gate, I'll make sure you have some of that if you find a place to keep yourself hidden and keep an eye on the women."
"Okay...what do you want me to do, just watch the house?"

"Yes. And, if Ed Jackson, or anyone you recognize to be representing the Crane clan comes anywhere near the house, I want you to ride into town as fast as you can and get me. Think you could do that for me?"
He shrugged. Eggnog and whiskey? That beat the flat ale he knew Silas would serve him any day. So what if he might not see Cassandra do a harlot dance for Trace, there would be other opportunities for that, he was sure. What Trace was asking of him was a very grown-up responsibility and he suddenly felt very honored and proud that Trace would trust him to do this. It would give him the chance to start proving himself to the cowboy. His chest suddenly puffed out. "Yup. I could do that for ya."
"Great, thanks, I appreciate it."
They agreed on a time, shook on it and Trace climbed on the wagon, heading back to the house.
************
Before Trace took her shower, Rachel insisted on 'trimming up' her hair. The detective was initially apprehensive about this but then she knew the blonde could not do a worse job than Mark had done. However, she relaxed, when Rachel stood in front of her, concentrating on the top of her head and had to stand between the detective's open legs for proper access.
The part of Trace's hound-dog nature that controlled her libido from her past, reared its head as the detective's face was eye level with Rachel's breasts. Thankfully, the blonde could not see the lascivious grin the brunette displayed as she gazed longingly, just imagining what she would do to them. Just one more day, Trace, she kept telling herself, just one more day...
After a cold shower, something she was getting used to - her next invention would be to figure out how to heat the water - she dried off and dressed in brown denim trousers and a beige button-down shirt with dark brown stripes. Brushing her hair, she decided she liked the trim Rachel had given her, still longish and shaggy but not unkempt. She had gotten used to herself with shorter hair, just like she had started to get used to her body hair growing wild. After all, she was pretending to be a man and men did not shave legs and underarms. She had to admit it was a little awkward at first, especially wearing sleeveless shirts but it certainly helped with the illusion. Although, tomorrow, she would be clean-shaven, smooth for her bride, for her wedding night. Just thinking about that made Trace give herself another splash of cold water.
While Trace had been showering and dressing, Rachel had been preparing the eggnog/whiskey concoction which would be the detective's contribution to the gathering at Wilbur's. Since Silas couldn't close the saloon and Trace didn't want to be paying for drinks for cowboys who weren't a part of the celebration, they agreed on the spiked beverage as a compromise. If the small group of men wanted anything else, they could

buy it themselves. It was the best they could do with an event planned on such short notice.
Descending from the loft, the detective approached her bride-to-be, whose eyes roved over Trace more than appreciatively. "My...don't you look...just good enough to eat," Rachel breathed.
Stopping, looking skyward, Trace chuckled. "You have got to stop saying stuff like that..." She stepped closer to Rachel and took her in her arms.
"Why? You want me to admire you, don't you?"
"Oh, absolutely...it's just...you don't realize the meaning of your words sometimes..."
Rachel cocked her head. "My meaning or how you interpret them?"
Good point, Trace thought, although she knew the blonde would not comprehend the vulgarity of the brunette's interpretation and she was not about to introduce her to that aspect of her personality...at least not yet. She preferred Rachel in her pristine state of mind. The idea of the blonde knowing what she did about the vile side of human nature was enough and for her to still maintain her inviolate outlook after everything that had happened to her showed Trace just what kind of woman she was dealing with and one she did not want to change. She enveloped the blonde in her arms, lovingly, and kissed her forehead, then her cheek, then her lips, lingering there, not pressing for anything more intense.
Breaking the kiss, Trace smiled at Rachel, who kept her lips pursed, eyes closed and face angled up waiting, expecting another kiss. When Trace obliged with only a peck, the blonde blinked at her. "That's it?"
"For now. Elizabeth and Matthew are due here any minute and I'm not about to start something I can't finish."
"Big talker," Rachel teased. "You better be able to back those words up tomorrow night..."
"Don't you worry your pretty little head about that, Miz Rachel," Trace countered with a knowing smirk, making the blonde shiver. "I don't think you'll have any complaints."
"Pretty sure of yourself, aren't you?"
Shrugging, the detective released the blonde and shoved her hands into her pockets, rocking back and forth from her heels to the balls of her feet. "Guess you'll just have to wait and see..."

