For personal use and select distribution only © by Becky 2004

Dorothy was stacking fresh copies of her Gazette on the stand outside when Randal approached her and gestured at the cafe.

“Time to eat. Let's go.”

“I'll just be a minute,” she said quietly.

“Hurry up,” he replied, taking a seat on her bench and retrieving his flask. He took a small sip of the alcohol, winced, and tucked the flask back in his pocket. Then he reached into his billfold and pulled out a small, tattered photograph, studying it thoughtfully.

Dorothy joined him a few moments later and sat beside him. “What's that?”

He slowly handed her the photograph. It was a sepia-toned picture of Joshua on his graduation day, beaming in his cap, gown, and silk sash from his honors fraternity.

“That boy sure was smart, wasn't he?” he remarked.

Dorothy nodded solemnly, handing him back the photo.

“God damn, I miss him,” he muttered, pressing his fingers to his brow and letting out his breath.

“It's all right, Randal,” she whispered helplessly. “It's all right.”

“Well, it'll be good to see her pay. At least then I’ll know she can't hurt anybody else.”

She gazed out at the road, mustering courage. “Randal, what if…what if Byron's tellin' the truth?”

He looked up with a start. “What? Who?”

“Byron. Michaela's little boy. What if he's tellin' the truth and he did see Joshua alone?”

He chuckled. “Dorothy, he's six. Youn’uns that age, half the things out of their mouths is a lie. I know, I had three of 'em.”

She shook her head. “Not Byron. I've known him since he was born. I even helped Michaela look after him those first few months, when Sully wasn't here and she was havin’ such a hard time of it. I've always been his Auntie Dorothy. And he's always been very direct. A lie like this just ain't like him, Randal. He lets you know exactly what he likes and what he doesn't like, and if you ask him somethin' he tells the truth. He's certainly let me know he's been angry with me.”

“What the hell are you sayin'? That you believe that whole story they dreamed up?”

“All I'm sayin' is what if it's the truth? Randal, we'd have to drop the charges.”

“I knew you'd go soft,” he retorted. “You can't trust a woman to take care of somethin' like this.”

“You don't even care if she really did it anymore,” she said, standing up and eyeing him intrepidly. “All you care about is makin' somebody pay!”

He grabbed her arm and pulled it hard. “All I care about, Dorothy, is seein' the murderer hanged.” He released her forcefully against the closed door and stormed off.

“You got so much pride, you can't admit this is your fault, too!” she called after him obstinately. “What about the way you turned him away, his own pa? You won't take any responsibility! You're a coward, Randal Jennings!”

He ignored her and headed for the saloon.

"I'm so glad the end is finally in sight," Elizabeth said, taking a sip of coffee.

"Do I have to go to the trial again, Mama?" Byron asked, scraping his plate of the last remaining crumbs of strawberry pie.

Michaela patted his hand. "No, sweetheart."

"Thank goodness for that," Elizabeth remarked. "A courtroom is no place for a child."

"What're ya gonna say up there tomorrow, Ma?" Brian asked curiously.

Michaela glanced at Sully, who hadn't uttered a word the entire meal. He refilled Katie's cup of milk as if he wasn't even listening to the conversation. "Well, I'll just tell the judge what happened. Mr. Preston will ask me questions about that day. It'll be my opportunity to explain."

"But then Mr. Herndon gets to ask ya questions," Brian said worriedly.

"I'm confident I'll know how to answer them."

"Tell the truth," Byron spoke up.

Michaela squeezed his hand. "That's right, sweetheart. Don't worry. I'll be fine."

"I hope you're right, Michaela," Elizabeth said. "Harold and Matthew don't want you to do this and frankly, I wish you would heed their advice and reconsider."

"Me, too," Sully suddenly said.

Michaela looked at him with surprise.

Sully leaned back in his chair and dropped his fork on his plate. "How are you so sure ya can answer William's questions? What if ya can't?"

"I can," she replied confidently. "I just know I'm right about this, Sully."

"You know you're right," he muttered with a deep sigh. "Michaela, this whole trial you've done things your way. Why do we need Matthew and Harold in the first place? You're just doin' whatever you want anyway."

Katie and Byron glanced at Michaela apprehensively, waiting for her reply.

"That's not true. I listen to them," she said weakly.

"Ya don't. And ya sure don't listen to me," he said, standing and pushing his chair in forcefully.

"Sully," Michaela murmured. "What are you talking about?"

"For starters, ya didn't listen to me about your ma, did ya?" he demanded, nodding at Elizabeth. "About her just showin' up on our doorstep?"

"Just a minute. What's this?" Elizabeth exclaimed.

"Sully, if this is about my mother then the three of us can discuss it…in private."

He glanced at Elizabeth for a moment. "No, it's not about your ma. I'm sorry, ma'am."

"Well, you should be," Elizabeth said.

"I got chores to finish." He grabbed his jacket and opened the door, shutting it firmly behind him.

"Sully, wait!" Michaela called.

"…Mama, why you and Papa fighting?" Katie asked timidly.

"We're not fighting," Michaela said, walking to the coat rack and taking down her jacket.

"They're fightin’," Brian murmured.

"Michaela, his temper is irrepressible, always has been," Elizabeth chastised. "But in front of the children!"

"We all have bad tempers, Mother," Michaela replied.

"Well, at least you and I have learned to control it like civilized adults!"

"Children, I want you to help clean up supper and then get ready for bed," Michaela instructed, opening the door. "I'll be back soon."

Michaela found Sully standing by the corral, resting his hands on the fence and staring at the mountains in the distance. She walked to him, placing her hands next to his.

"I wish you would support me in this," she began softly. "I need your support, Sully."

He clenched his hands in fists. "I just got a bad feelin' about it."

"I don't. This is the right thing to do."

"Don't ya see? Ya don't have to be right!" he said, turning to face her. "Why do ya always have to be right, Michaela?"

"Are you saying I'm letting pride interfere with my better judgment?"

"All I'm sayin' is we got two good lawyers helpin' us out. And I don't see why we can't take their help and just do what they say. Don't go up there tomorrow. Just tell Harold ya changed your mind. It's all right. You can do that."

She slowly took his hand, bringing it down to her side. "Let's take a walk."

"What for?"

"Because we haven't walked together in a long time. We haven't spent any real time alone together since the trial began."

"You're right about that," he admitted, reluctantly strolling with her toward the deer path behind the homestead.

"I value what Matthew and Harold have to say," she began. "I value what you have to say even more. And you've done so much to help me through this ordeal."

"I ain't done anythin'. I don't know anythin' about the law. You three do all the work."

"That's not true. It was your idea to clear the courtroom for Byron to testify. I can't imagine what that would have been like for him to have all those people there. But his father saw to it that was taken care of. And you've stood by me. Every day you come to court with me even though I know you'd rather be looking for work, or checking your traps, or staying with the children. Just knowing that you're next to me helps get me through."

"I need to be there," he murmured, squeezing her hand tight as she stepped over a large puddle on the path.

"But as much as I want to know your thoughts and opinions, ultimately I have to answer to myself," she went on. "You told me once to listen to my gut. Well, my gut is telling me to go up there tomorrow and tell the truth. I know I'm taking a risk. Perhaps Harold's right and I could ruin my chances of winning. But if I don't go up there and Judge Webster convicts me…then it'll be too late to say anything."

He stopped them in their steps and turned to face her. "Michaela…I'll support ya tomorrow. I believe in ya." He stepped forward and held her tight. "But I want ya to know that even if the judge says you're guilty…I won't give up. We'll appeal it. And if it comes down to it, I'll find a way to break ya out of jail. I won't give up on ya. I won't let ya go. I just, I…I can't lose ya."

"We won't lose each other, Sully," she whispered. "I promise."

"This is your last chance, Dr. Quinn," Harold whispered. "I'm telling you, don't go up there."

Michaela glanced at him intrepidly, then returned her eyes to the judge.

Harold shook his head and slowly stood up. "Your honor, the defense…" He paused and looked once more at Michaela, but she did not return his gaze. "The defense calls Dr. Michaela Quinn."

William's eyes lighted up with surprise. "I don't believe it," he murmured, glancing at Randal and Dorothy. "They're really putting her up there!"

Michaela stood and walked to the chair, taking a seat.

Jake approached the stand and held out the Bible. Michaela laid her left hand on it and raised her right.

“You swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothin' but the truth, so help you God?” Jake said rapidly. He could ask the oath in his sleep by now.

“Yes. I swear,” Michaela said resolutely. She looked at Harold with confidence.

Harold sifted through his papers and sat back down. "Dr. Quinn, in what capacity did you know Joshua Jennings?"

"At first it was a friendship," Michaela replied. "We had a mutual interest in great works of literature, Emerson especially. As I got to know him I found him to be an enthusiastic and intelligent young man. It was a pleasure to be in his company."

"At what point did this relationship change? At what point did you become his doctor?"

"I started to notice something was wrong," Michaela said. "He was tired and quiet. His hands were giving him pain. It was actually my husband who told me he thought perhaps he was sick. I asked Joshua point blank about it, and he revealed he was chronically ill."

"What did you do next, Dr. Quinn?" Harold prompted.

"Well, naturally I wanted to examine him. He refused at first but eventually he let me."

"Was your examination hasty, or incomplete, as Dr. Cassidy suggested earlier?"

"No. I examined him and performed tests on him for more than two hours," she said firmly. "I did everything I know how. I listened to his heart and lungs, I examined his mouth, throat, and nose, his ears, and eyes. I probed his entire torso looking for clues. Additionally, I took both blood and urine samples to inspect under a microscope."

"And after all this the verdict was unknown?"

"Yes," she said quietly. "Regrettably so. I could find no such combination of symptoms in any medical textbook or journal I own, nor did any of the specialists I wired, or the doctors at the hospital in Frankfurt where Joshua was first treated, have any idea."

Harold sat back in his chair. "And when you couldn't come up with a diagnosis, how did you feel?"

Michaela thought a moment. "Well, I was very saddened. I'm a doctor and doctors are supposed to cure people. Not only had I failed a patient but I had failed a friend. I wanted to give Joshua something to fix him, medicine or an operation, something, but I couldn't." She glanced at Dorothy for a brief moment and swallowed hard. "And I had failed my best friend, too. Dorothy loved Joshua dearly and it hurt me to have to tell her I couldn't do anything for him."

Dorothy pressed her fist to her mouth and listened to Michaela's testimony intently.

"Well, then what?" Harold asked. "You accepted that you couldn't find a cure for Joshua and moved on?"

