There were many nights following that dance when the man and woman lay awake long into the night and thought of each other. Memory heightened the moment and each word and touch seemed to both to be loaded with significance. Hope's brain swirled with conflicting emotion; Cort's mind struggled with the twin towers of lust and romantic dream. She realised he was a man who had walked through the valley of darkness and emerged tempered by pain and suffering into a better human being. He wondered whether he had any right ever even to contemplate that a normal life might be possible for him- that he could be a partner to a woman and they might travel on together. It had never even crossed his mind before and yet, after one dance, he had been drawn to naive fantasies of home and family and the intoxicating notion that he might have a chance at love.

In public neither gave a sign of the turn of their thoughts. Townsfolk watched carefully, remembering the two of them talking and dancing together, popular opinion already matchmaking. But the gossips were disappointed. Nothing developed and life returned to its normal pattern. Perhaps they failed to notice how Hope's eyes sometimes followed the sheriff along the street as he strolled past her office or that he would occasionally sit on his stoop, one foot on the rail, cigar in his mouth, hat pulled down against the glare of the sun and hide his eyes as they looked for a chance sight of Miss Johnson about her daily errands.

Fortunately fate stepped in, or our two ill-fated lovers might never have spoken to each other again. Chance, well named, took a tumble off his horse and hurt his leg. His friends ran for the doctor and Cort was present- he came to assist. When the boy was brought home, it was Cort who carried him upstairs, undressed him and helped him into his nightshirt. It was Cort who turned up several times a day from then on to wash him and help him attend to nature's call. He said it was not fair to expect his sister to perform those tasks now that the boy was already almost a man. There was surely no secondary motive in his charity- now who would suggest such a thing?

But the visits were a perfect opportunity for a friendship to develop between Cort and Hope, a tentative, fragile friendship, something that they both scarcely recognised or understood. When he left Chance's room, Hope would offer him a drink and a piece of cake, sometimes even an invitation to have his evening meal and Cort would kindly accept it, sit down and they would talk. There were no great confidences, just chatter about their daily lives, the people in the town and local events, but even that was a pleasure to two people who had never known the genial companionship of a member of the opposite sex.

Even when Chance was up and about, it seemed normal for Cort to wander along to the newspaper office, sit on the edge of a desk and pass the time of day with Hope as she worked, and soon he was a regular dinner guest. Chance loved it and gabbled along happily at the table, while Cort and Hope smiled and exchanged glances at each other. After supper the pair would sometimes take a stroll, never touching or acting improperly in any way, but any fool who could see them would know that there was something happening between them, even if they did not see it themselves. 

One night, as they sat on the porch sharing a pot of coffee, Hope mentioned that she spoke French and had once visited Paris. Out of the blue, Cort said: "Maman was French."

Hope stared. "What? Your mother was French? Really? I thought you were an orphan?"

Cort shrugged, stunned by his own revelation. It was more than twenty years since he had ever said the word 'Mother'. "I am. But I had a mother. She died."

"How old were you?"

He hunched his shoulders and stared into the dregs of the cup. "Don't know. Nine, ten...don't remember. Long time ago." He drank back the bitter remains and grimaced.

"What about your father?"

Cort said nothing. Hope put a hand on his arm; his eyes shot to her face. With a calm movement, Cort took the hand and turned it round, holding her small palm in his large rough one. The first intimacy. "I don't know. He must be dead by now. Maybe not. I left the day my mother died and I never saw him again. He's dead to me."

There was a world of regret in his words and Hope did not even try to make a comment that would only have sounded inane or trite. Instead she slipped to her knees before him and held his head in her hands. He looked at her, drew her on his lap and merely held her to him. No words were said. No words were needed.

After a long time wrapped up in each other's care, Cort stroked back a strand of Hope's hair and nuzzled against her ear. "Your folks? What happened?"

Hope sat up suddenly, rather abruptly and swallowed hard. It seemed the moment was broken. "They died. Mother first when I was nineteen- she'd been ill for years-and then father, a few years ago. There was a bit of money- I had a rich childless aunt who had taken me under her wing and helped me to get an education. She had taken me to Europe as a companion. I was grateful but I was always like a servant in her house. I was given a taste of a better world but it was never mine. The story of my life. I have never been able to find the things that I really wanted. Just the promise...the hope...but never the reality...so, my father died and I had Chance to think about and I decided to make my own way. And here I am."