The sound of a creaking wagon and the jingling of reins pulling up to the house interrupted their conversation. Reluctantly taking her eyes off the detective, Rachel stepped out onto the porch to greet the Reddicks.
Matthew Reddick, a strapping young man in his late twenties, entered the house and saw Trace lift the can of whiskey-laced eggnog. "Here, let me help you with that."
"No, I've got it, just make sure my way is clear to the back of the wagon." And with that, they flew by the two women who backed away from the door to let them through.
"Oh, my..." Elizabeth mused, watching Trace. "Got yourself a strong one, don't you? And good looking, too..."
Rachel smiled at the compliment, the adoration on her face and in her body language more than apparent. "Yes, I think I got mighty lucky."
The women walked inside the house while Trace and Matthew situated the can on the wagon. "Sure you want to do this, Trace?" Matthew asked.
"Do what? Go to town and have a good time?"
"No, get married," Matthew grinned. "Your life won't ever be the same."
Looking toward the doorway, Trace sighed, "I hope that's true, Matthew, I hope that's true."
*********************
52
Matthew was surprised to meet up with Isaac Tipping as they were leaving the Triple Y property line. Trace filled the boy's pint flask, like she promised she would and then they parted ways.
"How come Isaac won't be at your stag session?" Matthew wondered.
"He's doing me a little favor."
"Keeping an eye on the house for you?"
"Yep."
"I thought of suggesting that myself but I was hoping it was just me being spooked."
"Ed Jackson is a coward, Matt. And right now he is desperate. I wouldn't put anything past him."

"You think it's wise to leave the ladies? I mean, we could bring them into town and take them to visit with Mrs. Ledbetter..." Matthew suggested.
"We could...but then, that opens a different can of worms. Jackson is a snake but I don't think he would burn the house, barn or stable down with Rachel and Elizabeth there. He doesn't want to kill Rachel, he just wants to save her for Ben Crane. But I don't think he would have any qualms about torching the place while no one is there."
"What do you think he'll do if he finds Rachel and my wife there?"
"You've been dealing with him a lot longer than I have, what do you think he'll do?" Trace wondered.
"Just try to scare them, threaten Rachel, try to warn her off getting married."
"Yes, that's what I think. And Rachel can handle that, Jackson doesn't intimidate her anymore," Trace stated.
"So, what do you think Isaac can do?"
"He's got a fast horse. He can get to town and get us."
Reddick nodded. "You sure you aren't biting off more than you can chew here, Trace? I mean, Ed Jackson's one thing. The Cranes are entirely another."
Looking over at the man seated next to her, Trace said, "You want your town back, Matt? Your freedom? The chance to live your own life and raise your kids not to be afraid?"
"That's a nice dream, Trace...but it's just that - a dream. You don't know what it's like. But you will. And, unfortunately, by marrying the one and only woman Ben Crane really wants, you'll see it a lot clearer than any of the rest of us."
Nodding, acknowledging Matthew's words, Trace sighed. "I think I can turn things around, Matt. But I can't do it alone."
Absorbing that, Matthew cocked his head. "Not that I think you have an ice block's chance in hell but I'd be interested to hear how you think you can do that. And no one's ever called me Matt before." He locked looked over and Trace and grinned. "I like it."
***************************
"You have got the whole town talking, Rachel," Elizabeth told the blonde as they sat out on the porch with cups of tea. "This mysterious drifter comes to town, shakes everything up, makes Ed Jackson face every day like he's got a bee in his bonnet and then claims you as his bride? What's going on?"

