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yours?”
    Chance gritted his teeth. His beard was scraggly, thin in some spots, and dark in others. He looked like Zacky McCoy, who’d come down out of hills to join the Fourth Virginia Cavalry riding a raw-boned mule and carrying an old wheel-lock musket. “I need a razor.”
    â€œI’ll see what I can do.” She paused a few steps from the gate. “And try to stay on the stool and not under it. I’d hate to go to the trouble of patching you up again.”
    Susan shifted her front feet, and Chance grabbed the bucket and prepared to retreat if she became violent again. Instead she gazed at him, blinked her eyes, and belched.
    â€œGood cow,” he murmured, reaching for the far left teat. “Good Susan.”
    She moved slightly so that her belly lay against his cheek. Her odor was strong but not unpleasant. He could hear a multitude of rumblings from inside her body, but the milk continued to come down. Already his fingers were cramping.
    Thirty minutes, Rachel had said. He couldn’t imagine lasting thirty moments. It was easier for her; she had two good hands. He was doing the milking one-armed.
    â€œGood cow,” he repeated.
    Talking to a cow. Travis would have loved to see this. He’d never let Chance live it down.
    If Travis was still alive.
    He had to be.
    Travis was the brother Chance had never had, and the bond between them was closer than blood. He’d stay here until Rachel had the baby, rescue Travis if it wasn’t too late, and dispose of the Dutchman. Then if he survived, he’d come back and get Rachel’s crops in.
    He exhaled sharply. Maybe Rachel’s husband would come home from the war, and then Chance wouldn’t be tied up here for months. Maybe, but he had the sinking feeling that he sometimes got when he listened to a witness lie on the stand.
    Chance didn’t believe Rachel’s husband was coming back. Either James had left her for good, or the man was dead and buried. The question was, did Rachel know the truth? And if she did, why was she lying to him about James being alive?
    Susan groaned and her skin wrinkled so that it rolled in waves over her back. “Shhh,” Chance soothed. And then, almost without realizing what he was doing, he began to hum an old tune he’d often heard Miss Julie sing as she cooked.
    Susan stopped wiggling, and encouraged, Chance softly continued.
    Oh, my darlin’ black-eyed Susan
,
    Oh, my darlin’ black-eyed Susan
,
    All I want in God’s creation
,
    Is that sweet gal, and a big plantation;
    My darlin’ black-eyed Susan
,
    Oh, my darlin’ black-eyed Susan
 …
    Then, somehow, here in this barn, with the earthy smells and the soft hiss of streams of milk hitting the bucket, Chance found a few minutes of peace … something precious he hadn’t experienced for a long time.

Chapter 6
    Miraculously Chance’s fingers didn’t stiffen beyond use, the cow didn’t kick over the bucket, and he carried enough milk to the kitchen door to please Rachel.
    â€œIt’s not what I’d have gotten,” she said, “but it’ll do. You’ll be better with practice.”
    â€œThat’s a comforting thought,” he grumbled.
    She handed him a green plaid shirt, soft from being worn and washed many times, and a pair of gray twill trousers. Through the open door, he could smell the coffee perking on the stove, but Rachel’s own scent—that of a clean and desirable woman—was stronger.
    â€œBiscuits nearly done?” he asked, trying to keep his voice light. It wouldn’t do for her to realize that he was thinking of her as a woman, rather than an employer. Not when they were alone together on this farm. He forced a boyish grin.
    â€œThe biscuits have to finish browning. You’ve plenty of time to wash.” She glanced back and opened the door wider. “Bear,” she ordered the mastiff. “Go with