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Chickasaw Tribal Lands, Oklahoma Winter 1993 The village lay snug under a blanket of snow, somnolent and peaceful in the early morning light as if it had never known violence. Kate Malone knew better. She stood on her front porch, clutching her coat high around her neck, shivering. The previous day’s fan mail had been slipped silently under the door of her clinic and still lay open on her bedside table. Your tormentor watches you, pale face doctor witch. Repent or burn in hell. Coward. Hiding behind his mask of anonymity. She would never back down, for the lives of a people she had come to love were at stake. Threats of hell didn’t scare her. She’d already been there . . . twice. And she’d survived both times. Her boots sank into the snow as she started across her yard to the clinic. The cold air whipped her coat and set her adrenaline flowing. Five hours of sleep was not enough, but it was all she could allow herself. A dreadful sickness was stalking the Chickasaw children, and she was the only one who could save them.