"I love him, Elizabeth. I think I fell in love with him the moment I laid eyes on him, I just didn't know it," Rachel gushed. "He's strong and loving and protective and fearless, everything a..." she stopped and thought about her words. "Everything a spouse should be."
"It's that fearless part that concerns me and it should full well concern you, too." It sounded as though she were reprimanding the blonde. The her tone softened. "But I can certainly see why you fell for him."
**************
The sun had set maybe two hours earlier and there was a chill in the air that was unusual for that time of year. Pulling his collar up around his neck, Isaac was debating dismounting and sitting down by one of the bigger trees to shield himself from the strong breeze that had just come up. He had positioned himself two rows of trees thick in the forest on the north side of the house. He could see the porch from his viewpoint and was pretty sure no one from the house had seen him or could see him now. The teenager was three-quarters through the contents of his flask and feeling cocky and unconquerable when he heard a voice behind him.
"Whatcha doin' here, Isaac? Gettin' an eyeful or planning on gettin' a piece of that pretty little blonde before she gets taken?"
Reining his horse around, the boy's eyes narrowed when he saw the sheriff. "Don't talk about Miss Rachel like that."
"Funny...just a few weeks ago, you were thinking about her like that," Jackson reminded him.
"No, I was just goin' along with you because you threatened my father's store."
"Well, just remember, son, I can still put your father out of business. Now..why don't you run along back into town and let me do what I have to do. You're missing the festivities. After all, aren't you the best man? How you ever got yourself mixed up in that, I will never know. There's still time to get smart, boy. Now get out of here."
"No." Isaac sat tall in his saddle. "Leave Miss Rachel and Miz Reddick be, Sheriff."
Jackson was startled by his defiance and then he laughed. "And just what do you think a scrawny little thing like you is gonna do to stop me?"
"Ride to town and get Trace and Mr. Reddick."
Jackson considered this. "You know, I could shoot you right here, boy, and no one'd be the wiser."

"You could. But you won't."
The sheriff unholstered his six shooter and pointed it at the teenager. "And what makes you think I won't?"
Holding his head high, the teenager feigned composure he did not really have. He pressed on, not wanting Jackson to see his fear. "Because you're afraid of Trace Sheridan and you know he'd kill you in your sleep if anythin' happens to Miss Rachel."
"Why, you little snot-faced...!" He sputtered, angrily. "I ain't afraid of nobody, 'specially not that half-breed lookin' cowboy. All I'd have to say is that I caught you out here gettin' ready to do somethin' to Rachel and I had to shoot you to stop you."
"Nobody would believe you, Sheriff," Isaac continued, not sure at this point if it was courage or idiocy propelling him forward. "Miz Reddick is in there with Miss Rachel and Mr. Reddick was with Trace when they left and Mr. Reddick knows I'm here and why and it ain't to give either of them ladies trouble. But they was expectin' you would. I ain't tryin' to show you disrespect, Sheriff, but I was asked to make sure you or nobody else went anywhere near them ladies and that's just what I aim to do."
Locking stares, Jackson shook his head and reholstered his gun. "You just bought yourself a whole heap a trouble, boy, you know that, don't ya?"
"I 'spect so, Sheriff." And trouble for his father, too, he was sure. But he did not back down. He believed what Trace promised him about not letting the Cranes take his father's store. "It's up to you, 'course, but if I was you, I'd ride outta here and save yourself a heap a trouble."
"Well, you ain't me, now are ya, boy?" Jackson spit out.
Amen to that, Isaac thought. "No, sir. Just sayin' s'all."
Gritting his teeth, Jackson glared at the teenager, ugly distaste showing in his eyes. "You'll regret this, boy," the sheriff uttered through clenched teeth.
"Yes, sir." The teenager knew there was probably truth to that, as he swallowed hard. No one was more surprised than young Isaac Tipping when Ed Jackson turned his horse around and rode away.
It was only after he could no longer hear the horse's hooves trotting over dried twigs that he let out his breath in a sigh of relief. It was then he realized that his saddle was wet.
*************************
53

