Free Firefly by Linda Hilton

shallow valley in the mountains some four or five miles north of Plato.  Morgan pointed out the log and stone house as soon as they had crested the last hill.  It was a small building, single storied, with a porch at one end.  Chickens pecked in the yard until scattered by the horses, and a barking dog bounded up to greet them, too.
    The woman in the doorway must be Grace Fulton, Julie guessed.  Iron-haired and built as sturdily as many of the men in Plato, she looked at the visitors with cautious eyes.
    "You sober, Morgan?" she called before they had dismounted.
    "Yes, ma'am.  And alive, which is more 'n you can say for Horace."
    She didn't appear to approve of his humor, but she backed up enough to let him enter.  Julie followed.
    "Who's she?"
    "Julie Hollstrom.  I'm training her to be my nurse."
    Grace Fulton snorted.
    "What happened to Winnie Upshaw?"
    But by the time she finished that question, Morgan had already passed through the main room of the house to the bedroom where Steve Baxter stood guard.
    "We lost one last year," the rancher said quietly.  "She wants this one real bad."
    * * *
    Julie sank to the bench at the kitchen table and stared at the cup of coffee in front of her.  She was too tired even to pick it up.  The clock on the mantel chimed softly eleven times.
    Morgan Julian Baxter was an hour old.
    Seated next to Julie, Grace Fulton commented, "I seen breech births before, but never one like that, with the cord around the neck."
    Steve Baxter poured another tin mug full of coffee and held it out to Morgan, who sat across from the two women.  He took it and blew gently as he wrapped his fingers around it.  Even though he braced his elbows on the table, his hands still shook.
    He sipped the scalding coffee and said, "Your wife's a good healthy young woman and I don't see any reason why she shouldn't be up and around very soon.  Just remember to take good care of her and that baby, and watch for any signs of fever.  If anything goes wrong, you come get me, understand?"
    The young rancher nodded gravely.
    A gentle silence descended for several minutes, broken only by the occasional snap from the fire in the cook stove and the chirp of crickets outside the open door.  When he had finished his coffee, Morgan set his cup down and got to his feet.  It was a queer feeling to stand up and not sway or feel like the floor was made of pudding.
    "Thanks, Morgan."
    Baxter extended his hand, and Morgan shook it with a firmness he himself found surprising.
    "You're welcome.  You coming, Miss Hollstrom?"
    Grace put a hand on the girl's weary shoulder, but she addressed her words to Morgan.
    "You can't mean to ride all the way back to town now. This poor child will fall right out of the saddle, if her horse don't stumble in the dark and throw her first."
    Julie smiled weakly.  The thought of that long ride when she was so utterly exhausted was terrifying, but more so was the thought of arriving home in the morning.
    "Miss Hollstrom is needed at home," Morgan explained. "Her mother isn't well."  He pulled her shawl from the wall rack where someone had hung it earlier and draped it around her shoulders.  "Here, you'll need this now that it's cooled off.  Got your gloves?"
    "Yes, here in my pocket."
    Reaching for them, she felt something else in the pocket of her skirt and for a single instant she panicked.  When had she taken the glasses off and put them there?  Had anyone noticed?  Had she even had them on when she arrived, or had she taken them off on the ride up here?  It was too late to worry about it now, and she wouldn't need them in the dark.
    And the night wasn't so dark after all.  A brilliant yellow moon rode high in the western sky, almost full and bright as a lantern.  Julie's eyes had adjusted to it by the time she unhitched Woody and let Morgan boost her onto the animal's back.  Shadows of mesquite and cactus stood out eerily in the pale light, and the skittering of nocturnal birds and