"I accepted it, but no, I wasn't ready to move on. I then decided that my efforts would best be focused on helping him manage his pain. He had excruciating muscle aches, and powerful headaches called megrims. His rheumatism was also very debilitating, to the point where he couldn't even walk. In the past, I have often prescribed willow bark tea and other herbal remedies. I've known them to be quite effective and have taken them myself, and given them to my children and many of my patients. But while I believe in the healing powers of the herbs, I recognized that I simply didn't know of any herb that was potent enough to give Joshua but minimal relief from the degree of pain he was experiencing. As a doctor, I've seen all kinds of pain. But I've never seen someone's suffering as unremitting as Joshua's. At least in the past with my patients, I've always had confidence their pain would eventually be over, such as if a patient has just had surgery, or has an illness such as influenza, or a mother in labor. It eventually ends. Even Anthony's pain…Grace and Robert E.'s son, even with him it came and went, giving him some periods of relief. But Joshua's pain seemed without end. I felt it necessary to prescribe the strongest drug I know."

“And what was that?”

“…Morphine.”

Harold slowly poured himself a glass of water and took a sip. "Did you have any reservations about prescribing morphine?"

"Oh, yes," Michaela immediately replied. "I'm always wary about it. Morphine works, but it can be very addictive. In fact…I've seen patients myself, war veterans especially, whose lives have been all but ruined by it. It's called morphinism. You need more and more of the drug to achieve the same effect. You'll do anything to get it. So, yes, I always monitor patients on morphine extremely carefully. And I never use it on babies or pregnant women. It's far too risky."

Harold took another sip of water. "So indeed you understood the risks of such a drug. And yet you allowed Joshua to administer his own injections. Please explain to the court how that transpired."

Michaela took a deep breath. "Physically his disease was wearing him down. But mentally he was failing even faster. I don't know what it's like to be in constant, endless pain, to have to spend days, weeks, in lonely hospitals around unfamiliar doctors and nurses. I can only dare try to imagine how hopeless that must feel. Joshua had reached a point where he no longer could bear it. And he was asking me, his doctor, to help him have a more normal life. I did not suggest it or even think of it. He asked me himself if I would teach him how to use a syringe so that he could administer his medication at home, in private. So that he wouldn't have to spend so much time in hospitals. So that he could be with people he loved, like his Aunt Dorothy.

"I told him no at first," she went on. "It's just not something I had ever allowed before. But after a time I began to view my role differently. I thought my job was to find cures. But after treating Joshua Jennings, now I also feel it is just as important for me to restore some sense of dignity to the sickest of my patients, to improve the quality of their lives when there is no cure. I taught Joshua to use a syringe to inject a dose of morphine because I believed he had a right to be more independent, to not let his illness take over his life."

"And where were you on the night of April twenty-fifth?"

"I had attempted to drive to Mr. Whiting's cabin that morning. He lives far from town. But I was delayed by a storm and had to turn back, and I did not return to Colorado Springs until about eleven o'clock in the evening. By that time Joshua had been dead for several hours."

“You didn't kill Joshua?”

“No. I did not.”

Harold waited a moment, then nodded with content. "Dr. Quinn, thank you. No further questions." He gestured at the prosecution's table. “Your witness.”

"You may cross-examine the witness," the judge said, glancing at the prosecution.

Michaela took a deep, rejuvenating breath and looked at William.

"Well, where to begin?!" William said, as he sat back in his chair. "Dr. Quinn, you really expect the judge to believe that you spent an entire day on the road April twenty-fifth with nothing to show for it?"

"As I said, I was caught in a storm," she replied. "I did not reach my destination."

“What destination?”

“I told you. Mr. Whiting's cabin. He lost his wife recently and I-”

“You didn't make it to this Mr. Whiting's cabin?”

“No.”

“How convenient!”

“Convenient for you, sir,” Michaela retorted.

“Were you driving a wagon or riding a horse?” he immediately replied.

“I said I had my wagon.”

“Why not a horse? Faster that way.”

“My wagon was already hitched,” she replied. “It would take time to unhitch and saddle my horse.”

“You often go traipsing all over the territory on house calls without your husband? Isn't that dangerous? A woman like you riding alone into those woods?”

“Yes, I often do. And no, I don't find it particularly dangerous. Why would it be?”

“How long were you on the road? How many hours?”

“Well, I'm not sure. I left before lunchtime. I suppose it was around ten o'clock. And I've already said what time I returned. I trust you can figure it out yourself.”

The crowd softly chuckled and William turned red.

"And all that time on the road you only saw one person who can attest to your whereabouts?” he demanded. “That immigrant?"

"Mr. Lopez. No, he was not the only person I saw. But he was the only person I knew."

"Mr. Lopez, yes, of course. The poor sheep herder with what, seven mouths to feed? Or was it eight? And exactly how much did you bribe him to testify?"

"Objection! Objection! Judge, please!" Harold exclaimed, rising to his feet. "This is uncalled for!"

Judge Webster waved his hand at Harold. "Did you bribe the witness, Dr. Quinn?"

"No, your honor," Michaela said, turning to look at him. "I did not."

"Thank you," he replied. "Continue, Mr. Herndon."

William folded his hands. "You said you and Joshua Jennings were close."

Michaela hesitated. "Yes."

"How close?"

"I don't know what you mean," she replied. "It was a close friendship. I believe I've made that clear."

“Isn't it true that Mrs. Jennings saw you two together? Unclothed?”

The crowd murmured to one another as Michaela drew in her breath in embarrassment.

“He removed his shirt so I could rub his back,” she said quietly. “I often massage my patients, men and women, even children. It has healing effects. Dorothy left before I could expl-”

“And is it normal practice for you to kiss your patients, too? What kind of healing effects does that have?”

“I don't know what you mean,” she retorted.

“I think you do. You and Joshua spent an awful lot of time together while your husband was on the other side of the country. I just want you to explain that.”

“All right, I believe he did kiss me. Once. On the cheek. But he was just an affectionate person. He was affectionate with his aunt, too, and with my children. I never viewed anything he did as inappropriate. I didn't think anything of it then and I don't now.”

“Dr. Quinn, you're quite a charming woman, any man would think so. Isn't it conceivable Joshua was a bit taken with you?”

“Not in my mind, no.”

“Were you having physical relations with that young man?”

She stared at him in shock. “No! Of course not!”

“This whole town seems to think you were, judging by the rumors going around.”

“That's all they were. Rumors.”

“You were just close,” he replied.

“Yes, we were just close. It was innocent,” she murmured, glancing at Sully uncomfortably. His understanding gaze was reassurance that at least he believed her.

"So close you would do anything for him?"

"I did tell Dorothy I would do anything for him," Michaela admitted. "But I didn't mean that I-"

"Let's talk about Sam Lindsay," William went on decisively. "Who was she?"

"Sam Lindsay?" Michaela replied with confusion. "What does she have to do with this?"

"Answer the question," the judge said.

"She was my patient years ago. And a good friend. We climbed Pikes Peak together."

William slowly smiled. "It's interesting. The two of you went up there, all alone, and when you returned to town she was dead. Correct?"

Michaela's face fell with realization. "Sam had cancer. Leukemia. It was very advanced. There was nothing anyone could do. She died in peace, where she wanted to be."

"Perhaps you helped that along, too," William suggested.

"No!" Michaela retorted. "I wanted to delay it. But she wouldn't let me. Mr. Herndon, it goes against my very instincts to just let someone die. Standing by and letting her go…that was one of the most difficult things I've ever done."

William slowly nodded. "That all sounds very noble, and I have to say, Dr. Quinn, that you're very convincing. Why, I would almost believe you myself. Two, very big problems, however. First, the only people that can attest to your whereabouts are a Greaser who speaks all of ten words of English, and your little boy who, while quite a darling child, doesn't even seem to know which way is up and which way is down!"

Harold pressed his fingers to his temples and closed his eyes. "This is a disaster," he muttered.

"Mr. Herndon, I don't see what being Mexican, or being a child, has to do with anything," Michaela said angrily. "They're honest, that's what matters."

"Well, you hope so. But they're hardly reliable witnesses by any standards."

"Excuse me, Judge," Matthew suddenly said. "Could Mr. Herndon please ask our client a question?"

The judge nodded. "Mr. Herndon, only questions please. I've had enough of this."

"Duly noted, your honor," William replied. "Dr. Quinn, your second, even more egregious problem is that letter. How do you explain Joshua's letter?"

Michaela thought a moment. "Well, all I can say is that he only meant to thank me for being his physician. I'm sorry it was interpreted differently. But that letter never clearly says I had intentions of killing him."

William chuckled. "Nor does it clearly say anything to the contrary! Dr. Quinn, did he ever mention suicide?"

Michaela glanced at Harold. He eyed her sternly and shook his head. Finally, she returned her gaze to William.

"…Yes…at one point he asked me to help him die," she murmured.

Dorothy gasped and gripped Randal's arm.

Harold shook his head hopelessly and glanced at Matthew. "That's it. It's over," he whispered.

"Hey. Let her explain," Sully whispered, looking at Michaela with confidence.

"Ah, so he did ask you!" William said giddily, standing up. "And you agreed."

"No, I told him no at once," Michaela replied decisively. "And I discussed it with him. He told me it was simply the pain talking and that he didn't mean what he said…and while it was disturbing to have him ask such a thing of me, I took his answer at face value. I was optimistic he was doing better. I had to believe Joshua was doing better and I believed what he said was simply said in a fit of pain. Perhaps that can sometimes be a weakness, my optimism."

"She needs to just stop talking," Harold whispered. "Right now."

William pounded his fist on his desk for emphasis. "Ah, so that's what this was. You killed him out of helplessness, once you realized there was nothing you could do for him!"

"I didn't kill him!" Michaela replied. "I don't know how many times I have to say that! Yes, he did make it known to me that he wanted to die, and I wish I had taken him more seriously, but I didn't hear what he was saying, and I must live with that. I believe it's perfectly clear his death was a suicide, and nothing more."

"Oh, a lot of things have become clearer now," William replied, taking his seat again. "That's all I have. I can't thank you enough, Dr. Quinn. No further questions."

Harold stood up at once. “Permission to redirect, your honor?”

“Go ahead,” the judge said.

Harold looked at Michaela squarely. "Let me make this clear, Dr. Quinn. Did you have anything at all to do with Joshua Jennings' death?"

Michaela looked at Dorothy, hesitating for a long moment. Dorothy looked back just as steadily.

"Answer the question please, Dr. Quinn," Judge Webster spoke up.