The party at Wilbur's was winding down. All of Trace's new friends had been in attendance - Jed and Joseph Turner, Caleb Tipping, Luther Foster, the goldsmith, the banker, the usual men who played cards with Matthew every time Trace was there and even two of the Indians she was doing business with stopped in for a couple shots of whiskey. Trace was surprised but actually pleased when the four old gentlemen who sat in front of the barbershop dropped by and they didn't turn out to be bad company at all.
As the evening wore on, more and more men joined the festivities, deciding they liked this Trace person very much and seemed sincerely happy that Miss Rachel had found someone who seemed honest and would be good to her. When the subject finally got around to the contemptible things Ben Crane had said about the bride-to-be, everyone discreetly admitted they did not believe it and had never believed it.
Everybody only had kind things to say about Rachel and the more the group imbibed, the more the conversation leaned toward grumbling about the Crane reign and how it individually affected them all, not just as business owners but as citizens of Sagebrush, as well. Normally, the fact that John Carver and his son, Seth, were drinking at the bar, listening to every word, would have put a damper on any grousing out loud but, for some reason, Trace's presence was empowering and seemed to make everyone just a bit bolder. The Carvers were not there to listen in as much as they were there to keep an eye on Trace while they knew the sheriff was making a little visit to the Triple Y. The two men allowed the celebration to continue without incident as they were quite sure there would be no wedding the following night.
The highlight of the evening turned out to be Cassandra's very seductive dance, ending it by plunking herself down abruptly Trace's lap. This delighted the mayor, who was willing to buy Trace an hour with the prostitute as a wedding gift. If Jed hadn't offered, Cassandra would have given Trace one on the house anyway. The detective respectfully declined and found herself very uncomfortable with the redhead's constant attempts to cuddle her. She must be in love if she wasn't even taking advantage of the invitation to cop a feel whenever she wanted.
All too soon for some (but not soon enough for Trace), the party was over and Silas was amiably kicking everyone out. All of the attendees promised that they would, indeed, be present at the chapel to witness the marriage of Trace Sheridan and Rachel Young, which pleased Trace because she knew it would be a nice surprise for her bride.
Singing 'Buffalo Gals', loud and off key, Trace and Matthew shushed each other as Isaac Tipping rode up to them. He had heard them long before they reached the entrance to the property. They weren't really drunk...but neither were they sober.
"Hey, Isaac," Trace grinned. "Quiet night?"
"Well, the sheriff did come by just as you 'spected he would."
"What! Why didn't you come and get us?"

The teenager took a deep breath, his damp saddle and britches now starting to chafe. "I told him to leave."
"And he left?" Matthew blinked, shocked.
"Well, not right away. But I told him that you wouldn't take kindly to anything happenin' to Miss Rachel, Miz Reddick or me and he saw my way and rode out."
Trace was impressed. "Why, thank you, Isaac. Obviously, I picked the right man for the job. You are the best man."
Grinning proudly at the compliment, Isaac could feel his chest expand. "Thank you, Trace."
"No, thank you, Isaac." The brunette smiled then started sniffing the air as she was sure she detected the distinct odor of urine and wet leather. "What's that smell?"
"Well, I gotta get goin'," the teenager said, quickly. "I'll see you tomorrow at the church, okay, Trace?"
"Sure. Thanks again, Isaac, I appreciate it."
"Me, too," Matthew shouted at the retreating Palomino.
They looked at each other, shrugged and continued to the house, resuming their horrendous rendition of 'Buffalo Gals.'
*********************
54
"Ooooh, my head," Trace wailed, from the sofa. She had never made it to the loft and Rachel was so annoyed that she didn't even try to assist her. The detective awoke fully dressed, including her boots. "Oh, God, oh, shit," the detective moaned, her head hammering, stomach lurching and the room spinning. Trace remembered that sometimes it helped with 'the whirlies' if she put one foot on the floor. First, she had to find the floor...
"Trace, your language..." Rachel reminded.
"I think I'm going to be really sick," the detective whined, face first into the cushion.
"Then you better get yourself outside to throw up."
"I can't move, my head hurts too bad."

