her garden had consisted of a heavy wooden container that looked more like a watering trough than a window box. She had placed it on the porch that connected their quarters with the post hospital, and though people had told her that flowers wouldn’t grow in the baking Arizona sun, she had been determined to prove them wrong.

Undaunted by her failure in ‘74, she had tried again the next year here at the ranch . . . and the year after that. After years of diligence, irrigation, and far more trouble than they were worth in Meade’s opinion, she had finally coaxed her roses into blooming.

Meade smiled down at the pitiful little bed of roses and realized that he was going to miss watching them bloom this year, despite all the teasing he had subjected his sister to over the years. He was going to miss the quiet solitude of this ranch, too . . . and his niece and nephew. He would miss them very much. Of course, it went without saying that he would miss Libby, and if pressed to admit it, he might even have confessed that he was going to miss his brother-in-law, Case Longstreet.

The one thing he felt certain he wouldn’t miss, though, was Fort Apache.

Eight years as post surgeon at that misbegotten hellhole had taken their toll on Meade. He had come to the position one year out of medical school at Harvard eager for adventure and challenge. Instead, he had been forced to witness more kinds of suffering than he had ever dreamed possible. Had it not been for Libby, he would have transferred long ago to some more hospitable climate and to a place where constant battles with the Apache wouldn’t have left so much blood on his hands.

But all that would be over soon. In four days he was being involuntarily transferred to Fort Marcy in New Mexico, and six months after that, he was leaving the army forever. Though he wasn’t looking forward to the transfer, he readily acknowledged that it would be nice to enjoy the relative quiet of Santa Fe for a while. It was a beautiful old city, situated far enough north to be somewhat removed—geographically, at least—from the army’s perpetual con-flict with the Apache.

After that, he would return here, to the ranch he had helped his brother-in-law purchase shortly before Case and Libby’s wedding. Though he was only thirty-six, Meade felt like an old man who had earned a quiet retirement, and he was looking forward to becoming a gentleman rancher. In the back of his mind was the idea that he might someday set up a small medical practice somewhere, but that wouldn’t be for a while yet. At the moment, his chosen profession was anathema.

“Meade? What are you doing out here?”

Libby’s quietly spoken question startled Meade. “Good Lord, Lib, don’t sneak up on a man like that.”

24

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“Sorry. I suppose some of my husband’s skills at stalking have rubbed off on me.”

“Among other things,” he grumbled.

“Don’t be contrary, Meade,” she said gently. “I know you’ll never admit it to me, but you and Case have become good friends. You can stop glowering every time something reminds you that he’s an Apache.”

Meade squared his shoulders with a hint of indignation and straightened his dress-blue uniform coat. “My dear Liberty, I do not glower. I do, on occasion, bristle, and I have been known to fume from time to time, but I most emphatically do not glower.” He turned his profile to her. “It wouldn’t be seemly.”

Her gentle laugh drifted out over the rose garden, and she tucked her arm through his. “Oh, Meade, I’m going to miss you. No one has ever been able to make me laugh the way you do.”

Meade dropped a kiss on her forehead, a gesture that was an old and comforting habit for both of them. “I’m going to miss you, too, Libby.”

“Then why did you sneak away from my party? I invited all our neighbors just to give you a magnificent send-off, and you pulled a vanishing act. It was everything I could do to keep Drucilla Metcalf from coming to look for you herself. She was positively frothing at the mouth when she realized you’d escaped her clutches.”

“Why do you think I disappeared?” he asked as he sat on the porch railing.

“That hellcat has spent the better part of the last two years trying to rope me into matrimony, and she seems to think that this is the last opportunity she’ll ever have.” Meade shook his head in bewilderment. “Why in the name of God is she so intent on me? I just don’t understand it. I’m nearly twice her age!”

“Yes, but you look incredibly handsome in your uniform.”

Meade groaned. “One more excellent reason to leave the military posthaste.”

“I agree with your goal, but not your reasoning,” Libby said, smoothing his lapel. “You see, you may eventually leave the uniform behind, but that will not keep you from being incredibly handsome. What’s more, you’re a respected physician and a landholder of some repute. That makes you the finest catch in this part of the territory.”

