Free Only My Love by Jo Goodman

others get in front of him. The staggered line of surefooted pack mules followed.
    "What did you and Happy find to talk about?" Ethan asked when he and Michael were alone.
    Michael had no intention of answering Ethan's questions or even talking to him more than she absolutely had to. She realized that before today she had never experienced fear or fatigue. Now she felt the mind and body numbing effects of each like a paralysis of spine and spirit, and when she slumped against Ethan it was because she couldn't help herself.
    "Michael?" Ethan asked. He gave her a little shake but there was no response. He thought at first she was faking. Slipping a gloved hand beneath her coat, Ethan cupped her breast. She didn't stir. He grinned and dropped his hand. His captive had nerves of steel and starch, but she wouldn't have let him touch her if she could have prevented it. Mary Michael Dennehy had fallen deeply asleep.
    * * *
    Two more hours passed before the party halted for the night. It was the sudden cessation of movement that woke Michael. Groggy and disoriented, she was still aware of the new voices that had joined their group. She had almost immediate recognition of Houston. There was amusement, even civility, in his tone as he spoke, and danger and menace in the slight rasp that edged his words. The other voice drawled deeply and she was able to put a name to it: Jake.
    "Your lady's plumb tuckered," Jake Harrity said as Ethan eased Michael down from the saddle. He grinned as Michael slid heavily down the length of Ethan's long frame. She was limp with exhaustion and unsteady on her feet. Ethan had to hold her upright. "Here, I'll see to your horse." He unfastened the bedroll and tossed it on the ground beside Ethan. "You'll need this."
    "Thanks, Jake." Ethan slipped one arm beneath Michael's crumbling knees and lifted her high against his chest. He carried her to an outcropping of rocks that gave shelter from the wind on three sides, set her down, and went back for his bedroll and horse blankets. "We've got some tinder for a small fire but it won't provide much warmth. You'll have to share the blankets with me if you expect to get through the night." When she didn't reply, not even whimper in protest, Ethan poked her with his foot. "You're awake, aren't you?"
    Michael jerked her leg away. "I'm awake."
    "Good." He dropped the bedroll and blankets beside her. "Lay these things out as best you can. I'll see to the fire."
    Michael's fingers were stiff and clumsy with cold. Tears stung her eyes and lay icy and wet on her cheeks as she forced herself to work against the ache in her hands. Out of the corner of her eye she watched Ethan build the small fire at the head of their shelter. When tiny flames began licking at the wood, Michael's last vestige of reason vanished. She scrambled toward the fire on her hands and knees and thrust her hands into the flames.
    "What the hell!" Ethan dropped to his knees and pushed Michael away. "Of all the stupid..." His voice trailed away as he stared at her. She was huddled against the cold inner face of their rocky shelter, her head bent low, her shoulders hunched, and her fingers jammed awkwardly in her mouth. He had difficulty remembering the stiff and starchy woman he had first seen in the offices of the Chronicle. "Here," he said roughly, moving toward her, "let me see what fool thing you've done to yourself. You can't put your hands in the fire and not expect to get burned." He pulled her fingers away from her mouth and examined them in the dim light. They weren't burned but Ethan began to suspect the onset of frostbite. "Why the hell didn't you say anything? I would have given you my gloves." She started to pull away at the taut impatience of his tone. "For God's sake, come here! I'm not going to hurt you."
    Ben Simpson came upon them. "There some problem here?" he asked, throwing another blanket at their bed. "Thought you might want that. Anything I can do to help?"
    "Thanks, Ben. I'll take