"And whose fault is that?" Rachel was not amused.
"Oh, God, God, please, if you get me through this, I'll never drink again, I swear..."
"That's a hangover talking." Rachel shook her head. "Funny how you're calling for the Lord now..."
"Rachel, don't you have anything to get me through this?" Trace still didn't dare to move.
"I am making you some cabbage soup." The blonde heard the detective make a noise that closely resembled gagging. "It will work." And then she looked pointedly at the brunette prone on her sofa and said, "It better work."
*********************
Two hours later, the detective's head had stopped pounding and ginger tea was starting to soothe her nausea. Puking a few times into the bushes hadn't hurt, either. And Rachel's comment of "I've seen more life in a corpse," was said with a little more sting than it should have had. The last thing she wanted was the blonde to be mad at her, especially not with what was at stake following the wedding.
If Trace hadn't looked so pathetic, Rachel might have been able to stay perturbed with her but now that the brunette was beginning to become human again, all the blonde wanted was for the detective to feel better so that their special day would go as smoothly as possible.
*************
Taking her shower, Trace angled the straight razor carefully, running the freshly sharpened blade over her underarms and legs, fortunately only acquiring a few minor nicks. She had never used such an archaic implement as the ivory-handled razor before and respected it immensely, knowing the edge could probably cut a limb off if need be. Oh, how she longed for the gels of the modern world, which softened and moisturized the skin and made shaving a much more tolerable event. However, the matching ivory shaving cup and brush with badger bristles that belonged to Rachel's father, came in handy as she was able to work up a decent lather with the borax soap. The water had been warmed by the sun, which made it a bit more enjoyable and a little easier to remove all the body hair she had accumulated by not having to shave over goosebumps.
Rachel had already been picked up by Matthew and Elizabeth Reddick, who had taken her to Molly Ledbetter's, where she would bathe, address any last minute alteration issues and then get dressed for the wedding. Trace had another half hour before she had to saddle up Chief and head to town. It was her fondest wish to ride in on Rio but the mustang just wasn't ready for his public debut yet.

After binding herself down, the detective put on white button-down shirt that Rachel had boiled clean the day before, her wedding slacks, a grey satin vest and a string tie. Her swallowtail coat with satin lapels that matched her trousers was waiting at the church. Rachel had brought it in on the wagon with her so it would not get all wrinkled. She asked Trace to wear different clothes in and change at the chapel but the detective did not want to take the chance of anyone seeing her undressed.
Taking one last look around the cabin, Trace closed the door behind her knowing that when she returned, she would carry the love of her life over the threshold and they would start a new journey together, beginning it with a much anticipated consummation. At that thought, a rush of heat captured her body and then left as quickly as it had come. Shaking the sensation out of her system, Trace walked down the steps and to Chief, who she had saddled up prior to her shower.
"You have a good wedding. Do not worry about here."
Trace turned to smile at Little Hawk, one of the four Indians who were going to deliver cattle to the ranch. "Thank you. I am grateful to you and Black Feather for watching over the house while we are in town. I will make sure you will not go unrewarded for this."
"You standing against Crane is reward enough." Little Hawk was anything but little. He was burly and barrel-chested and almost as tall as Trace. He had weathered skin and a wrinkled face but he had kind eyes. Trace had not asked the two warriors to come and guard the house. They decided on their own that it would be done. Trace could not have left the homestead in more capable hands.
*****************
At Five o'clock, Trace took her place at the alter, with Isaac standing next to her, dressed in his Sunday best. The small church was packed with faces of men Trace had mingled with at her party and women she had never seen before and assumed they must be 'the wives.'
The detective was not accustomed to feeling anxious. She wasn't scared of getting married to Rachel or regretting her decision in any way, yet she was suddenly cold and her insides were shaking. She drew in several deep breaths to steady her nerves.
"Stop fidgeting." The firm yet melodic voice of Pastor Edwards snapped Trace out of it and, as the organ music pealed forth Mendelssohn's Wedding March, startling Trace and Isaac nearly out of their respective skins, she suddenly stood very straight and tall, accepting and acknowledging the full responsibility of this moment.
Everyone turned and looked toward the entranceway as Molly Ledbetter, attired in a dusty rose-colored velvet dress proceeded down the aisle, beaming as though it were her own wedding. When she reached the chancel rail directly in front of the altar, she winked at Trace, who smiled in reflex.

