At the light rap on the door Michaela lifted her head from the papers. "Come in."
    The door swung open. "Morning, Dr. Mike," said Alison, stepping in quickly.
    "I'm glad you're here, Miss Lowell," said Michaela. "We haven't seen much of you since your sister left."
    "I've been quite busy."
    Michaela abstained from asking her how things were at the newly established Fort Lafayette. The young farmer had always been a very private person, and though she had been the object of a discreet but obvious courtship by a worthy member of the Army since the Windy Creek expedition, she had let nothing transpire. All Michaela knew was that Sergeant McKay had turned up the week before at Loren's store (Loren was the source of that). She had heard nothing since. She looked more closely at the younger woman, concerned. "You don't seem very well."
    "I'm not. That's why I'm here."
    "Please." The doctor motioned her to sit on the examination table. "That's a beautiful Indian necklace you're wearing," she said, to break the ice.
    Alison blushed. "Thanks."
    Somehow it had not been the right thing to say. Michaela got down to business. "Let's see," she said briskly, "what exactly do you feel?"
    "I sleep badly. And I can't eat a thing. Everything disgusts me. I'm afraid I'm growing weaker, but I don't know what to do. I thought that maybe some of your Indian potions..."
    "Yes, Cloud Dancing gave me the recipe for many corroborating drinks," said Michaela thoughtfully. She eyed Alison. "But I wouldn't want to give you something without knowing exactly the state of your health. Are these the only symptoms?"
    "What do you mean?" asked the young woman, on the defensive.
    "Well, I don't know. Tell me more about this disgust for food. Do you experience nausea?"
    Alison tensed. "I live on what I get from the land, I can't afford to be choosy."
    Michaela sensed her uneasiness. Ordinarily she would never have ventured on assumptions regarding respectable ladies of the neighbourhood, but here she heard too many warning bells. She tried to get closer to the point by remaining vague. "I'd only like to know," she said carefully, "if I have reason to suppose some particular circumstances..." This was getting difficult. Curse her Boston priggishness.
    Exasperated, Alison squared her shoulders. "The answer, Dr. Mike, is yes, you have reason to, but no, I'm not pregnant, I just got my period."
    Michaela stared at her. Well, at least now she knew where she stood. Where everybody stood. She thought about Marjorie and Loren, about how much she had felt protective towards her even if she was her older sister, how much her own fear of public opinion had been quickly replaced by concern for Marjorie's well-being. She wondered if Alison's behaviour had been somewhat influenced by Marjorie's, given the admiration the young woman had for her deceased sister. She just took her hand and smiled. "This explains much. Turmoil in the soul can cause the body to malfunction. I don't want to intrude, I just want to help you. For example, uhm," - let's see, this too was going to be difficult - "I was five years older than you when I married Sully, and I know from personal experience that, well, when a young lady reaches a certain age, starting a - a life in common can be - awkward. At first. I mean..."
    Alison's face was still set. "Don't worry, Doctor, I got that out of the way six years ago." Michaela almost gasped. "Sorry if I shocked you," added the young woman coldly.
    The doctor shook her head. She liked Alison for her courage in running her farm alone, and knew the admiration was mutual: Alison made a conscious effort to imitate her cultured speech. "I'm not shocked," she said gently. "I only wish we had talked more, and I hope we'll catch up. Please, I don't want to see you like this. Tell me something that can help me make you feel better."
    For a moment she feared that Alison would just insist for a bottle of Indian potion and go away. Then the young woman let her shoulders droop, leaning her hands on her knees. "You know the Red Needle?" she said in a low voice.
    "I've heard of it. Isn't it that cove of outlaws near Pueblo?"
    "The very one. Guess who's been sent there on a nearly suicide mission."
    Michaela slowly realised. "When?" she whispered, appalled.
    "Last Tuesday, the day after he came in town. I've had no news of him since."
    Everything made sense now. She laid a hand on Alison's arm. "I'm sure Sergeant McKay can look after himself."
    "I wish I could be as sure." Alison lifted her dark expressive eyes on Michaela. "I did what I did because I was afraid to lose him. Six years ago it was a childish foible - this time I knew what I was doing. But it's just been another mistake. He was right, he shouldn't have accepted my invitation. Now I miss him so badly. When I think that - that I might never hold him anymore..."
    Michaela tried to comfort her. "The Red Needle is a long way from here. There can't be news already. You must be patient."
    "I know," Alison replied, and the doctor saw the tears forming. "I keep thinking of the time Sully was lost, and what you must have endured. Then I tell myself I should not even dare to make a comparison. You surely have suffered so much more. Sully is your husband, and the father of your child. McKay is - he's just..."
    "He's the man you love," ended Michaela gently.
    Alison broke down. She covered her face with her hands. "I can't eat, I can't sleep anymore," she sobbed. Michaela sat on the bed beside her and put her arms around her. She hid her tears on her shoulder. "I'm so scared and I miss him so much, Michaela..."
    "Shhh. I know, I know."
    Just then the door opened and Jake and Teresa stepped inside. They took in the scene, turned on their heels and were gone.