Michaela folded her hands. "Perhaps there is some hypocrisy to a society that allows, and even encourages, the owners of sick dogs, or horses, or cows, to put them to sleep…and yet that same society strictly forbids the same courtesy to our own species. However, when it came to Joshua Jennings, it was not my place to decide that matter. I was his doctor and that was my only job. I took an oath to heal, and heal is what I tried to do." She stared down at her hands for a moment and then looked out at the crowd of spectators. "But if I were as sick as Joshua was, I hope my doctor would be willing to help me learn to care for myself and to keep some degree of independence. To me, medicine should not only be about keeping patients' hearts beating and their lungs breathing air, but about improving their quality of life." She looked at Dorothy. "But I can't help improve the quality of someone's life if they're dead. From the beginning of this trial I promised myself I would tell the truth no matter what the consequences, and I will tell the truth now once more: I did not know Joshua was going to use the morphine I gave him to overdose, nor did I stand by in support as he overdosed. And I did not kill Joshua."

Harold took a deep breath. “That’s all. No further questions.”

“Stop down please, Dr. Quinn,” the judge said.

Michaela stood and looked at Dorothy. "I'm sorry he's gone. I wish with everything I am that things hadn't ended that way. I just wanted to make him feel better. What can I do to make you see that?"

"That's all, Dr. Quinn," the judge said. "Step down."

"Dorothy," Michaela pleaded. "Dorothy, you're my best friend! You know I would never do this!"

Dorothy pressed her handkerchief to her nose. "Excuse me," she murmured, standing up and hurrying out the side door.

"Dr. Quinn, please return to your seat at once!" the judge snapped.

Harold motioned Michaela over. "Dr. Quinn, rejoin us please?" he said sternly.

Reluctantly, Michaela stepped down and walked to the table, taking her place between Harold and Sully.

Harold guided her to the chair. "Sit down, and for God's sake, close your mouth and don't say anything else."

"…Ya did your best," Sully whispered, finding Michaela's hand under the table and drawing it into his lap.

She squeezed his hand and glanced at him appreciatively.

"I think we could use a recess," Judge Webster said. "We'll resume at two o'clock for closing arguments."

The Reverend, Faye and Kirk Davis were gathered at the table, the few people remaining who supported Michaela. A much larger crowd was gathered in the saloon across the street, drinking with Randal and William and making an excessive amount of noise for a mid-afternoon. Dorothy was nowhere to be found.

“We'll get them on the closing arguments,” Matthew said encouragingly.

“That's right,” Harold said as he sipped his coffee.

“What's closing arguments?” Faye asked shyly.

“It's a chance to summarize our case for the judge, young lady,” Harold explained patiently. “To drive home our strongest points.”

“You'll talk about Byron?” Michaela spoke up.

“Yes, but don't worry, he doesn't have to come back to court,” Harold replied.

“Good,” Michaela murmured. She glanced across the café. Sully was standing at the fence, folding his arms atop a post and gazing at the church. She put her mug down and rose from her seat. “Excuse me.” She strolled across the café and joined Sully. “It's almost two o'clock. We should head back to the church soon.”

“Yeah. In a minute.”

“Don't you want some coffee?”

“No thanks.”

“What's the matter, Sully? Did I do something?”

He turned to face her, caressing her arm.

“Tell me what's wrong,” she said pleadingly.

“I've just been thinkin' about Joshua, you and him, about everything that lawyer had to bring up.”

“William wanted me to feel humiliated,” she said. “He wants all of us to feel ashamed.”

“Michaela, you think Joshua had feelins for ya?”

“Truthfully, I don't know. I never thought so, but lately I've been second-guessing everything, going over everything again and again, wondering where I went wrong. Perhaps I was a little too thrilled to have someone in Colorado Springs who I could talk about my books with. My father was always discussing Emerson or Thoreau or Alcott with his friends. He would sit me beside him and allow me to listen, even contribute as I got older. I suppose Joshua reminded me of my father, my childhood, of simpler times.”

“Bet sometimes ya wish ya had somebody like your pa to talk about all them books with.”

“…Sully, they're just books. The most meaningful conversations I've ever had have been with you.”

“Like what?”

She ran her fingers across his hand shyly. “Like talking through the challenges we've faced, confiding in each other. Like telling each other how we feel about us.”

He nodded, slowly relenting.

“Like deciding we wanted to have a baby together,” she went on softly.

“That was a good one,“ he murmured wryly.

“I'm sorry, Sully. My testimony must have been terribly uncomfortable for you. Even embarrassing.”

He shrugged. “I don't care what folks think. I just hate to see everybody turn on ya like this, your patients, even some of our friends.”

She took his hand and held it gently in hers. “Sully, I was telling the truth. At least for me, it was purely innocent.”

He grinned with amusement.

“What?” she asked.

“No need to tell me that. I trust ya with everything I got. Always have. It's one of the reasons I love ya.”

“I trust you, too,” she whispered. “And you're the only man I love.”

“I know. Why do ya think I let ya go up there and talk today?” he replied wryly.

“Let me, hm?”

He put his arm around her waist and they headed toward the church. “You're right. It's uncomfortable. A little embarrassin'. But we just gotta remember we know the truth.”

“The truth. I just hope the judge can see the truth amid all this.”

"Thank you, your honor," William said as he stood and buttoned his suit coat. "Your honor, the defense would have you believe that the death of Joshua Jennings was merely unfortunate. They would like to label his death a suicide, thus putting all the blame on that poor, poor young man." He glanced at Harold. "Again and again, Mr. Preston has brought uncorroborated testimony into this court. The defense wants you to bank your entire ruling on the testimony of a six-year-old boy and an immigrant, moreover the various testimonies of the ignorant people of this town, who quite clearly just want to protect a friend of theirs." He looked back at the judge. "I ask you, can any testimony the defense provided over the course of this trial be trusted? Clearly, the answer is no. This court has never set free, nor convicted for that matter, a defendant whose chief witness is a child as young as Byron Sully! To rule in Dr. Quinn's favor would set a most unusual precedent, your honor. The defense has presented you with a case that is…weak at best. They have given you an elaborate tale that is, while original, outlandishly implausible." He pointed his finger at the judge. "Your honor, look at the evidence! Look at the bottles of morphine and the letter! Why, even Dr. Quinn herself has freely admitted to this court that Joshua Jennings asked her to help him commit suicide. Thus there remains little question that on April twenty-fifth, Dr. Quinn filled a syringe with morphine, not once, but several times, and in cold blood injected Joshua Jennings with a lethal dose of the drug. Only then did she flee town, taking care to remain out of sight until she was certain that he was dead."

He crossed his arms and lowered his voice for effect. "Now, the defense would have you believe Joshua was capable of giving himself his own injections. While I remain utterly skeptical of that proposition, I will concede that perhaps…perhaps there's a slim possibility he was at the helm of the syringe. But would this make Dr. Quinn any less guilty? Of course not. Regardless, she gave him access to that drug and she supported his efforts in overdosing. At the very least, she assisted in a suicide, which is not only forbidden by the Hippocratic Oath, an oath she's never shown much regard for in the past, but is also forbidden by the laws of this great state of Colorado and punishable by death." He looked at Michaela vehemently. "Either way, she is guilty. Guilty! Your honor, give Mr. and Mrs. Jennings peace of mind that she can never do this to another patient again. Don't let Joshua Jennings die in vain. Convict her, and hang her…Your honor, the prosecution rests."

Michaela watched the judge despondently as he nodded and stroked his chin thoughtfully.

"Well, at least we'll have the final word," Harold whispered.

She swallowed and tried to brighten her expression, but Matthew's anxious stare, the dampness of Sully's hand in hers, and the nervousness in Harold's voice were of no comfort.

"Your honor, shall I began?" Harold asked, standing up.

"Go ahead," Judge Webster said, turning his attention to him.

"The prosecution is right about our witnesses," Harold said. "They are an immigrant and a child. Believe you me, I was not pleased to learn our case would probably hinge largely on what those two had to say."

Judge Webster leaned back in his chair, watching Harold with intrigue.

"Now, if I had to choose, I would not have wanted Byron Sully or Alejandro Lopez as witnesses. Heaven's no! I would have selected someone respected, distinguished. And certainly a man. A white man, preferably, born in this country." He glanced out at the crowd. "Loren Bray, perhaps."

Loren looked at him with surprise, then smiled with satisfaction.

"Or perhaps Jake Slicker," Harold went on.

Jake nodded in agreement.

Harold snapped his head back to the judge. "However, Jake Slicker and Loren Bray did not have anything to offer our case, which is most unfortunate for me. But Byron and Alejandro did. If they were lying, I would not have wanted anything to do with them, and neither would any other lawyer charged with defending Dr. Quinn. The point is they were not lying. They were telling the truth, and that is the only reason I put them on the stand."

He glanced at Dorothy and Randal. "A few days ago, I found out I'm a father. It's a little boy. The wife says he looks like me. I haven't even met my son, and yet the thought of something ever happening to him fills me with the greatest pain I've ever known. I would stop at nothing to protect him. As a father myself now, I understand this deep, primeval love Mr. and Mrs. Jennings have for Joshua. And I can even understand why they have a need to avenge his death, I truly can. They've been through something unfathomable, altogether horrifying, and I extend my deepest sympathies to them. But the fact of the matter is that Joshua committed suicide, and that is all. We've established that Dr. Quinn was miles from town just prior to his death, making her involvement impossible I'm afraid the letter Joshua left is hardly substantial evidence. Read it, judge. It is a letter of gratitude, and nothing more. He wanted to thank Dr. Quinn for her devotion and determination. The same devotion and determination she has displayed time and again throughout the ten years she's lived in this town." He paused and glanced at Dorothy. "And he wrote that letter because he wanted to tell his aunt that he loved her. He wanted to be sure she knew."

Dorothy looked away and struggled to hold back tears.

He returned his gaze to the judge. "Yes, Dr. Quinn is a compassionate doctor. But above all I think we have shown you that she is also a fiercely determined person, and this determination extends to her medical practice. Assisting someone's suicide, even killing someone, is not within her realm of possibilities. But helping someone feel better, being brave enough to try any treatment that could help, regardless of how preposterous it may sound to other people, and just being a friend….well, that certainly rings true to the person she is."

He gently put his hand on Michaela's shoulder. "She's had a remarkable career thus far. She's responsible for saving countless lives. Why, several people sitting in this courtroom are only here because of her. Dr. Quinn has devoted her talents to improving each life here, not taking it away." He dropped his hands to the desk. "She's innocent of this crime. In fact, there is no crime here, judge. Just one very sick young man who could no longer go on. The defense rests."

"It could be as long as a few days," Michaela explained.

"The judge has a lot to think about," Sully added, holding the reins loosely in his hand and allowing their horse to bring them home at her own pace.

"Ma? Are we gonna lose?" he asked softly.

"No," Michaela said as Sully put his arm around her reassuringly. "…But if we do, the first thing we'll do is appeal."

"In the meantime you'll have to go to jail," Brian said.

"It would only be for a little while," she replied, glancing back at him briefly.