Then Rachel stood in the doorway and began her walk down the aisle. Trace's heart stopped at the sight of the gorgeous women floating toward her, radiantly beautiful in her mother's wedding gown, altered just enough to personalize it as Rachel's. Her hair was braided and held back by sapphire-studded silver combs and she carried a shower bouquet of white asters.
Reaching the altar, Rachel handed her flowers to Molly and Trace took a step forward, standing next to this stunning apparition who, within a matter of minutes was to be her wife. Even though they faced Reverend Edwards, neither woman could take their eyes off each other. When Trace mouthed the words, "I love you," Rachel was sure she was going to pass out from sheer euphoria.
*************
Hearing the organ music was the cue for Ed Jackson and the Carvers to enter the church. Their plan was to stand in the back and wait for the preacher to ask if anyone had reason to object to the union and they would all object...for different made up reasons. And being that Pastor Edwards was never one to cross the sheriff, the marriage ceremony would not be completed.
So, it was with great surprise when Jackson and his sidekicks ascended the steps of the church, their entry was blocked by two fully armed members of the neighboring Indian tribe. The were carrying Remington rifles, Bowie knives, a bow slung across their backs and a full quiver of arrows. The looked like they meant business and they were foolishly brushed by.
"Out of my way, Injun, we got business in the church." It was John Carver who spoke. Then he made the mistake of trying to push the Native American out of his way. The next thing he remembered he was flat on his back, five feet away from the doorway.
"Big mistake, son," Jackson told the young warrior.
"I am not your son. You have no business here," the young man responded.
"I'll throw you in jail, savage!" Jackson yelled at him.
"White man's laws do not mean me. You lock me up, you answer to my father."
Jackson and the Carvers blanched. Could this young warrior blocking their way indeed be the son of Moving Elk, one of the best known and bravest warriors in the plains nations? It had been rumored that he migrated his tribe to a stretch of land a couple miles from Sagebrush. Yes, things may be friendly now but there were horror stories about how the tribal chief had single-handedly cut down platoons of cavalries who dared to attack his family. Did they want to take that chance? John Carver decided for them by getting back up, dusting himself off and keeping his distance. Extremely peeved, he crooked his finger at Jackson.

"Now what, Ed?" Carver glared at the sheriff. "This cowboy isn't turning out to be quite the little pantywaist you thought he'd be. Jacob is not going to be happy with you."
Standing in the middle of the street, stewing, Jackson said, "Maybe it's time we paid a little visit to the Triple Y...if everybody's here, no one will be out there."
With that, the three men ran in the direction of the sheriff's office to find their horses. The two warriors just smiled.
****************
Immediately after the ceremony, where for the first time in the history of Sagebrush, people actually cheered when Pastor Edwards said,'I now pronounce you man and wife,' the invited guests assembled at the home of the minister, where a sumptuous wedding supper was served. The house was very attractively decorated in green and white festoons, tastefully arranged with ferns and asters.
While everyone ate and drank and had a merry time, all the bride and groom could think of was how soon would be an appropriate time to leave. After the dinner, Trace and Rachel were driven by Isaac in a double horse-drawn coach, courtesy of grocer Luther Foster, to the photo gallery, where they had their wedding picture taken.
Returning to the pastor's house, they thanked everyone, bid them goodnight, hitched Chief up to the Reddicks wagon and were taken back to the Triple Y.
*********************
55
Reaching the front door of the house, Trace easily picked Rachel up in her arms, a compelling action that was very typical of the tall detective, which shouldn't have surprised the blonde but it did. It also made Rachel giggle in response to the feeling of being lifted and the chivalrous manner in which her spouse was behaving, obviously taking her role as 'husband' very seriously.
"What are you doing?"
"Indulging in a tradition," Trace responded as she pushed the door open with her foot and carried her bride over the threshold. Kissing the woman in her arms with loving abandon, Trace set her down and bolted the door shut behind them. She turned and admired her 'wife,' who seemed to be glowing, even in the dim light of twilight, enhanced only minimally by a kerosene lamp Rachel lit. "Hi, Mrs. Sheridan," Trace said, unable to disguise the unbridled affection in her voice.
"Hi, Mr. Sheridan," Rachel threw back, her voice just as thick with allure. "It was a nice ceremony, wasn't it?"

