Hank and Ollie were playing cards at the kitchen table and Davie was asleep on his bunk. She didn't see Den or Rich immediately; either they were out on runs or in town visiting their favorite saloon girls. Despite the fact that the firm frowned upon drinking, and its consumption was vehemently forbidden in the Express oath, Bart, the Apple Ridge stationmaster, shed a kindly eye on the boys' carousing and indulged their frequent visits to the saloon.

"Well, look who's here." It was either Hank or Ollie that had sad it, but Jack wasn't sure which. They weren't related, but they looked alike and sounded alike and were always together. They were the Buck and Ike of the their station, only far less gentle and likable, Jack reflected.

"Where's Bart?"

"Out back." Ollie jerked his thumb in the direction of the corral. "Breakin' the new horses we got last week."

"You all better?" David had woken from his nap and was peering down at Jack from his top bunk.

Jack nodded. "Mending nicely, Davie, thanks."

"Well, don't get too comfortable. You're scheduled for a run first thing in the monring. You knew Bart wasn't gonna waste no time."

Jack laughed. She had a friendly, if arm's-length friendship with David. "Thanks for the warning."

"Good to have you back," Hank acknowledged briefly. "Been pretty busy around here."

The moment she walked outside, Bart spied Jack and jumped down from the beautiful black mare he was riding, joining her where she stood watching. "Welcome back." He didn't sound as if he meant it, exactly. "I suppose one of the boys told you you're on a run tomorrow." When Jack nodded, he went on, "You're gonna have to work hard to make it up to these boys. They've been carryin' an extra load since you went away to recuperate in Rock Creek." He said 'recuperate' in a tone that implied recuperating was the same thing as vacationing.

"Yes, sir." Jack knew it was best to be brief with Bart. No excuses, no explations, and certainly no defenses, just yes sir and no sir as they applied.

"I suppose restin' up at Rock Creek's got ya soft. Teaspoon Hunter is a doddering, indulgent ol' fool with them boys."

Jack thought back to the many times Bart had overlooked a drunken rider who was not able to make his run when he was scheduled to, to the countless times he had watched riders in fistfights and laughed, making no move to intervene during the fight or reprimand afterward; and she compared him with Teaspoon, who doled punishments out like candy when it was appropriate, and ruled the Rock Creek riders with a benevolent iron fist. No one in the Apple Ridge outfit had the least bit of respect for Bart, and each took every opportunity to cross him in some way, whereas Jack would have been willing to bet the Rock Creek riders would sooner have died than betray Teaspoon in any form. But she still said nothing.

Bart eyed her, waiting. When she remained silent he shook his head and waved his hand to dismiss her. "Go on and get some sleep, then. Be ready first thing in the mornin'."

Jack slipped back into life at Apple Ridge much easier than she had anticipated. She went on runs, she did her chores, she squabbled with the boys and more than once she locked horns with Bart. She missed her friends at Rock Creek every day. At night she found herself dreaming of Jimmy, and during the day she remembered his smile, his low voice, the solace of his company. Such thoughts made her nervous and uncomfortable around the boys, as if they might be reading her mind somehow.

Her first letter from Lou came within a fortnight. A young boy named Jesse had come to the station, and Lou wrote all about him, about his restlessness and his immaturity, how he grated the boys' nerves and had a bit of a crush on Rachel. Jack wrote promptly back, telling Lou about Den getting barred from the local saloon and Hank and Ollie having a falling out that resulted in their not speaking to one another for neraly three days. Jack was very much looking forward to a correspondence with Lou, and she eagerly asked after all the boys, saving Jimmy for last, not sure if that was the most or least subtle route to take.

A few days after she sent out her letter to Lou, Jack helped Bart carry in the weekly supply of feed for the horses and as she stooped to haul up the second big sack, she felt a terrible pull in her back and she dropped the bag, hunching over the wagon. It was a familiar pain, one she had nursed during her recovery at Rock Creek. the most she could do was hobble back to the bunkhouse, and Bart was, needless to say, none too pleased.

Jack protested loudly, but Doc Cranston was finally summoned, and if he found her request to be examined alone the least bit strange, he didn't say so. "These English folks are a might peculiar," he murmured to Bart as Bart made his grumbling way out the door. "Best not to upset the boy if he's feelin' modest."

When Bart had gone Jack turned to Doc with pleading eyes. She had decided not to give anything away unless she absolutely had to. "Doc, please. I'm fine. I don't need an examination."

"Son, I'm just goin' to take a look at your back and maybe prescribe some liniment. It'll take me five minutes."

"Doc, I feel fine. I really don't need to be examined."

Now Doc fixed Jack with a skeptical eye. "What's this all about, son? I walk in here to find you barely able to move and you're tellin' me you're fine?"

Jack nodded.

"I've come across some fraidy-cats in my profession, but you about beat all. it ain't like I'm goin' to give you a shot or bleed you or somethin', kid. Be reasonable about this. And if you won't listen to reason, listen to this: I'm workin' for the Pony Express here. Not Bart Phillips and certainly not you. Russell, Majors, and Waddell. You heard of 'em? Well, they're the ones payin' this bill, and as far as I'm concerned I'm takin' care of their investment. And as the investment, you ain't got no say in it. Now shuck off that shirt, boy, and let me take a look at ya. You ain't the only patient I got to see today."

"That's just it, Doc..." Jack was desperate now. "I'm not...oh, God, Doc, listen to me: you can't tell anyone. You can't, all right, Doc?"

"What are you talkin' about? Who are you to tell me what I can and can't say? I can't promise nothin' till I know what I'm promisin'. I'm losin' patience with you, son."

With tear-filled eyes Jack raised her shirt over her head. Doc's eyes fell immediately on her chest tightly bound in strips of white cotton cloth. He seemed surprised, but not especially shocked.

"Well, my word..." he breathed in amazement. "I never woulda guessed." He grinned. "You poor kid, no wonder you was ready to keel over." He shook his head. "I can't say I approve, my dear; I got three daughters of my own, and if I knew one of 'em was makin' her livin' the way you are I believe I'd have me an apoplectic fit." Sighing, he said, "Still, I guess we all got to make our own livin' any way we can. It ain't for me to judge you or your reasons for bein' here. God knows there are worse professions I could find you in. Rest easy, child, your secret's safe with me."

"She'll find that I can't make the same promise." Bart spoke from where he stood framed by the doorway, the afternoon sun directly behind him. The light was in her eyes, obscuring his features, but Jack didn't need to see his face to know his expression was one of utter fury.