"Somebody's walkin' on the road," Sully said, straightening and squinting at the staggering figure a few hundred yards ahead.

Brian stood and shielded his eyes. "It looks like Judge Webster!"

The figure slowed to a stop and turned to face the wagon as it approached. Judge Webster gripped a nearby tree for support and smiled jadedly up at Michaela and Sully. His maroon suit was dusty and wrinkled, and perspiration clung to his face and neck.

"Judge Webster?" Michaela said as Sully stopped the wagon. "What…what are you doing?"

"Practicing the amendments," he replied. "Where was I? The Eleventh. 'The judicial power of the United States shall not be construed to extend to any suit in law or equity….'"

"I think he's drunk," Sully whispered, leaning toward Michaela.

"No, he can't be," she replied incredulously, climbing down from the wagon. "Judge Webster, why are you walking all the way out here?"

He held up his hand. "Let me finish, Dr. Quinn. 'Or by citizens or subjects of any foreign state.'"

Michaela took his wrist and felt his pulse, eyeing his flushed face. "Have you been drinking?"

"I was…removed from the saloon. The bartender said if I wanted another drink, I'd have to go to the saloon in the next town. He pointed down this road."

"I thought ya were supposed to be decidin' the case," Sully remarked.

"I don't tell you how to do your job, whatever that is," the judge snapped. "So please don't tell me how to do mine."

"You'll be walkin' for miles before ya get there," Sully said, jumping down from the wagon and grabbing his arm. "Get in. We'll take ya back to town."

"Not necessary. I'm fine." Judge Webster shrugged him off and took a step forward, suddenly losing his footing.

Sully and Michaela quickly grabbed his arms, keeping him upright.

"Steady," Sully said.

"Just sit up here, Judge," Michaela said. "We'll have you back soon. Besides, you don't want to be walking out here on such a warm day."

"Well, perhaps I should take you up on that," Judge Webster murmured as Michaela and Sully helped him onto the seat.

Brian blinked disbelievingly as he watched the judge brush off his suit coat and let out a small belch.

"What are you looking at, young man?" the judge demanded, glancing at Brian.

Brian cleared his throat and sat back on the edge of the wagon. "Uh, nothin'…your honor."

"Do you know the amendments?" he asked.

"No, sir," Brian murmured. "At least not by heart."

"Well, you should learn them!" he replied. "As I did when I was your age. And I never forgot them. Of course if those boys in Washington keep adding new ones like they have, I'll never be able to keep up." `

Sully gave Michaela a hand into the back of the wagon beside Brian and then climbed onto the seat beside the judge.

"I'll drive," Judge Webster said, picking up the reins. "The least I can do."

"Why don't I drive?" Sully said, gently taking the reins from him and giving them a flick. "G'up."

"Welcome back," Michaela said as Judge Webster slowly opened his eyes.

He looked around the recovery room, blinking watery eyes. "Where…where am I?"

"We brought you to my clinic to rest. You passed out on the way back to town."

He brought his hand to his head and closed his eyes. "I have a ghastly headache."

She held out a steaming mug of coffee. "Can you sit up? You can drink this."

He hoisted himself upright on the bed and took the mug from her. "I apologize for all this. I'm quite humiliated."

"My husband and I are just concerned for you, that's all," she replied. "…Have you always had a problem with alcohol?"

"I'm never, never intoxicated on the job, if that's what you're trying to imply," he retorted, taking a sip of the coffee.

"No, of course not."

He sighed. "If you must know, I've found that a good, stiff drink of whiskey makes it better. Only lately, nothing seems to help."

"Makes what better?"

He hesitated for a long moment, then slowly raised his left hand. It trembled rapidly and uncontrollably until he grabbed it with his other hand, stilling it.

Michaela swallowed. "….Paralysis agitans. You may have heard it called shaking pal-"

"Shaking palsy, I know," he said. "That's what my physician in Denver told me."

"Unfortunately, we don't know a lot about it," Michaela explained, walking to her cabinet and opening it. "It's usually quite slow to develop. Patients have shaky hands, stiffness in the arms and legs, difficulty balancing. They may experience hyperhidrosis, that's excessive sweating. And sometimes constipation and dry skin."

"Indeed. I'm impressed," he muttered.

Michaela took down a few bottles. "What did your doctor do for you?"

"Oh, he gave me some sort of tonic. And he suggested I take brisk walks. Some help he was. I'm paying a fortune for him and I don't know why."

Michaela opened the bottles and spooned some of the herbs inside onto pieces of paper. "I agree about the walks, but I imagine that tonic was full of alcohol. Judge, I must strongly advise that you stop drinking. It only aggravates the symptoms. It's really the worst thing you could do for yourself in this condition."

"Well, thank you very much for that unsolicited opinion, Dr. Quinn," he said impatiently, sliding down from the table. "I have a lot of work to do for this trial and I need to get back. I'll see myself out."

"Wait," she said, quickly folding the papers and walking to him. "This is rhubarb, licorice, and magnolia bark."

"Rhubarb and what?" he cried.

"Herbs in this combination help control tremors and relax stiff muscles. I've seen them help. I want you to brew them together into a tea and drink it three times a day."

He chuckled. "Is this some sort of prank? Where's the real medicine?"

"Real medicine, as you call it, probably won't help you in this case," Michaela replied, holding out the herb packets. "But these will. Please, just try it?" She smiled coyly. "I'm…not trying to kill you, Judge."

"Well, let's hope not." He sighed, slowly taking them from her and sticking them in his pocket. "Fine, I'll take them if you will let me leave."

"I don't force my patients to do anything. I'm not holding you here. It's your choice."

He walked to the door, then briefly turned around. "So this is your medical office. And those rooms there? Are they new?"

"Yes, we just put them in." Michaela glanced around reverently. "I just hope I'll be able to stay here."

The judge slowly opened the door. "I'll let you know the moment I've made my decision."

"Thank you, Judge," Michaela replied. "And let me know how you do with the tea."

He raised his eyebrows. "Yes. I'll…I'll be sure to do that."

Grace brought her wooden spoon up and tasted the steaming gravy. She thought it over for a moment, then added another sprinkle of salt.

“Grace,” Michaela called as she stepped out the back door of the clinic, carrying Jack.

“Oh, Dr. Mike,” she said cheerfully, turning from the stove. She put down the spoon and held her arms out to Jack.

The baby burst into a grin and willing settled into her embrace.

“How ya'll doing?” Grace asked, rubbing the baby's back.

“All right. All we have to do now is wait. How are you?”

Grace hesitated. “Me? Oh, I'm fine.”

“I can't thank you and Robert E. enough for all your support.”

“Least we could do, for all you done for us.”

“Has Dorothy come by here lately?”

“I haven't seen much of her since the trial began,” Grace remarked solemnly. “Dorothy ain't the friend we used to know right now. She's hurtin'.”

“That's what Sully says,” Michaela murmured.

Grace swallowed hard. “I know the kinda hurt she's feelin'.”

Michaela nodded, stroking Jack's hair. “You're so good with him, Grace. You and Robert E. are so good with all of them.”

“They're all as sweet as can be,” she remarked.

She took a deep breath, struggling to hold back tears. “Grace, if anything happens to me…could you help Sully with the children?”

Grace slowly met her eyes. “What're you talkin' about?”

“He's so worried about doing it alone,” she replied. “I see it in his eyes. It would make me feel better if I knew you were coming by every few days to look in on them.”

Grace stepped toward her, one hand pressed to the baby's head. “Dr. Mike, you listen to me. Nothin' is gonna happen to you. You're goin' back home to those children, and Sully.”

She shook her head. “I can't be sure what the judge is going to say.”

“Robert E. and me promised to be there for anything back when Katie was christened. You know that. You know you can always count on us.”

Michaela nodded. “We have some good friends in this town.”

Grace squeezed her hand. “Well, so do we.”

Sully was almost asleep when Michaela shifted against his chest and took hold of his hand, squeezing it.

"Sully? Sully?"

"…Hm?" he muttered tiredly.

"Sully, when did you first fall in love with me?"

"Why ya ask that? You know when I did."

"Yes, but tell me again. I can't sleep."

He gently kissed the back of her head. "…You were covered in mud and that's about all there is to it."

"Don't be lazy. Tell the whole story."

"You're worse than the kids," he replied, slowing opening his eyes.

"Please? Tell me all of it. No cheating."

He propped himself up on his elbow and tilted her head to face him. "Only thing I remember is how beautiful ya looked. How much I wanted to see ya again. How badly I wanted to know ya. I was sure right then I wanted to spend the rest of my life with ya. And I couldn't wait." He caressed her cheek and kissed her. "At least that's how I felt until ya opened your mouth."

Her bright smile immediately fell. "You're incorrigible."

"Just the way ya like me," he replied, laying back down and cuddling her close. He sensed she was still wide awake. "Ya wanna talk some more or ya wanna try to sleep?"

She swallowed. "Please, let's talk."

"'Bout what?"

"Anything but the trial," she replied. "Just help me keep my mind off it."

"…Are ya goin' away?"

She closed her eyes tearfully. "I might be. For awhile at least."

"Knowin' that, I can't think of anything to talk about," he murmured. "…We could always make love."

She burst into a surprised grin. "Well, you're very subtle."

"Speakin' of that, there's somethin' your ma told me the other day that you should know."

"What?" she asked curiously.

He awkwardly scratched his cheek. "She, uh…well, she claims she can hear us."

Michaela raised her eyebrows. "What does that mean? You mean she…?"

"That night after the council meeting? She was up gettin' herself a glass of water. At a bad time. She said we made…commotion."

"The council meeting…" Her eyes widened in horror. "We weren't that loud, were we?"

Mischief sparkled in his eyes. "I don't know about myself but as I remember it you sure were."

"I'll have you know you were directly responsible for any commotion I may or may not have made," she replied intrepidly.

"Makin' commotion's my specialty," he whispered, giving her another soft kiss.

A distressed scream from the bedroom next door startled them both. As Michaela sat up Byron pushed open their door, letting out another panicked cry.

He ran to Michaela's arms, holding onto his stuffed puppy by its leg, and climbed onto the bed beside her. "Mama! Mama!"

Michaela drew him into her lap and rocked him. "Byron? What is it? Oh, it's all right. Hush."

He cried harder. "Mama, they hurt you."

Sully shifted to sit beside Michaela and stroked the little boy's damp hair. "Ya have a bad dream?"

He nodded, burying his head against Michaela's nightgown.

"Hush, hush," Michaela soothed, kissing his head. "Hush, you're all right. Shh. I'm here, see? I'm fine. Hush."

He held on tight as his tears gradually ebbed. Finally he rubbed his nose and tilted his head back, looking up at her. "What if the judge says you gotta get hung?"