Throughout this speech, Cort watched her, his hands resting lightly on her body. He felt her pain, even bitterness, and wondered if she meant a man had taken her dreams. "Is that why you never married? Did some man break your heart?" he whispered, his voice low and smooth in the still night air.

"In a way. Broke my belief rather than my heart. I never trusted any word that a man said to me after that. Kept my heart well away from them all." She smiled wryly and ruffled up his hair.

"You think I lie to you? Spin you some story? You think I want to take liberties with you?" Cort asked openly.

Hope laughed softly. "Strangely enough, I don't expect you do. You of all people in this world!"

She began to rise, conscious all at once that her position on his knee was very intimate and not at all what their friendship was about. His reflex was startlingly fast; he shot out a hand and grabbed her, holding her to him and reaching for her neck with his spare hand. His lips hovered above hers for hesitant seconds and then he closed his eyes and placed a kiss on her mouth; a slow, tender, chaste kiss but one that carried an offer of love. Hope responded and the kiss deepened; her head swam and she felt him taste her.

"Oh!" a gasp from her shocked him back to reality and he let her go.

"I'm sorry...I'm sorry..." was all he could say.

"No...no...do it again, do it again..." her sigh and then they kissed once more; desire and passion openly expressed.

In the moonlight they sat and held each other, unable to believe where they were and what they had discovered. Cort had never had an experience like this, despite his wide and varied sexual knowledge. He wanted her, felt his body respond to hers, but there was no drive to take this further. He wanted the joy of courting her and finding out little-by-little what she was like and how he could please her. Never would he make an improper move or touch her in a way that might scare her. This time, for the first time, like a young virgin of love, he wanted to take it slow and do the right thing. This was love not lust and he would never sully it with the filth that he believed he was capable of.

Hope wondered how she would tell him the truth. It was impossible to pretend anymore that she was what she purported to be. It would change everything, this she knew, and they would never again return to this moment of innocence if she revealed all. But Hope was an honest woman and she now knew she loved this man and would never try to mislead him. Even if it cost her everything she wanted. But then, wasn't that exactly how her life always turned out?

"Cort?"

"Yeah, honey?" he smiled and kissed her neck, rubbing her back gently.

"Cort...I'm not what you think I am. I'm not a decent woman."

She heard a slight rumble of amusement in his throat. "What's that supposed to mean? You been with a man before? That what you mean?"

Hope blushed, grateful for the darkness. "Yes...I had a child...I'm not a virgin..."

Cort sighed. "Me neither. So...what's the problem?" He lifted up her face. "It don't matter, Hope. We all did things in the past. Can't see how you loving another man and having his child is something to be ashamed of. Not when you put it next to what I have done."

She pushed away from him and leapt from his lap, tears springing into her eyes, grasping the rail and choking them back.

"Hey...don't cry...you thinking of the baby? What happened?" Cort rose and held her gently against him; he realised the child had either died or been taken from her. What kind of bastard was this man who hurt her so?

"You don't understand...I was so young...I didn't even know how babies were made..."

A distant memory came into Cort's mind of long ago and another little girl who had cried in his arms as he had forced himself upon her...

"...Cort, we shouldn't do this! Is this how you make a baby?"

He kissed her ear and whispered, "Can't make a baby the first time. You're still a virgin. Don't worry. We'll just do it once. To seal the promise. You'll be my girl then. Then you can only marry me."

"Clara, it's just the first time. It always hurts for girls. After that it's fine. I promise you, You' ll like it next time." Her eyes widened at the mention of next time. He continued with his lie, "next time... when we're married..."

"Cort? You will come back, won't you? You do love me, don't you?" Her voice was broken with tears and she was shivering even in the heat of the day. Her arms were wrapped around herself. Already she sensed a change in him; their innocent friendship had gone.

He turned back and forced a smile. "Course I will, darlin'. You can count on it," he mounted his horse and rode away. She stared until he had disappeared from sight...

 "...It wasn't your fault. He took advantage of you...it shouldn't be like that...it can be different..." Cort was desperate to show her that men can learn and be better than that; they were not all looking just to take love on the run.