Removing her suit jacket, hastily undoing her tie and shedding her vest, she said, "The reception was nice, too. You have a lot of people who love you in this town, Rachel."
"Thanks to you. You brought them all back to me."
Grinning, Trace put on her best old west accent and said, "Why, t'wernt nothin', Miz Rachel. I jes' set 'em straight, s'all." She touched the blonde on her perfectly proportioned nose. "Now what do you want to do?" Her body was almost vibrating with anticipation.
Rachel blushed, slowly peering up at her through honey-hued eyelashes. "How about another tradition?"
Studying her for any hint of trepidation, her taller companion said, "Are you sure? I mean, really sure?"
Not releasing Trace's eyes for a second, her intent clear, Rachel exhaled a shaky breath. "I'm absolutely sure. I've never been more sure of anything in my life."
Enclosing Rachel's hands in her own, Trace said, "Then let's go up there." She nodded her head toward the loft.
"Why up there?" the blonde asked, still not losing eye contact with the tall, striking woman in front of her.
"Total privacy. I overheard a few drunken whispers at the reception about peeking in our windows. Going up there will guarantee our privacy. And I don't want to have to think about any interruptions. I want to be free to be me making love to you, Rachel, not the Trace Sheridan everyone in town knows."
"Me, too," she said, her voice a low quiver. The arc of emotion passing between them was jarring and Rachel was enchanted by it and by the woman standing before her.
"Are you ready?"
"I've been ready," she admitted as she doused the kerosene lantern.
"Well, you were the one who insisted on waiting until the wedding night," Trace nudged the smaller woman as they headed to the stairs.
"That's the proper and traditional thing to do."
"Sweetheart," Trace chuckled, following her bride up the steps, "there isn't anything traditional about this relationship."
****************************************

"I haven't been in this bed since my Mama died," Rachel told Trace, staring at the quilt her mother had made when the blonde was a little girl.
"Is it okay that we're up here? If it's too painful, we can go back downstairs."
"No. This was my bed. I just started sleeping downstairs because that room smelled like my folks and it made me feel close to them. But you've been sleeping up here and now the pillows will smell like you."
Stepping up behind the smaller woman, her bride, Trace wrapped her arms around Rachel's waist, lacing her fingers together, kissing her on the top of the head. Leaning back into the embrace, the blonde covered Trace's hands with her own. "I love you Rachel Young," the brunette whispered.
"Rachel Sheridan," the blonde corrected, smiling, slapping one of Trace's hands lightly.
"Right, right...best I don't forget that, huh?" Trace grinned, swaying, slowly moving Rachel with her, toward the bed.
"Not if you don't want my wifely duties withheld," the petite blonde teased.
Turning her around, Trace fully focused on her, the look so mesmerizing, Rachel forgot to expel any air from her lungs. "What we're about to do? I guarantee you won't ever consider it a 'duty'."
Breathlessly, the newlywed said, "Show me?"
"Exhale, sweetheart," Trace smiled, "I don't want you passing out...at least not from this." Dipping her head, she placed a gentle kiss on Rachel's lips, intensifying the motion as the blonde urged her on, following her lead. One thing Trace had learned was that Rachel was an extremely quick study, a thought now that made the brunette's body almost tremble with expectation.
Rachel dissolved into the kiss, the sensation of her taller companion's tongue swirling around the inside of her mouth, sensually pillaging everything it touched. Rachel wasn't sure how all this was supposed to go, all she knew was the room was sweltering and spinning and she wanted nothing more than to be laying on the bed with Trace holding her, kissing her, doing things to her that made her cheeks burn deeply.
Removing her lips from Trace's, Rachel gasped for air, sitting on the bed.
Proud of the spell she could cast on this young woman, Trace smiled. "Are you all right? I'll go slow, okay?"
"This can't hurt the baby, can it?" the green eyes almost begged her to say no.