Michaela glanced at Sully, not knowing what to say.

Sully gave his brow a gentle kiss. "I promised ya I'd take care of your ma. And I'm keepin' my promise."

Byron rubbed his nose again and looked at Sully with a reassured sigh.

"You were so brave to go up there and tell what you saw to the judge," Michaela added, rocking him again. "That helped me so much, do you know that?"

"I was really scared," he whispered.

She tenderly smoothed his hair off his brow. "Oh, sweetheart, I know. But you did a wonderful job. You were so grown up. I'm so proud of you."

Sully smoothed his hair. “I got an idea. Let's go on a picnic tomorrow. All of us. We can stop frettin' about the trial.”

“Oh, that sounds like fun,” Michaela said. “What do you think, Briny?”

“Yeah. I'll bring my baseball,” he said.

"Good. Now, think ya can go back to sleep?" Sully asked.

"Yeah. I'll try," he replied.

Michaela kissed him again. "I love you. You get tucked in and Mama's going to go downstairs and bring you up some warm milk. How does that sound?"

"With cinn-mon?" he asked.

She smiled. "With cinnamon."

Sully stood and lifted Byron off Michaela's lap. "Up. Back to your room."

"Wait, don't forget puppy," Michaela said, standing up and tucking the tattered stuffed animal against his chest.

Byron handed him back by one of his floppy ears. "No, he can sleep with you tonight."

"Don't you want him with you?"

"Case you get scared, too. You can hug him, Mama."

She smiled and placed the puppy carefully on her pillow. "I just may do that. Thank you."

"You hug him, too, Papa," Byron instructed.

"Nah, I got all I need just with you and Mama to hug," Sully said, holding him close and giving him a kiss. "Come on, son. Back to bed."

Brian pitched Sully another baseball across the plate. Sully connected with the ball hard, sending another high fly toward the bushes in the far distance.

Brian and Katie shielded their eyes and watched the ball soar.

“Whoa!” Byron cried.

“Another home run, Papa!” Katie shouted excitedly.

“Go get it,” Sully called back.

The children eagerly chased after the ball, their energy inexorable.

“Sully, you've lost us half the balls we brought,” Elizabeth called from first base. She was squatting down with Jack, keeping a watchful eye on him as he sat in the grass and played with one of the balls. He alternatively pressed it to his mouth and touched its red stitches with his fingers.

“When ya gonna start pitchin' strikes, Brian?” Sully asked teasingly.

“When you stop cheatin',” the young man retorted with a smile.

“Cheatin'? How am I cheatin'?”

“You're crowdin' the plate,” Brian replied, picking up another ball. “I can't get any of my curves in.”

Sully stepped back and took a slow practice swing. “All right. Throw me another.”

Brian wound his arm and pitched the ball over the plate at a dangerous speed. But Sully connected again, sending a fast grounder to left field. He grinned with satisfaction and held out the end of the bat.

“Hit some more for the kids,” he said. “I'm gonna talk to your ma.”

Brain jogged over and took the bat. “Sure.”

Sully walked to the blanket beneath a nearby tree and sat beside Michaela, watching as she folded the white cloth napkins from their hearty picnic and placed them in the basket.

“There's a spot for you out there. Second base,” he said.

“I'd rather sit here and be team captain,” she replied. “I like giving the orders.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, I know.”

She handed him a fork with a smile. “There's a little potato salad left over. Do you want it?”

He shook his head, placing the fork in the basket.

“Having a picnic was a wonderful idea, Sully. It's good to get away from everything.”

For a long moment, he rested one hand on his knee and watched the children chase after a ball Brian had hit. “I still can't stop wonderin', Michaela,” he finally whispered, “…how I'd manage to do this without ya.“

“Do what?”

He took a deep breath. “Raise our kids without their ma.”

“Oh, Sully,” she murmured, caressing his hand.

He shook his head, shifting to face her. “I can't do it. I can't think about you…not bein' here anymore.”

“No. I'm depending on you. If the judge finds me guilty, you have to hold our family together until we can have another trial. Promise you will.”

“Like I said, I'll break ya outta jail,” he replied decisively.

She closed her eyes. “Sully, we can't really do that. And risk the children losing both of us?”

“Michaela, you didn't do anything! That judge is ready to throw ya in jail. Maybe even…even hang ya. You tellin' me to just sit back and let that happen?”

She watched their children play for a long moment. They were so carefree. For once they weren't thinking about the trial, or worrying about their mother's fate. “The truth shall make you free, I just have to believe that,” she replied. “We did our best, Sully. We told the truth. All of us did. Now I feel ready to face whatever the judge decides.”

He drew her into a tight hug, caressing her hair.

“You'll keep the family together?” she whispered.

“I promise. Until we can all be together again,” he whispered back. He looked out at the road, noticing a cloud of dust as a rider galloped toward them. “Somebody's comin'.”

Michaela shielded her eyes. “It's Harold,” she whispered. She could think of no reason for Harold to be riding at such a quick pace, except for one.

Sully and Michaela glanced at each other knowingly, then stood together, lightly grasping hands.

“Dr. Quinn, for heaven's sake!” Harold exclaimed, jumping down from his horse. “Mr. Cooper and I have been looking everywhere for you! Where have you been?”

“We were just having a picnic,” she explained. “What's wrong?”

“The judge just informed us he made his decision! We have to be back in court at nine tomorrow.”

Michaela felt a mix of relief and trepidation. “He's decided?”

Harold took a deep breath. “He's decided.”

Michaela glanced at Sully expectantly as he opened the door. She had been trying to look through one of her medical books before going to bed, but quickly found that she couldn't focus on anything except the trial.

“Sully?”

“Kids are fine. They're all dreamin'.”

“Thank you for checking on them. I won't be able to fall asleep unless I know they're all right.” She sighed, closing her book in defeat. “I still can't believe Randal came here. I suppose we're lucky all he did was break a window.”

He silently pulled off his shirt and laid it across a chair, then strolled to the bed and climbed in beside her.

She leaned toward him out of habit and gave him a soft kiss. “Goodnight,” she whispered.

He hesitated, then briefly caressed her arm. “Night.”

He watched as she shifted down beneath the warm covers and turned on her side. He knew her routine so well now, and it comforted him. She gave her pillow a few fluffs, reached forward and turned the lamp down until the flame disappeared, tucked her hair behind her ear, then let out a sigh as she closed her eyes.

He suddenly paused at the thought that Michaela might not be beside him tomorrow night, and perhaps for many more nights to come. Impulsively, he crouched down along side her and touched his hand to her back, slowly running it up and down. After awhile he lifted her hair to expose her neck, lowering his head and kissing her skin.

She slowly opened her eyes, remaining still and contemplative as he continued his sensuous ministrations.

“Turn over,” he finally whispered, caressing her shoulder.

She slowly shifted to her back and he spread his weight across her and kissed her passionately. She held onto his back as he worked one hand beneath her nightgown and shifted it up to expose and caress her thighs. Tears suddenly appeared in her eyes.

“What?” he whispered, pulling back and stroking her cheek. “Ya…ya don't want to?”

She couldn't help but smile. “Sully. Of course I do.”

“Then what's wrong?”

“Nothing. I'm fine.”

“Ya cold?”

“No.” She caressed his chest and drew him back down to her.

They made love slowly, drawing it out as much as nature would allow. Neither wanted the night to end, knowing what was to come in the morning. Afterward, Sully held her to his chest and threaded his fingers with hers. She was sure he was asleep until he cleared his throat and spoke.

“You awake?”

“Yes,” she answered hesitantly.

“Good. I…I wanna talk.”

She slowly turned to face him. She wasn't accustomed to this, and her face immediately brightened. “You do?”

He took a deep breath. “I've just been thinkin' what it's gonna be like if…”

“If the judge convicts me,” she finished unsteadily.

“I love you,” he whispered hoarsely.

Her eyes instantly welled with tears. “Sully.”

“You've been the most wonderful woman a man could ask for. I been so lucky to have ya. Ten years ya been my best friend, my partner. But know what the best part's been?”

She softly grinned. “My cooking?”

He chuckled and caressed her cheek. “The best part's been this family you've given me. Watchin' you with our kids. Watchin' you be their ma.”

“I think I'm better at that than cooking,” she replied.

“Michaela, you're amazin'.” He took another deep breath. “You've given me everything I ever wanted. You and the kids, you're my life.”

“Oh,” she murmured, wrapping her arms around his neck and holding him close. “I feel exactly the same way about you, you know that.”

“Harold said we should say our goodbyes,“ he whispered against her hair.

“No. I'll never be able to say goodbye to you,” she replied.

“Me neither. I know I ain't much for talkin', and I know that disappoints ya sometimes, but I just wanted to be sure ya know…ya know how I feel. Before tomorrow comes.”

“Sully, I fell in love with you just the way you are,” she said, stroking his hair. “You've never disappointed me. You exceed my expectations every day.”

“You've sure exceeded all mine,” he replied with a small, playful smile.

“Good to hear,” she said.

“I love you,“ he whispered again. He caressed her cheek and drew closer, whispering to her again about how deeply he cared for her and how glad he was to be married to her.

She relished the murmured words of love Sully was saying, but was bewildered at the same time. He was usually so quiet when it came to making love, leaving any vocalizing up to her. He was typically even more silent afterward, opting to simply hold her hand and rest, occasionally giving her a soft kiss until they fell asleep. As much as she would have preferred to talk, she had grown to appreciate the silence, too. She liked their quiet moments together, when they simply enjoyed the closeness of each other.

She drew as close as she could to him and wrapped her arms tightly around him, pressing her lips to his ear. “Sully, listen to me. It's going to be all right. It's going to be all right.”

He reluctantly nodded.

“You'll be fine,” she said reassuringly. “You and the children are going to be fine. We'll file an appeal, and everything will be fine. I promise.”

He nodded and held her even tighter. For now at least, he had her in his arms.

Judge Webster folded his hands on his desk, his serious expression unreadable.

"Don't worry," William whispered to Randal and Dorothy. "We've got this."

"We better," Randal muttered.

"Will the defendant please rise?" the judge began.

Michaela, Sully, Harold and Matthew all stood. Sully glanced at Michaela and gave her an encouraging nod.

Judge Webster's brow wrinkled ever so slightly. "Dr. Quinn, as far as your handling of Joshua Jennings' case, I believe you were careless, impatient and abhorrently negligent. While your desire to give the young man some independence is admirable, I believe it colored your judgment. For the life of me, I cannot understand how any reasonable physician could allow a patient to play freely with a drug as powerful and dangerous as morphine. And especially a patient as unstable as that young man apparently was."

William slowly smiled. "You see?" he whispered, leaning toward Randal.