In a rasping voice, Hope made herself finish what she had to tell him. "I had a baby and I was only fifteen. My Ma and Pa raised it. They'd lost their son. My little boy was a second chance. That's why we called him Chance...."

"You are Chance's mother?" Cort gasped. "Oh Lord...no wonder you were so angry with me..."

"No...there's more...please, listen or I can never say it... Hope is not my real name. My name is Clara. A young boy once took my innocence and left me...." She turned around in his arms as the first crushing realisation dawned on him; her hand caressed his strong jaw, remembered the chiselled fineness of his boyish face now reshaped into the man. "That boy was you. Chance is your son. And I came back here to destroy you..."

Cort's hands dropped to his side and he stepped back, a cold clammy sensation gripping his gut; he had just been reintroduced to one of his most persistent demons.

"You? Clara? Christ Almighty...I gunned your brother down in the street. I left you helpless. How can you even look me in the face? Chance...that boy? My son? That fine, beautiful boy? Don't ever let him know...don't ever let him know..." With that, Cort staggered from the porch and ran, ran as hard as if a creature from Hell was on his tail. He ran again. Away from the memory of his abuse and violence. Left her standing on the porch. Her dream fading from her almost before she had even owned it.

Hours later, deep into a dark night of the soul when Hope had sat by her window and stared out at the cruel lovers' moon that had seemed so full of promise, she heard a soft call from below.

"That you, Hope?"

Cort was standing below her, his eyes ringed with pain and his body suddenly shrunken. Hope's heart surged in her chest as she saw him. "Can we talk? I need to talk...please..."

He did not need to finish the thought. Hope was charging down the stairs and ripping open bolts to let him in.

"Cort! Cort! Come in...please, come in..." She led him through the office and they sat down amidst the piles of newssheets and bales of paper

"I'm sorry I ran. I didn't know what to do. Hope...I was a kid then...I didn't know any better...I was a stupid kid. I've done many evil things in my life but what I did to you was the first and it set me on the path." He ran his hands through his hair and breathed heavily, trying to search for words to explain. "I can't make amends. I ruined your life. I took your brother's life. I guess I broke your parents' hearts. I know what I did. I don't blame you for wanting to destroy me...but, for what it's worth...I love you now, Hope...Clara...I truly believe that I am falling in love with you. You don't need to write no book to bring me down. If you leave me now..."His voice faltered and he did not go on. His shattering revelation seemed to stun both of them in equal measure.

Hope pulled her shawl closer around her shoulders and blinked back tears. "I feel the same. I don't know how I can. But I do. I see what I loved in you as a boy but all the other things that you have become as well. A man can change and he can be different. I believe that now..."

Cort sank his head in his hands. "You telling me you think we have a chance?"

"We have a Chance. A son. Would it be so bad to try to become a family even after all this time?"

His head shot up and he stood, pulling her into his arms. "I don't know. I'm ashamed that he would even know. But I'd like to see you again and try...no promises...you are free to make your mind up when and where or if he should ever know..."

Burying her head against the solid warmth of his chest, Hope sobbed her relief. "Take it slow...day by day...see what grows, Cort...with the Good Lord's help..."

A tender kiss poured out between them both as they tried to express their emotions and the incredible, stunning revelations of the night. As they nestled close in each other's arms, Hope whispered, "Do you want to come upstairs? Chance is staying with a friend tonight..."

Cort pulled away and stroked her face, a sensuous cast to his eyes as he thought about her offer; then he shook his head slightly and ran his thumb lightly over her mouth. "No. I will do this properly even if it is the wrong way round. Next time I know your body will be the day I marry you...or I will never know it again. I want you, Hope, more than I ever wanted a woman in my life, but for all different reasons than I ever felt before. I want something pure and innocent between us...then the consummation, when it does comes, will be so much finer. Like nothing either of us has ever known..."

He kissed her once again and stroked her cheek gently in his palm while she rubbed her face against his hand and closed her eyes. She was not a child anymore. It might be sixteen years since she had been touched sexually but, despite her less than satisfactory memories, desire was ever present. She wanted him with an urge that flooded every fibre of her being but she responded to his words. He was right. This time, they would make something of love and then all she had endured- and all he had suffered- might one day seem to have been worthwhile.