"Nothing that we do tonight, or any night for that matter, will harm the baby, I promise." Trace removed the white shirt she had worn for the ceremony and began to take off the binding, when Rachel stopped her.
"Let me...please?"
*************************
The detective nodded silently and handed the blonde the end of her wrap. She slowly spun while the material was unraveled. Before she turned around to reveal her naked breasts, Trace drew a deep breath. It was not that she was suddenly shy and the word 'inhibited' could certainly never be used to describe the detective, but she knew that anything that happened between her and her 'bride' tonight would deeply impact the blonde and how Rachel would react or respond to the thought of their making love from here on.
To her knowledge, Trace had never been with a 'virgin' before. Nor had she ever been with a woman whose only experience with sex had been a horrific, intensely degrading one. The responsibility of showing this lovely and pure-of-heart woman how wonderful making love could and would be was immensely intimidating in its own right but the detective felt almost...blessed...that it would be she who would be Rachel's teacher, lover.
The detective had never before been concerned about what she did in bed or what her 'conquest' may or may not have been feeling, emotionally, although her ego predicted that she also performed to provoke a highly vocal and sexual response from whomever was the recipient of her lust. Actually caring about whatever nameless, faceless woman happened to be in her embrace was just never an issue before. Trace was out for Trace and would have said and done whatever it took to get her prey into bed. But this...being in love thing...was now having a very profound effect on her. Their first time would be an awakening for both of them.
Trace stood there, before her new bride, feeling more exposed than she ever had before. It wasn't that she was naked from the waist up, fully displaying her breasts for the first time to Rachel, it was the way the blonde's appreciative eyes took in every inch of her skin, the reverence in which Rachel regarded her and how time seemed to stand still as the blonde reached up to touch her. Fingertips chilled from excitement and fear caused instant goosebumps on Trace's flesh as Rachel lightly circled the brunette's areola. The dark ring on the detective's breast got smaller as Trace's nipple became impossibly erect. It was torture and they hadn't even begun yet.
Rachel could not stop herself from staring at the womanly physique in front of her. She had been so used to seeing Trace bound down that she had almost forgot the brunette even had breasts, much less the magnificent pair she was now touching. The blonde only had her own body to compare them to and had no idea seeing another woman's would provoke such a beguiling feeling deep inside her.

The brunette exhaled, panting slightly, not even realizing she had been holding her breath. She covered Rachel's hand with her own, pressing the blonde's fingers against her. Trace knew Rachel did not, would not have a clue as to what she needed to do to make love to the detective and it was up to Trace to set the pace, to create the atmosphere in which this night would be one neither of them would soon forget.
Trace watched Rachel as she looked up expectantly into the detective's baby blues, now darkened with desire. The blonde was obviously overwhelmed and a little unnerved by what was happening between them and within her own body.
"I...I...don't...." Rachel could not get the words to come out of her mouth, could barely raise her voice above a whisper.
Reaching over, Trace put a finger to the blonde's lips. "Shhhh...I know," she soothed. Her eyes sparkled as they held the emerald gaze, conveying a deep love and compassion for the woman behind them. Almost imperceptibly shaking her head, just awed by the vision about to give herself to the detective, Trace raised Rachel's hand and kissed her palm, then the inside of her wrist.
Letting go of the blonde's arm momentarily, the brunette sat on the edge of the bed and removed her shoes and socks, then her trousers. She wasn't wearing any underwear. Standing up, she turned to face Rachel again, silently, letting the blonde absorb her toned, muscular, desirable body. Rachel's eyes automatically fell to the dark triangle of curls at the apex of her thighs. It made Trace chuckle, slightly.
"Like what you see?"
Blushing furiously, Rachel closed her eyes and turned her head away. "I'm sorry. I feel so bold. I've never seen another woman bare before."
Leaning in, Trace gently guided the blonde's face straightforward. "Sweetheart, please open your eyes." When the blonde slowly obeyed, the detective said, "I want you to look at me. I want you to get comfortable looking at me like this. You have no need to feel embarrassed or bold, no need to apologize. I intend to make love with you every chance I get and I refuse to do it with my clothes on. Okay?"
"Okay," Rachel responded but did not drop her gaze from the detective's face.
Nodding, the detective sat back down on the bed. "And I want you to get comfortable with me looking at you with no clothes on. Because I intend to do that a lot."
"Even when my belly gets big?"
"Especially when your belly gets big."