"Further," the judge went on edgily, "it is my determination that the very fact that Joshua Jennings was given free access to that drug cost him his life. Now, I believe you're aware of that and I believe you're remorseful, and you must live the rest of your life knowing that he might still be alive if it wasn't for the foolish choices you made during the course of his treatment!"

Michaela's face clouded and the confidence she had exuded faded.

The judge sighed. "However, this is not a medical malpractice case. If Mr. and Mrs. Jennings want to press that matter, I avidly encourage them. But they'll have to take that to the civil courts and the Medical Review Board. Indeed, this is a first-degree murder trial. While your son Byron Sully may be just six years old, it is not for the court to disregard his testimony based solely on his age. If in fact the defense did fabricate his testimony, as the prosecution would have me believe, why wouldn't they have chosen an older witness? An adult? No one in their right mind would want a little boy like him as their only witness to the crime, unless of course he's telling the truth. I found young Byron's testimony sincere and to the point. I believe he did see Joshua the night of April twenty-fifth. Therefore, Dr. Quinn, I find you not guilty on all counts. That's all. Court's adjourned." He banged his gavel firmly.

Michaela sighed with a mix of amazement and relief. Sully and Matthew hugged her and Brian and Elizabeth rushed up from their seats.

"We did it, Dr. Mike," Matthew said with a smile.

"I knew we could," she said, clutching his arm.

"Congratulations," Harold said, shaking her hand and patting her shoulder.

Michaela looked across the room, hoping to catch a glimpse of Dorothy, but she had already slipped out.

Sully held out his hand to Harold and shook with him firmly. "Thank you for helpin' us, Mr. Preston."

"Well, thank you for your help, too, Mr. Sully," he replied amiably.

Randal stood, eyeing the happy scene with vehemence. "How did this happen?"

William packed his papers into his leather case. "I'm as stunned as you are. I never thought the judge would believe that child's testimony. I'm sorry."

"Bull! You said we'd win!" he shouted, picking up the remaining papers and throwing them to the floor.

The crowd quieted and turned to look at Randal.

"Calm down," William said sternly. "We did all we could."

"That murderer's goin' free thanks to you!" Randal retorted. He took a step toward Michaela and extended his arm, pointing his finger at her wrathfully, but words failed him. He moaned with frustration and grabbed his hat from the table, putting it on and storming out of the room.

Harold raised his eyebrows. "Well, it's fair to say he's not as pleased with the results as we are."

"That man frightens me," Elizabeth said quietly. "He looks at you as if he's ready to kill you, Michaela."

Sully put his hand on Michaela's shoulder reassuringly. "It'll be all right. He'll leave town soon enough."

"Let's get home to the children," Michaela said solemnly.

Harold let out a fervent laugh as the cork on the champagne bottle flew across the room and the liquid bubbled over, trickling down his hand. He quickly filled everyone's glasses and then raised his own glass into the air. The homestead was crowded with Michaela and Sully's closest friends, including Grace and Robert E., Kirk and Faye, Alejandro Lopez and his wife, and the Reverend. The kitchen had been filled with a variety foods, from puddings and cakes to casseroles, put together that afternoon by Grace and Faye.

Harold raised his glass. "A toast. To Dr. Quinn! And to everyone who helped us win this case! Especially Byron!"

"Hear, hear," Elizabeth said.

Byron and Katie held their glasses of cider high.

"Hear, hear," Byron repeated with a giggle.

“Salud,” Alejandro said cheerfully.

Sully raised his glass toward Harold and put his arm around Michaela. "And to you, Mr. Preston."

He nodded in acknowledgement and everyone pressed their glasses together over the table, producing a chorus of rings.

Michaela took a small sip of her champagne and then rested her glass on the table, remaining quiet as everyone else broke into animated conversation.

"I keep seein' Mr. Herndon's face when ya told him Ma was takin' the stand," Brian spoke up with a chuckle. "He couldn't believe his ears!"

"No, no, my absolute favorite was when we cleared the courtroom for Byron to testify, and the judge…" Harold said with a laugh. "The judge looks at that reporter from Denver who wouldn't leave, and he says…" He paused to laugh again, clutching his stomach. "The judge says to the poor fellow: 'I don't care if you're Rutherford B. Hayes! Get out of my courtroom!'"

The crowd erupted into boisterous laughter and Harold reached for another bottle of champagne.

Michaela quietly backed up from the joyful gathering and slipped into the kitchen. After a moment, Sully noticed she was gone and walked away from the crowd, joining Michaela in the kitchen. He found her standing at the sink, looking out the window.

"The party's just startin'," he said, strolling to the sink as the crowd broke into another fit of laughter from the next room.

She shrugged. "I suppose I don't feel much like celebrating."

"Ya don't feel like celebratin'? Ya just won. Ya said yourself ya thought ya might lose."

"Joshua's still gone, Sully," she said a bit harshly.

He reached his hand out and tenderly touched her back. "We all know that. But it's all right to be happy right now. There's nothin' wrong with that."

"Oh, Sully. What if Judge Webster's right? Perhaps allowing Joshua to give himself injections was one terrible, deadly mistake."

"Michaela, if he wanted to die he was gonna do it somehow. If he couldn't get morphine he woulda gotten his hands on somethin' else." He rubbed her back. "Like ya said, ya wanted to give him some dignity. Ya wanted to make it better. Ya can't blame yourself for that."

"It's not just that," she murmured, shaking her head. "Dorothy's still so upset, so angry. I failed her. But she failed me, too. I thought she trusted me, I thought she knew I would never lie to her, would never harm a patient, especially someone she loved. And she wouldn't believe me. I'm just not sure things can ever be normal again."

"It's gonna take some time. Ya gotta give it some time." He drew her into his arms and caressed her head.

She choked up. "I lost a patient, and I've come to accept that. But I never counted on losing my best friend, too."

"Oh, I wish I could take you with me," Elizabeth said tearfully as she crouched down and hugged Katie and Byron. "Now it's going to be your turn to visit me. I want you to come to Boston as soon as you can."

"Can we go to Boston, Mama?" Katie asked, looking up at Michaela.

"I'll take you someday," Michaela replied.

"When?" Byron persisted. "Tomorrow?"

"No, not tomorrow, Byron," she replied with a chuckle.

Elizabeth kissed the children's cheeks. "Promise you'll keep pestering your parents until they take you."

Byron giggled. "All right, Gran'ma."

Elizabeth gave them one last tight hug, then slowly rose to her feet and turned her attention to Sully and Michaela.

"Mother, I don't know how I could have done this without you," Michaela said unsteadily. "Thank you for coming all the way out here."

Elizabeth grasped her hands. "Oh, how could I not come?"

"I'll miss you," she replied, drawing her into a warm hug. "…I love you."

Elizabeth closed her eyes. "I love you." She stepped back and eyed her son-in-law. "Sully, take care of my little girl."

"She takes care of me," he replied, walking a few steps to the side and motioning Elizabeth to follow. He handed her a small envelope. "I want ya to have this."

She opened the envelope to reveal a stack of bills.

"It's about thirty dollars," Sully explained. "To pay for Harold Preston."

She smiled softly. "Sully, do you have any idea how much that lawyer is costing me?"

"I reckon more than this," he murmured as the train blew its final whistle.

She handed him back the envelope. "All I wanted was to visit you and Michaela and the children. I don't need this."

"I know it ain't much, but I want ya to have somethin' for-"

She stepped forward, pressed her hand to his chest for balance and kissed his cheek, silencing him. "Take care of those beautiful grandchildren of mine, too."

"…Yes, ma'am."

She stepped onto the back of the train. "And visit Boston!" she added.

Sully returned to Michaela and the children as they called their last goodbyes.

Elizabeth found her seat and opened the window, waving tearfully at everyone as the train steamed and roiled, finally lurching forward and pulling out of the station.

Michaela held back tears and clutched Byron and Katie to her sides. "Well, it's time you two get to school. You're going to be late if you don't hurry. And I have to get to the clinic!"

Katie and Byron grabbed their lunch tins from the train station steps.

"Say goodbye to Papa," Michaela added. "He's leaving before you come home from school."

"I'll see ya in about a week," Sully said as he kissed each of them. "Mind your ma."

"Wish I could go, Papa," Byron said, hugging his father's arm sadly.

"You got learnin' to do at school," he replied, tousling his hair. "Go on with ya."

The children obediently scampered down the steps and hurried across the tracks.

"Byron, Katie! Don't run!" Michaela called with exasperation.

"At least they're eager to get there," Sully remarked, reaching down, picking up his knapsack and slinging it over his shoulder as he turned Michaela to face him and stroked her arms with his hands.

"Two goodbyes in one day. You're asking too much of me," Michaela said, her cheerful smile no mask for her sadness.

"The weather's holdin'. And beaver pelt prices ain't been this high in months. Now's a good time to go."

"I know," she murmured.

"Ya gonna try an' talk to Dorothy while I'm gone?"

She nodded. "I hope to. If she'll talk, too. I don't want our friendship to end."

"Ya had a strong friendship. Ya can make it through anythin'. Even this. Wish I could help, but there's not much more anybody can do. It's up to you and Dorothy now."

She stepped forward and hugged him tightly. "You've been wonderful through this entire ordeal, Sully. You've been so strong for my sake. Thank you."

"You're pretty strong yourself," he murmured, pressing his lips to her ear. "Know what?"

"Hm?" she replied, closing her eyes.

"It's nice bein' in love with my wife. Except when I gotta leave," he whispered, giving her ear a gentle kiss.

She grinned coyly and caressed his back.

"You and me, Michaela, that's the one thing that don't ever change."

"It's what gets us through the hard times," she added with a soft smile.

He tapped her nose. "Don't move. I wanna remember ya just like this for the next week or so."

"Hurry home," she said, waving as he stepped down from the platform and mounted his horse bareback.

"As soon as I can," he replied, waving back and then giving his horse a squeeze with his thighs, leading him across the tracks and disappearing down the road.

“Ain't you going to eat something?” Sarah asked, reaching her hand across the table and gently caressing Brian's arm.

He glanced up at her. He had long forgotten Grace's stew and biscuits, as tasty as it was. “Huh?”

She put her fork down. “What is it, Brian? You're so quiet. You seem sad. Are you mad at me?”

He took her hand and gave it a discreet kiss. “Course not. I was just thinkin'.”

“You've been moping around for a week,” she remarked. “And I think I know why.”

“You do?”

“It's your writin',” she said with certainty. “You stopped writin'. Brian, go back to the Gazette. Put the past behind. Dorothy will take you back.”

He sighed. “I don't know what to do, Sarah. You're right, I miss writin'. But at the same time, quittin' the Gazette got me thinkin' about all kinds of things.”