One last long sweet kiss; Hope felt his desire firmly pressed against her lower body and then he stepped back, appeared a little overcome and took his leave. She watched him stride along the street and make, not for his office, but towards the saloon and for an instant wondered if a man like him would take out his physical frustration on a whore rather than require the intimate service from a decent woman that he was courting. Her fears were unfounded. Moments later she saw him ride out of town, fast, on a galloping horse, his hair loose around his face and his expression elated and wild. Cort was busting loose, filled with joy and unable to contain the maelstrom of emotion that the evening had brought to him. Hope smiled as she locked up the door and made her way upstairs to bed.

Chance rode back in the early morning light from the Dees place, aware that Hope needed his help on the presses today. It was a beautiful time of day, the sun just rising over the desert and a rose pink hue bathing the arid landscape, softening the harsh terrain and casting a softer beauty over its grandeur. From the top of a rock, Chance turned back and saw the plain laid out before him and slithered off his horse to lie for a while and watch the day begin. He pulled out a rifle that the sheriff had lent him and idly took aim at objects far away, imagining a target or some adventure such as plays out in a boy's head when he fantasises the world of men.

Far off in the distance, still beyond his range, he saw a flicker of movement and the flash of sun catching on metal, perhaps a gun or a belt buckle. There was another man around on the llano. Screwing up his eyes, Chance concentrated until he could make out the shape of a horse and rider approaching. He wasn't sure why he did it; just some instinctive motion of play or thoughtless gesture. But he took aim to see if he could draw a bead on him. The moment played forever in his head down the years from then on. The man's face came into view. The sight levelled and then the hiss of a snake in the rocks where he lay and the instinctive finger depressing on the trigger. A shot rang out over the still morning.

Chance leapt back, the rattlesnake disappeared beneath a rock and he jumped to his feet, the rifle still in his hands. A quick survey of the plain and with a sick dread, he saw an empty horse trotting into his vision. The rider was gone. Throwing himself onto his horse, the boy picked his way to roughly where the man had been. It didn't take him long to find the body. The man was dead. A bullet had taken off his face.

In the seconds that followed, as comprehension dawned and the terrible enormity of what he had done registered on his mind, Chance panicked. He jumped on his horse and rode hell-for-leather back to town where he returned the rifle to the case in the sheriff's office, locked up and returned home. Stealing up the back stairs, he poured cold water over his face and tried to calm himself. By the time he slipped back down to breakfast, he had managed to don a mask which might have done his father proud. The boy simply pushed the knowledge of what he had done aside and tried to pretend that it had never occurred.

Buzzards circling overhead drew the attention of Cort as he took an early morning ride across the desert, trying to get his head around the events of the previous day after a night with little sleep. He saw the body and ran to see what he could do- too late- the man was dead- but only just; his body was still warm. Heaving the body onto his horse, he set off back to town to give the poor man a decent burial at least.

Riding straight to the undertakers, he deposited the unfortunate man and handed over the money for a simple coffin. "Who did it?"

"Not sure. Could be desperados but doesn't look like any of his stuff was taken. I'm going back out though to have a look around. You never know- might bump into someone up to no good out there.

He was true to his word. Taking a simple breakfast and packing some provisions for a few days on the trail, he got blind Billy Jo to take a message to Hope, telling here that he would be gone for a few days, sheriff business, and he rode out of town.

While Ezra Miller was stripping down the body, looking for a name or any sign of kin, he came across a folded piece of paper in the dead man's boot. It was a Wanted poster, pretty old and tattered, but it was immediately obvious who the target was.

Wanted in three states for armed robbery, murder and attack on government property. CORT, last heard of in New Mexico, before disappearing over the border. Reward offered Dead or Alive...

It had been issued in Texas. The sheriff was a wanted man there for crimes committed recently. The dead man was a bounty hunter in search of the price of his head. Miller shook his head. This was a mighty strange business. Looked pretty much like the sheriff had removed an embarrassing obstacle.  Miller put the poster in his desk drawer and said nothing. Cort had paid enough. Time to lay that one down.

Later in the morning, Miller received a visit from the reporter lady, Miss Johnson, who was eager for the facts concerning the dead man; it was an interesting little human interest piece for her paper. She asked a few questions and browsed around, picking at the belongings of the dead man and paying special attention to the bullet in a dish that he had dug out before he prepared the body.