“To be a fine catch in this godforsaken territory, you need only be breathing, Libby.”

“Meade, you’re being contrary again,” she scolded lightly, though in truth she could hardly blame her brother for his attitude. There was a marked scarcity of unmarried women in the territory, and it seemed that the ones near Fort Apache always gravitated toward Meade. Over the years that number had included several officers’ wives as well. To the best of Libby’s knowledge, which might or might not have been accurate, he had successfully 25

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evaded those amorous women, and had also eluded the clutches of the unmarried ones.

Yet she could scarcely blame the women for being attracted to Meade.

Not only was he a mannerly, educated gentleman, he was incredibly handsome as well. Even the rigors of his career had not changed that. He was tall, with a lithe, athletic physique, and the youthful softness that had marked his features when he arrived at Fort Apache was no longer evident. His face was harder now, and deep lines framed his mouth when he smiled or frowned. His eyes, an odd color of hazel, were much more piercing than before. They no longer twinkled with gentleness and mirth except when he looked at Libby.

The sun had lightened his dark brown hair, giving it highlights of gold; the things he had seen and done had added flecks of silver.

In many ways those changes had only made him more attractive. No longer was he a boyishly handsome young man. Fort Apache had transformed him into a ruggedly handsome man of depth and maturity.

Unfortunately it had also twisted his idealism into cynicism, and Libby grieved for the parts of her brother that had been lost bit by bit with every limb he’d been forced to amputate and every patient who’d died a hideous, agonizing death before his very eyes.

Though Libby dreaded seeing Meade leave for Santa Fe, she was more than anxious for him to retire from the army. He was weary of death, and only time would heal the ravages of his soul. Time . . . and perhaps a loving woman—

though Libby knew she would never be able to convince Meade of that.

“I have a right to be contrary where Drucilla is concerned, Libby,” he was saying. “She is a most determined young lady.”

“Then perhaps you should succumb to her charms.”

Meade looked down at her, frowning. “What charms? She has buckteeth, and her eyes cross when she laughs. And that laugh! She sounds like a braying army mule.”

“Meade! That’s unkind and untrue,” Libby said, slapping his arm lightly.

“Drucilla is quite attractive, and you know it. Granted, her laugh is a little . . .

exuberant, but that only proves that she enjoys life to the fullest.”

He made a disgruntled harrumphing sound and flicked his cheroot into the yard, making sure it fell far beyond Libby’s rose bed.

“Tell me the truth, Meade. Why don’t you like Drucilla?”

He sighed wearily. “I told you before, I’m practically old enough to be the girl’s father, and if I were, I’d apply my hand liberally to her backside. She’s boisterous, loud, opinionated . . . Most of the time she dresses like a man—

and behaves like one. Frankly, I prefer more demure women, and Drucilla Metcalf doesn’t have a ladylike bone in her body.” He raised one eyebrow sharply. “Are those sufficient reasons for you? They certainly are for me.”

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“Meade—”

“Enough, Libby,” he said placing his hands on her shoulders. “We’ve covered this territory before, and you’re never going to wear me down. I’m too old and set in my ways to ever marry.”

“Thirty-six is not old!” she said adamantly.

“It’s not a matter of chronological age, Libby,” Meade replied, his voice tinged with sadness as he stood and looked out over the still valley. “I feel positively ancient. All I want from my life now is a little peace and quiet.”

For a moment, with his face couched in shadow, he looked as old and tired as he claimed he felt. Libby’s heart wrenched at the sight, but she knew there was no way to ease his pain. Slipping one arm around his waist, she leaned her head against his shoulder. “I wish you didn’t have to go to Fort Marcy.”

“So do I, little sister, but I don’t have much choice in the matter. I’ve been reassigned to the One Hundred-fortieth, and whither they goest, I go, too.”

He said it blithely, but to Libby it wasn’t a matter for levity. As post surgeon, unattached to any specific army unit, Meade had rarely been required to venture out with the troops and engage in battle. Those occasions when he had done so had always been devastating for him. This new assignment with 140th Regiment might place him almost constantly in the field . . . constantly in danger. Libby didn’t want to think about what could happen to him.