“Like what?” she asked curiously.

He squeezed her hand. “Us. About where we’re headed, our dreams. How I wanna be able to support ya.”

“Support me?” she asked shyly.

“Yeah. You know, when we get married.”

“Brian Cooper! Was that a proposal?” she asked, pressing one hand to her heart.

He grinned. “I hope not. I wanna propose proper. When I've saved up money for a ring. A real pretty one.”

She squeezed his hand. “I don't care about fancy rings.”

“No, I wanna do this right. Problem is, I don't have money. Dorothy taught me almost everything I know about writin', but as much as I liked workin' at the Gazette, maybe it's time I find some work that's gonna bring in some steady pay. Maybe it's time I move on.”

“What do you mean? You mean work for a different paper?”

“I don't know,” he murmured. “I'd like to be a reporter, but it might take years before I'm makin' anything to speak of. And that's if I can even find a job. What with things the way they are, I might have to work someplace else for awhile, save up some money.”

“Then what?” she asked.

He slowly got up from his chair and sat on the bench beside her, putting his arm around her. “First I'll buy ya that ring. Then, I wanna build us a house.”

“I'd like a staircase with a banister,” she said. “I've always wanted a banister.”

“All right, a house with a staircase and banister,” he replied with a soft smile.

“Where you gonna build this house?”

“Home,” he said with certainty. “Colorado Springs.”

“And then?”

He gave her a gentle kiss. “Then I wanna say 'I do.'”

She hugged him tightly. “I love you, Brian.”

“I love you, too,” he replied.

Michaela poured some paregoric onto a spoon and held it in front of her patient's sealed lips.

The four-year-old whimpered and shook her head, her arms wrapped around her belly.

“Come on now, darlin',” the little girl's mother instructed. “Dr. Mike knows how to make you better, so open up.”

Whimpering some more, the child slowly parted her lips and Michaela gave her the unpleasant medicine.

“I know, tummy aches aren't fun,” Michaela said, rubbing the child's back sympathetically.

“How long before she feels better?” the girl's mother asked worriedly.

“If she's not better in the morning bring her back here,” Michaela instructed, placing the spoon and bottle of paregoric on the examination table. “But I think you'll see in an improvement in a few hours.” She glanced up as someone knocked on the door. “I'll be right back.”

She walked to the door and opened it to find Jake and Horace.

The men removed their hats.

“Mornin', Dr. Mike,” Jake said. “You busy?”

“Good morning, Jake, Horace. Actually, I have a patient waiting. Is something wrong?”

“You have a patient?” Horace said. “Good.”

“I'll be with you in a few minutes,” she said.

“Wait, Dr. Mike. This is important,” Jake said. “It can't wait.”

“What is it?” she asked curiously.

“We…we want ya back on the council,” Jake said grudgingly. “You left an empty seat when you resigned.”

“I see. Well, as far as I'm concerned I was fired. I'm sorry, but I can't accept.” She went to swing the door shut.

“What do you mean?” Jake asked, stopping the door with his boot. “I'm givin' ya back your seat!”

“And I'm saying no thank you,” she replied with a polite smile.

“Dr. Mike, you just gotta take your seat back,” Horace said pleadingly.

Michaela stepped out onto the porch and closed the door behind her. “Why should I? Gentlemen, you brought me in front of the entire town and all but accused me of being a murderer. You didn't wait for any verdicts to be read before you showed me the door. The years we've spent together, working side by side to make this town a better place, meant nothing to you. And that trial meant nothing to you either. No, you had already convicted me. Why should I want to serve on a council that treats its members like that?”

Horace lowered his head guiltily, but Jake would have none of it.

“Look, Dr. Mike, you want the truth?” Jake said impatiently. “The truth is if you don't take your seat back Preston's gonna be on our council in no time. He's been eyein' your seat for years, you know it, we all know it. And you know what's gonna happen once Preston's on the council. His hotel is gonna come first.”

“He doesn't care about our businesses,” Horace added.

“Good, I hope he takes my seat. You deserve that,” she said.

“What do you want me to do? Beg?” Jake demanded. “All right, so I made a mistake.”

She eyed him critically.

“Fine, a big mistake,” he amended. “I wasn't thinkin' clear. Haven't you ever made a mistake?”

She swallowed hard. “…Yes, I have.”

“…I'm sorry,” Jake said quietly.

“All of us are, Dr. Mike,” Horace added.

“Seems there's a dispute over a claim down at Cripple Creek,” Jake explained. “They want the council to figure this mess out, so we're gonna vote on it next Tuesday. What do ya say ya vote with us?”

“Come on, Dr. Mike,” Horace said softly. “We need ya.”

She took a deep breath. “I accept your apology. And I'll take my seat back. I'll be there.”

Horace beamed while Jake did his best to hide his relief.

Jake held out his hand. “As mayor, I want to be the first to welcome ya back.”

She reluctantly shook with him. “I'm glad to be back, Mayor Slicker.”

Hank cautiously refilled Randal's shot glass as he tried to remember how long the miserable drunk had been sitting there, drowning his troubles in liquor.

Randal rested his elbows on the bar and raised one shaky hand, downing the whiskey. “That boy had the best shot I've ever seen,” he remarked with a small smile. “He wasn't but eight years old when he brought us home a pheasant.”

Hank wasn't sure who Randal was talking to. He feigned mild interest while refilling another customer's glass.

Randal chuckled softly. “You know what that boy did to his sister? Josh took the legs of that pheasant and strung them up outside her door. She got up in the middle of the night, ran into those things and screamed bloody murder. Near gave the misses and me heart attacks.” He chuckled again. “That boy was somethin'. That he was.” He took a deep breath. “Ya know, he never had an unkind word for anybody, not even me. Poor excuse for a father is what I was. I can't take credit for him. He was good to the bone.” He held up the glass again. “Fill me up.”

“I think ya've had enough, old man,” Hank said calmly. “Why don't ya move on.”

Randal dropped the glass on the table and slid down from his stool. “Where's your privy?”

Hank nodded to his right. “Out back.” He watched the man stagger out the door, then with a small shrug, Hank lighted a cigar and put his arm around one of his girls.

"Dorothy?" Michaela called gently, taking a step into the Gazette.

Dorothy pulled off a sheet of the Gazette from the printing press, her apron and hands smudged with ink. She looked briefly at Michaela, then returned her eyes to her work.

Michaela held out a small parcel. "I just wanted to return some of Joshua's things to Mr. Jennings. There's some clothes. And a few books of his he was letting me borrow."

"Randal's at the saloon," Dorothy replied, laying the sheet on a nearby table to dry.

"Oh." Michaela crossed the room and put the parcel on Dorothy's desk. "I'll just leave it here then." She folded her hands uncomfortably. "I didn't get a chance to thank you for what you did when Byron was testifying, the way you made your lawyer stop questioning him even though that probably hurt your case. Sully and I are both grateful."

"Like I said, he's just a little boy," Dorothy murmured. "…Things got out of hand. I never wanted to draw him into that mess. Or the Davises for that matter."

"I know," Michaela said. "I know, Dorothy." She took a tentative step toward her. "You're still grieving, and probably still very angry with me. And you should take your time. But I want you to know that, when you're ready, I'd like to talk with you about it…I want to talk."

"What the hell do you think you're doin' showin' your face here?" Randal demanded, stepping inside the Gazette, his face bathed in sweat.

Michaela turned and picked up the parcel. "Mr. Jennings, I brought over some of Joshua's things. I wanted you to have them before you went back home."

"I don't want 'em," he barked.

"Randal, but they're his books," Dorothy protested. "They're what he loved the most!"

Michaela held the parcel out. "I know he would want them to go to his father."

"I said I don't want 'em!" he shouted, knocking the parcel from Michaela's hands and grabbing her arm. "Your lyin' little bastard was good. Real good. Got you off scot-free, didn't he?" He whipped out a small, sharp knife from his boot and Michaela reacted with a startled cry.

Dorothy grabbed his arm. "Randal! You're drunk!"

Randal pushed her off. "You shoulda been hanged!" he shouted in Michaela's face, pressing the tip of the knife to her stomach . "I wanted you dead! My…my little boy's gone 'cause of you."

"Mr. Jennings, it was a terrible tragedy," Michaela said tearfully. "And I know you just need someone to blame, someone to pay, but it won't make you feel better. We can all talk about this together. I want nothing more than to help you through this, believe me."

"Like ya helped my son?!" he cried, thrusting the knife into her abdomen and quickly pulling it out. He backed up and looked at the blood-streaked knife in disbelief.

"Randal, no! Michaela!" Dorothy cried, rushing to her side and grasping her arms.

Michaela looked down as blood sputtered from the wound and immediately soaked the front of her blouse. Seconds later, she slumped to her knees.

Dorothy held her tightly and helped her to her back. "No. Michaela." She looked back at Randal. "Get help! Go! Find Dr. Cook!"

Startled, Randal dropped the knife to the floor and rushed out of the Gazette.

Dorothy frantically grabbed a towel from the nearby basin and pressed it to the wound. "Michaela, oh. How could he do this?!" Helplessly, she tore off her apron and covered Michaela with it.

Michaela struggled to focus on her face. "Dorothy."

"I'm here. Tell me how to help," she replied. "I should go get Sully!"

"No, he's trapping….Bear Creek," Michaela said hoarsely, closing her eyes. "Don't leave me. Don't go. Please."

Dorothy grabbed her hand and squeezed it reassuringly. "I won't. You're going to be fine. I won't leave, Michaela."

Dorothy leaned forward in her chair and searched her friend's face for any sign of consciousness. "Michaela?"

Andrew lifted the sheets and squatted down, examining his stitch-work. "Looks like it's stopped bleeding," he murmured. "She was lucky it didn't puncture her lung. I can't get over how close it came."

"When's she going to wake up?" Dorothy asked worriedly.

"The chloroform should have worn off by now," he replied. "Keep trying."

"Michaela," Dorothy called persistently. "…Her hands are so cold, Dr. Cook. And she's so pale."

"That's normal after the amount of blood she lost," he replied, walking to the nearby cabinet and retrieving another quilt. "Here, let's try to keep her warm."

Dorothy helped him spread the blanket snuggly around her and then nudged the chair closer to the bed. "Michaela, it's Dorothy. Listen to me. You and I have a lot to talk about yet, so don't you go givin’ up."

Gradually, Michaela opened her eyes and looked at Dorothy with a mix of bewilderment and exhaustion.

"Oh, thank goodness," Dorothy murmured, tears filling her eyes. "Michaela."