"Is this the bullet that killed him?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

"Do you know what kind of gun it came from?"

"Rifle- Smith and Wesson most like. But it's hard to be sure." 

She nodded and fingered it thoughtfully before thanking him and leaving. Back at the press, she wrote up the scanty details in as gripping a way as she knew how while acknowledging to herself that a lone unknown shooting victim out in the desert was hardly likely to cause much of a stir in these parts. Shutting up for lunch, she went into the back to prepare something to eat and found Chance already there, cutting at a loaf of bread and slapping on a slice of cheese. "You been here all morning?" she asked surprised.

"Yeah. Thought I'd catch up on that work you set me." Hope gave him a look; he was usually ducking and diving from his studies these days. She thought he looked subdued, a little pale actually. "You feeling alright, Chance?"

"Yeah. I'm fine," he answered abruptly and carried his lunch upstairs; she heard his room door slam.

Shaking her head at the moods of young people, Hope took a quick lunch and went back to work. She had a deadline to keep and more than enough to worry about without the ups and downs of a fifteen year old boy.

Cort returned with no discernible lead, ready to set the matter of the dead man aside. He had found little sign of anything suspicious in the surrounding area. Off loading his rifles, he went into his gun cupboard to stow them and was struck by the fact that one rifle was out of place. The gun that Chance sometimes used was lying at the bottom of the cabinet as if it had been thrust in anyways. Chance was always so careful with the guns, endlessly cleaning them. Cort lifted it up to hang it and noticed that it was dull and dusty as if had been lying on the ground. He checked and found it still loaded with one shot fired. Curiously he shook his head and proceeded to put away his own rifles, locked up and then...he groaned and sat down on his chair, hands in his head. Was it possible? Chance? Some kind of accident?

He found Chance sitting on his back porch staring into space. Observing him for a moment and recognising for the first time his own face, softened and less rugged in his son's, he felt the weight of sadness. The curse that he had carried seemed to be passing to his own flesh and blood. Was there any greater punishment for his sins than that?

"Chance?"

The boy jumped and swivelled round at the soft deep drawl. "Didn't mean to startle you. I want to ask you a question and I want you to give me an answer. A real honest one. Last night, you stayed out at the Dees place? Came back this morning early?"

The boy nodded.

"You taking some pot shots with my rifle?"

Chance nodded again.

"You know what you did?"

This time the boy put his head in his hands and began to cry. "It was an accident. I was just drawing a bead...a rattler in the rocks- made me jump...the gun went off...I'm so sorry....so sorry...."

Cort knelt by the distraught kid and clasped him to his chest while the boy cried himself out. "Say nothing. Man's dead and no one's claimed him- probably just a drifter. It was an accident, Chance, a pure and simple accident. Nothing to be gained from it coming out. Promise me, boy, two things? One- that you'll put this behind you? And two- that you never, ever use a human target again - even just to draw aim?" He held the boy at arms' length and shook him slightly to stop him from crying and bring him back to his senses.

Chance sniffed and wiped his eyes on the back of his hand. "You sure I'm innocent? What would a court of law say?"

Cort shrugged. "They'd lock you up at least ...and that wouldn't bring him back none." He stood up and walked to look over the yard and thought hard. Turning back to the boy who was sitting with his head hanging in shame, Cort spoke again. "I'm going to forget about this conversation and that this ever happened. But before I do I am going to say this. Some times you get to a crossroad in your life and there are a couple ways that you can go. This is one of those moments, boy. You can let it poison your life or set you on a path, or you can learn from it and let it teach you a valuable lesson. I want you to learn. Chance- you can't let this ruin your life or make you give up hope."

"I did something wrong...maybe I'm just bad..."

"No one is born bad- they let themselves become it. The choice is yours. You're a good kid that made a bad mistake. Make sure you never make it again. I know this, Chance. I made one mistake and then let it shape my life- until I was bad. You know how hard it is to pull yourself out of that place and go on living with yourself?"

"You did."

"Have you any idea of the cost to me and those whose lives I destroyed on the way?"

Chance nodded thoughtfully and then suddenly changed the subject.. "Cort...are you going to marry Hope?"