    Michaela vaguely remembered they wanted to talk about the schoolchildren's inoculation against smallpox. She made a mental note of going to see them afterwards and kept softly patting Alison's back. "Sully could go up to the fort, asking to receive at once any news of Sergeant McKay. He'll find an excuse. We will relay to you anything we get. Would that help?"
    Alison straightened up. She nodded, sniffling.
    Michaela smiled. "And I want you to know something important, Alison. When Sully was lost and on the brink of death, one of the things that kept him alive was our love. All of it. The fact that we are together as a man and a woman, the passion we share. It's a bond that gets you right here." She pressed her hand on Alison's belly. "It goes straight to the source, more than any word, when love is true. I know, because it worked for me too, when I was in danger of my life. Don't regret anything of what happened between you and McKay. That might be the very edge he needs to pull himself out of trouble."
    "You sure?" whispered Alison with a faint smile.
    "Yes!" Michaela nodded firmly.
    The young woman sighed, dabbing her tears with the palm of her hand. "How I wish at least we'd seen the Reverend before."
    Michaela could not help but laugh. "There'll be time when he comes back."
    "If he comes back."
    "When he comes back." She looked at Alison with certainty. "Sergeant McKay is hard to kill. Trust me, I can tell."
    
    You know the Red Needle?
    Those words kept coming back as she walked home from her employees' cabin. Alison heard them in McKay's own voice as he had spoken them, looking at her with troubled eyes, barely moving his lips. She had felt those words echoing eerily when she had chosen the same way to tell Dr. Mike. They meant death. Michaela had given her many reasons to hope, for which she was grateful. But beyond them all she still heard that name like an ominous tolling.
    Dining with Bella and Abe had somewhat restored her spirits. Alison usually felt a little out of place amid the bustle of the children, but this time the warm hospitality of the family did her good. It was true they had inquired about that "fetchin' soldier" they had seen leave the farm at a very early hour a week before, but she had dodged the questions skilfully. And she had even appreciated the food.
    As she closed the door behind her, she felt very tired and longing for the oblivion of sleep. Provided she didn't start dreaming again that there was a horrible trap somewhere awaiting McKay, and that she had the power to avert it, if only she... if only... if only... She never managed to find out. She always woke up all sweaty and went back to a heavy, uneasy slumber.
    She took a little of the Indian brew Michaela had given her for her nerves. It was warming and tasted of wild flowers, sweet and strange, with the bitter vein of a still unripe fruit. It tasted like the brief moment of love she had shared with the handsome sergeant of the US Cavalry.
    As she undressed and washed quickly, she felt the house emptier than ever. Her life had started going downhill since the death of her parents. First her fiancé had left her. Then there had been long years of spiritual stasis and material struggle, until Susan had gone away. She had hoped that her marriage meant also a change for her, from warden of an irresponsible sister to free woman ready to make herself a life of her own with the man of her choice. Now that too was moving tragically out of her reach.
    Alison laid carefully her Sioux necklace on the nightstand and went to bed. Even before McKay had come back so unexpectedly into her life, she had fallen prey of an unforgivable act of sentimentalism. She had saved the yellow neckerchief he had used at Windy Creek to tie her swollen ankle. She had carefully washed it and had mended the hem. Since the night he had been with her, she slept with the neckerchief tucked under her pillow. Now she took it out, pressing it to her heart.
    You know the Red Needle?
    She had to concentrate on Michaela's words. On her wonderful thoughtfulness in suggesting that Sully be the one to go and ask for news at the fort. On her sensible musings about the value of physical love. On her utter trust in McKay's ability to survive. Yes, survive. One just had to look at him. And yet he had that something about the eyes, that strangely yielding quality in one so tough, the trace of a tendency to let himself be swamped by a stronger destiny. She had never seen a wide smile from him, let alone laughing, despite all his quirky sense of humour.
    You know the Red Needle?
    Alison pushed that thought away, turning around in the sheets. She felt vaguely dizzy. Must have been the Indian potion. She imagined once again to have McKay there in the darkness with her, in that very same bed. She could recreate in every detail the feel of his strong body against hers, his fine hands in her hair and in her own hands, his gentle mouth on her mouth, her face, her throat. He had proved to be a tender and caring lover, unashamed of his own passion. Alison had liked to watch his face as he lay back whispering her name. Must she go on for the rest of her life re-enacting a single night of love? No. There would be other nights. A whole lifetime of nights and days.
    Please come back, she thought. I miss you, Terence. I need you, she pleaded, feeling the whole sense of desertion of her still young and eager body. I love you. I love you.
    She fell into a deep sleep without realising it. There would be no dreams. Peace at last, until the morning.
    
    Corporal Winters settled tiredly against the tree trunk and laid his rifle on his knees. He would stand night watch for another two hours. Nine of his comrades were similarly placed among the trees and on the rocks around the camp. Seventeen slept around the fire, their weapons beside them, ready to spring up at any sign of danger. Three lay in freshly dug graves at the border of the wood.