"It's good to have you back," Andrew said gently as he pressed his stethoscope to her chest. "Still slower than I'd like it to be, but better." He squatted down to her level. "Michaela, do you know what happened? You suffered a stab wound that went about an inch and a half deep. It just grazed the lower lobe of your right lung …"

Michaela glanced around the room impassively. "Sully?" she murmured, her brow suddenly furrowing with distress.

"Matthew and Brian rode out to look for him," Dorothy explained. "They're bringin' him back here. Shh, he'll be here when he can."

"Stay…stay with me until he comes," Michaela whispered, closing her eyes tiredly.

"Oh, of course I will," Dorothy said resolutely, squeezing her hand. "…Michaela?"

"It's probably all too much for her right now," Andrew said, standing back up. "The best thing she can get is rest."

Sully thrust open the clinic door, desperately trying to catch his breath. “Where is she?”

Andrew rose from Michaela's desk chair, slowly crossing the room.

“What?” Sully asked, swallowing hard. “…Tell me!”

“Sully, she's going to be fine,” Andrew said reassuringly. “She lost a lot of blood and she's going to need to take it easy for several days, but she came through fine.”

Sully let out a great sigh of relief. “Ya sure?”

He nodded, folding his arms. “The men went looking for Mr. Jennings. We haven't heard anything yet.”

Sully's hand instinctively grazed the top of his tomahawk. “What direction he take? I'll find him.”

“I don't doubt you would. But please, stay here right now. Michaela needs you. She's been calling for you ever since she woke up.”

“She's awake?”

“Yes, for brief periods. Dorothy's with her.”

“….Dorothy?”

“That's right. She's been holding her hand, hasn't left her side.” He nodded at the door to one of the new recovery rooms. “In there.”

Sully nervously slipped out of his jacket, dropping it on a nearby cot, and opened the door.

Dorothy was sitting in a chair beside the bed, holding Michaela's hand, just as Andrew had described. She glanced at Sully as he approached the bed.

“Thank goodness,” Dorothy murmured.

“She asleep?” Sully replied, carefully taking a seat on the other side of the bed.

Dorothy nodded.

Sully gently reached over and cupped Michaela's face in his hands.

Michaela opened her eyes and sighed with relief. "Oh."

Quietly, Dorothy let go of Michaela's hand and slipped out of the room.

Sully smoothed her hair from her brow lovingly. He was bathed in a fine sheen of perspiration and his hair was wind-tossed from a long, fast ride. "I got here soon as I could. How ya doin'?"

"…Tired," she whispered hoarsely.

"Ya thirsty? Ya wanna try some water?" He picked up the glass on the night table.

Weakly, she shook her head.

He put the glass down and leaned forward, holding her and giving her a tender kiss. "I love ya so much," he whispered. "I was so scared. Michaela."

She put all her energy into holding onto his back as tears instantly flowed.

"I'm so sorry I wasn't here," he went on, caressing her hair. "They tell me Randal took off on horseback. Got a posse out, gonna try and find him but…he got a pretty good start."

"He won't come back here?"

"No," he whispered reassuringly. "He won't come here again."

"I don't remember it," she said with frustration. "I just remember going to the Gazette."

"Shh, that's all right. Ya don't have to," he replied, giving her brow a soft kiss. "….Hey, the kids are sleepin' at Grace and Robert E.'s. I'll bring 'em over in the mornin', if you're up to it. How's that sound?" He pulled back and stroked her cheek.

"Sully, I dreamed Dorothy was holding my hand…and talking to me. She made me believe I'd be fine. I wasn't so frightened."

He smiled softly. "Michaela, that wasn't a dream. Andrew says Dorothy's been by your side all day and night. Says she didn't let go of your hand once."

She closed her eyes again. "Really?"

"That's what he says."

“Don't leave me, Sully.”

He slowly reclined beside her and wrapped his arm securely around her back. "…Ya gonna sleep?"

"I'm sorry," she murmured, struggling to open her eyes.

"No, it's all right. You sleep. I got ya. I'm right here," he replied, giving her lips a soft, loving kiss and holding her to his chest.

Sully put the wildflowers the children had picked in a mug and brought them to the bedside, placing them on the table. Michaela was all smiles as she held Katie and Byron's hands and listened to them chatter on. She had felt well enough to have Sully put a few pillows behind her back, and having the children in the room had prompted an immediate glow to her otherwise pale, frail appearance.

"What did you do with Grace and Robert E.?" Michaela asked them, stroking the backs of their hands with her thumbs.

"Robert E. let me try out his hammer," Byron said proudly. "It was a heavy one!"

"Oh, he did?"

"A fine job he did with it, too," Robert E. spoke up softly, holding his cap in his hands as he stood near the door next to Grace. "He even helped me clean up the corral, Dr. Mike. He's a real hard worker."

Andrew quietly entered the room, carrying a glass with a dosage of laudanum mixed with a small amount of water.

Katie tenderly rubbed Michaela's arm with her free hand. "I helped Miss Grace sing Jack a song, Mama," she spoke up. "He went right to sleep."

"I'm so proud of both of you," Michaela whispered, sighing tiredly. "Oh, I can't wait to be home."

"I want you to come home now," Katie murmured.

"Your ma's gotta get her strength back first," Sully said, putting his hands on the children's shoulders. "Let's let her sleep now, all right?"

"The sooner she gets her rest, the sooner she'll be home," Andrew spoke up reassuringly.

"We'll come back later," Byron said, leaning forward and kissing Michaela's cheek.

Michaela grinned. "I can't wait."

Grace walked over and took the children's hands, leading them toward the door. "Come on, pumpkins. Let's go get you somethin' to eat at the café."

Katie paused in the doorway and turned around, giving Michaela a tiny wave. "Bye, Mama," she whispered.

Michaela pressed her fingers to her lips and kissed them. "Bye-bye, sweetheart. I love you."

"I brought you some more laudanum," Andrew said as he approached the bed and held out a glass.

"But I just took some," Michaela protested.

"Four hours ago, Michaela," Sully said, tucking the covers around her warmly. "Ya best take some more."

"It makes me so sleepy and light-headed," she said with a sigh.

"That ain't such a bad thing, hm?" Sully replied, taking her hand and kissing it. "Like Andrew said, the sooner ya get your rest the sooner you're comin' home to us."

Andrew placed the glass on the table beside the flowers. "Well, I'm not going to force you. It's here when you're ready to take some more."

Dorothy rapped lightly on the open door, a book tucked under her arm. "Is it all right if I come in?"

"Michaela, you're never going to get some sleep with all these visitors," Andrew said disapprovingly.

"I won't stay long. Just for a few minutes," Dorothy said.

Sully leaned forward and gave Michaela a soft kiss. "We'll wait downstairs."

"Sully, could you bring me up something to eat?"

He smiled. "Good, ya got an appetite. What do ya feel like?"

"I don't know. Anything. I'm famished."

He stood up. "I'll go see what Grace's got on the stove."

"Dorothy, make this quick," Andrew instructed, following Sully into the hall.

"Oh, you're looking better," Dorothy said, grabbing a chair from the wall and bringing it to the bedside.

"I don't make a very good patient," Michaela said wryly.

"Well, you'll be back to doing the doctoring in no time," Dorothy said quietly. “Well, I have to fill you in on all the news! There's gonna be a barn raisin' at the Ritner's on Saturday. Folks are gonna see to it things are rebuilt after that terrible fire.”

“I love this town,” Michaela whispered.

“Oh, and Mr. Lopez was over at the store with his puppies, tryin' to rid of them.”

“That's right. I'd forgotten he mentioned that to me.”

“That little dog of his had six! And they're all black.”

“Six!”

“All but the runt is spoken for. Poor thing.” Dorothy thought a moment. “Michaela…why don't you and Sully take the last one? For the children. I know how much they miss Wolf.”

She smiled. “Yes. I think that would be nice for them. If Mr. Lopez hasn't found a home for it yet.”

“Tell you what, I'll find him as soon as I leave here and let him know you want it.” She slowly held out the book. "…Randal never did take Joshua's things. But I think Joshua wanted you to have this book."

"I couldn't. You keep it, Dorothy."

"Michaela, look inside. Look what he wrote," she said, placing the book in Michaela's hands and flipping back the cover.

"….'To my friend, who never gave up," Michaela read hoarsely. "Joshua Jennings, the twenty-fifth of April, 1878.'" She closed the book and held it weakly to her chest, looking up at Dorothy. "I didn't. I didn't give up. It hurt me so deeply to think that you believed I would ever h-harm him."

"I wanted to blame you," Dorothy admitted, staring at her hands. "In some ways, I was even jealous."

"Jealous? What?"

"The way you and Joshua could talk to each other," Dorothy explained. "He took to you right off."

"Dorothy, he loved you," Michaela replied.

"Oh, I know that. It was foolish, but I just…I wanted Joshua and me to be like what you have with Matthew and Brian. They love you and respect you, you talk to each other, share things. I suppose I've always been a little jealous of that. That's what I wanted with my own. Instead they moved away and have their own lives. I haven't heard from the girls for years now. And Tommy, last thing he wrote to me was that he can’t visit me this year."

"I'm sorry," she murmured.

"I wanted to start over in this town," Dorothy said. "And I'm the happiest I've ever been livin' here. Loren is like my family. We take care of each other. And I've made dear friends. None as dear as you and Sully and the children." She took a deep breath. "I know now how it feels to think I've lost you. I never thought Andrew would make it in time. I thought for sure you were going to die right there in front of me. And all I could think was what a terrible friend I've been. When Joshua died…I was angry, furious, and I took it all out on you. I got caught up in the trial, in the lies Randal was fillin' my head with." Her eyes welled with tears. "I'm just sorry it took something like this to make me realize how much you mean to me."

"Sully said you stayed with me," Michaela whispered. "And I remember your voice, your hand squeezing mine. You helped me keep going."

"I wanted to be there," Dorothy murmured. "I had to be."

"Until I met you, I'd never had a best friend, a woman I could really count on and talk to," Michaela said quietly. "My mother and I were never as close as I wanted us to be, and my sisters were all so much older than me. My father was practically my only confidant until he died, and then when I came here, it was Sully." She took Dorothy's hand and squeezed it. "We've been through ten years of our lives together. We've been through happy times and sad times and everything in between. I can't just forget all of that. I know it’s not going to be easy, but I don't want to give up on our friendship."

"Oh, Michaela. Me neither."

Michaela smiled tiredly as her grip on Dorothy's hand weakened. "Good," she said hoarsely.

"Well, what you need is some quiet," Dorothy said, drawing the covers up higher. "I'll leave you to get some rest."

"No, wait.…Stay?" Michaela whispered, gripping her hand again.

Dorothy slowly rose from the chair and sat on the edge bed, smiling softly as her best friend closed her eyes and continued to hold onto her hand. "…I'll stay, Michaela. I'll stay."