Cort smiled shyly. "I don't know. Ain't asked her yet. Think I've got a chance?"

Chance grinned despite himself. "She's crazy in love with you. Anyone can see that!"

Cort raised his eyes and shook his head. "Guess I'll have to practice going down on one knee then, boy. And don't you dare laugh at me if'n I do."

Smiles broke through the tears as Chance stood up and extended his hand. "S'pose that kind of makes you my big brother, then. Welcome to the family. Make my sister happy."

Cort opened his mouth to say something and then thought better of it. He didn't have the right to tell him. He wasn't sure he really wanted this boy to know what he had done. Maybe one day down the line when they were closer. Instead he merely nodded his head and patted the boy on his back, stepping off the porch to take his leave. "Remember- tell no one. Ever. Your secret's safe with me."

Chance watched the sheriff go and felt easier than he had since the nightmare had started. It had been an accident and Cort had known that straight away. This strong man would protect him and be the kind of man he needed to set him on the right path in his life. He felt a curious affinity to him already and was glad he was going to marry his sister. Everything was going to be all right now.

A couple of weeks passed. Cort resumed his visits, Chance seemed to recover from his poor spirits, the unidentified corpse remained unidentified and was soon buried and forgotten. Hope and Cort spent every evening together; he virtually lived at her place. The townsfolk smiled behind their hands and made comments.

"Spring wedding?"

"You'll be wanting me to order some fine white dress material soon, hey?"

"Looks like the population of this town will be going up fast in the next year or two..."

The sheriff and Miss Johnson blushed and grinned but didn't confirm or deny the rumours. Nor did they stop kissing on the back porch of her place at night. A regular pair of lovebirds they were.

One night, Cort seemed particularly ill-at-ease, playing with his hat and pacing up and down while Hope poured out a cup of coffee. "Sit down and quit your pacing. What's the matter- you got ants in your pants?" She smiled as she put down his cup.

Cort frowned and sat down. Before she could say anything else, he lunged forward, fell on one knee and grabbed her hand. "Hope...I should call you Clara, but I just can't...Hope...marry me? I don't know how else to say it. I just want you so bad and I can't think of any fancy words to say...except...I love you...will you have me, after all that I've done?"

Hope had sat spellbound at his words, afraid to interrupt in case he became even more inhibited than he already was. When he stopped for breath, she joined him on the floor, kneeling in front of him. "Yes...I'll marry you, Cort...you don't need fancy words to show me that you love me. I know that and I love you too. I want to be your wife and show you that what you have done is of no consequence any more. You rose from all that and set it right. The past is dead. Let's have the future together...imagine...together...never alone again...every night to lie down at your side and then I promise, if God wills it, I will give you more children and you can share in raising them as you never could with Chance. You'll be a good father and husband...and a wonderful lover...this I know." She stroked back his thick hair and realised how much she longed for this man. She was beginning to understand the power of sexuality when she was close to him and maybe for the first time excuse what he had done and how she had allowed him to. It had been a powerful drive, too hard for them as children to withstand. She had felt it in him as a boy before she had been old enough to understand- and now it was time that she showed him how ready she was to be a woman for him. But she could wait. He would soon be hers forever.

"Cort...let's not wait... I don't wish to wait."

"Can't see how there's anything to wait for. I gotta get a ring and you gotta get a dress...then we are just gonna do it," he grinned, as wide a grin as the boy she had once loved so much. They kissed, still kneeling and then he pulled her up to her feet where they hugged some more and she buried her face into the crook of his shoulder and he swung her round and hid his face in her thick hair.

"So...will I be Mrs. Cort? I wish you had a real name so I could call you that..." she whispered into his ear. Cort stopped and suddenly realised that he did have. He did have a name that he could give her. One his mother had once born. If it had been good enough for her then it was good enough for his wife.

"I do have a name," Cort replied quietly, staring into space as if recalling a long forgotten secret. "My name is Joshua. Joshua Kortovsky. No one in this world knows that but you..."

Hope's bottom lip trembled as she heard his soft words; she knew how long it must have been since he had ever uttered his own name. "Oh Joshua!" was all she could say as she flung her arms round his neck. From then on she would use that name whenever they were alone. It would be their secret.