    Trying to sneak up on the Red Needle by night had been disastrous, and only Sgt. McKay's steady nerves had avoided a massacre. The soldiers were stymied. They had been studying the maps all day, but no other plan had surfaced. The young corporal lifted his eyes to the black forbidding spur of rock behind which the moon was disappearing, like a slashing blade, a chasm in the sky. He shivered and brought back his gaze on the friendly firelight below.
    The sergeant was sleeping close to the fire, wrapped up in his coat, one arm on his face to keep off the light. Poor McKay. Winters had rarely seen him in a good mood, but during the march to the Red Needle he had been downright unapproachable. He was always there for his soldiers, all right - but now and then he would fall into some sort of daydream which left him silent and gloomy. Well, nobody liked to be sent to near certain death out of the blue. Corporal Winters had had days to get used to it, but they said that the sergeant instead had been plucked out of his leave to replace that good-for-nothing Flaherty. And everybody knew what a leave near Colorado Springs meant for him. Moreover, Winters was acquainted with the lady in question and was especially aware of what kind of loss it was for McKay.
    He returned to search the moonless dark with his eyes. Their camp was perfectly visible for miles, but there was no alternative. They had to stay there long, they couldn't avoid lighting a fire. The only way to protect themselves was to keep a constant and careful watch and be ready for anything.
    A movement on the rocks startled him.
    Winters remained perfectly still, trying to train his puffy eyes on the darker shadow that glided silently in the night some fifteen yards before him. He slowly brought the rifle into position, finger on the trigger as a cold sweat broke on his brow. The thing kept coming towards him. He lowered his eyes to the primer. "Who's there?" he called.
    Everybody down in the camp jumped to their feet. The shadow stopped and swung towards the light, and Winters caught the brief flickering of two green-yellow eyes. Then it was gone, loping over the rocks with inhuman smoothness.
    "What's happenin'?" cried the sergeant running up the slope, gun in hand.
    Winters slumped against the tree. "Nothin'. Sorry. Sorry. Just a mountain lion. Sorry."
    As McKay scanned the darkness, wide-eyed, another corporal caught up with them. "Well done, Winters, wakin' us all up for a damn mountain lion!"
    "I saw somethin' movin', how the hell should I know?!"
    "Shut up, both of you." McKay's voice was icy. "Better safe than sorry. Bailey, take Winters' place."
    "Yes, sir."
    "Thank you, sir," said Winters as they descended towards the camp.
    "You did well, Winters," answered the sergeant. "Had it been an attack, your quick move would have saved lives." He stopped for a moment by the fire and looked at the soldier. "It wasn't an attack, however. Nerves are frayin'. Listen, I don't know how you can do it, but try to keep your head a li'l longer next time, hm?"
    "I will, sir."
    "Have some rest, now," said McKay, laying his hand on the younger man's shoulder.
    Winters nodded. He dropped down on his blanket and went immediately to sleep.
    McKay watched him for a moment, then turned his eyes around on the camp, his heart still rattling wildly. All the soldiers were regaining their places, grumbling. He walked wearily where he had dropped his own coat and draped it over his shoulders, sitting down with his back to the rock. By him lay the maps of the place, and he almost began perusing them once more. But they could tell him nothing new. He knew by heart the stony mountain behind which the moon was now reappearing. A hollow spur full of ledges and tunnels, like an anthill. There must be an ammunition dump somewhere. Maybe if he sent just one or two men, trying to find an entrance...
    He had considered it a hundred times. He was too tired to think now. And the faces of the dead haunted him like a warning.
    The moment his brain abandoned plans and tactics, the thought of Alison slammed into him with all its load of love and pain, and rage and sweet lust, fear and love again, and more pain, and more love. And fear. He couldn't bring himself to feel remorse for what had been: it would have debased her and her gift. But he was so afraid of the agony he could cause her. After all, his was the easy part: dying a hero in the heart of the Rockies. He had to seek refuge in the thought that Alison was a strong woman. So sincere in revealing an uncomfortable past, so gentle yet unflinching in conveying her desire for him. McKay remembered that very moment with a pang of loss. The sweet temptation he couldn't even dream of satiating, the conscience-racking doubt, the exquisite certainty. He had wanted her like an impossible vision. Now he wanted her like the real woman she was, in all her flesh and blood and fiery soul.
    He was fixing hypnotically his gaze on the flames, laying back against the rock. A soldier seated by him handed him a cup. McKay nodded and took a sip. The rim tasted metallic to his lips, the bourbon went down quickly, raw and scalding. He was no drinker, but it warmed him and lessened almost at once the torment in his heart. It made him feel safe, sure that he would defy and defeat the Red Needle, and live to see the day when Alison would be back into his arms.
    He could feel her now, some eighty miles North-North East from there, like a beacon, like a hot little sun. She was probably sleeping, curled up on one side between the sheets embroidered at the hem, under the heavy patchwork quilt and maybe the old striped coverlet she had been a little ashamed of. He sighed and lay down with his head on his saddle bag, closing his eyes and letting the light of the fire dance on the eyelids. He fell asleep thinking that he slid his arms around her waist and held her with her back to his chest, listening to her purr and protecting her from pain, in a big brass four-post bed.
    

         To be continued...