Only His

5

Carefully Caleb guided his horse through the blustery pre-dawn landscape, knowing that a settlement was nearby and men might be about. It was doubtful anyone would be stirring in this weather, but he couldn’t afford to take chances. He had no intention of going all the way to the nearest settlement, but he had to reach Wolfe’s home without attracting attention.

Thank God that Wolfe isn’t the sociabletype, Calebtold himself as he rode along a small watercourse that led to the loghouse. Iwon’t have to worry about him having talkative company staying over.

No light showed in the window of the log house. No one was moving around the corral or outbuildings.

«Looking for someone?»

The voice was cool, clipped, and came from behind Caleb.

«Hello, Wolfe,» Caleb said, holding his hands where they would be clearly visible in the rising light of dawn. «Friendly as ever, I see.»

There was the sound of a gun beinguncocked. «Hello, Cal. Couldn’t tell if it was you, Reno, or some other oversized white man.»

Caleb smiled. «Could have been an Indian.»

«Not damned likely. Indians have better sense than to be abroad on a night like this.» As he spoke, Wolfe walked out from the cover of a tall cottonwood. He moved with the lithe, silent stride of a man accustomed to surviving in wild country. «Get down and stay for a fewdays, amigo. Deuce could use the rest, from the look of him. So could Trey.»

«So could I. Can’t do it, though.»

Silently, Wolfe watched Caleb with eyes as dark as obsidian. In full sunlight Wolfe’s eyes were indigo, betraying the British heritage of his father. At night, however, he looked every bit his Cheyenne mother’s son. At all times he was a man other men walked carefully around.

«Getting close to Reno?» Wolfe asked finally, his voice neutral. He had met both Caleb and Reno separately, and liked both men. He didn’t know why Caleb was hunting Reno. Caleb had never said and Wolfe had never asked.

«Right now I’ve got other cattle to brand. I left a woman in a ravine a few miles north of here. She needs dry clothes.»

«Might her name be Willow Moran?» Wolfe asked mildly.

Caleb hissed a curse. «Word travels too damned fast.»

«A lot of folks were glad to see Johnny Slater get his comeuppance.» Wolfe’s smile was like an unsheathed knife. «Kid Coyote. Hell of a moniker. He’ll never live it down. He’s gunning for you.»

«If he’s lucky, he won’t find me.»

«He’ll find you if you go up through Canyon City,» Wolfe said flatly. «He’s lying in wait at the trailhead with half of Slater’s bunch. The other half is raising dust for the Rio Grande.»

«You certain?»

«They left a man at the crossroads. Ask him. Then ask him about the bounty Jed Slater put on your head. Four hundred Yankee dollars for the man who brings in your scalp. One thousand dollars for the man who brings you to Jed Slater alive.»

«Son of a bitch.»

«Need another gun?» Wolfe asked. «I’ve got nothing better to do sinceJessi’s guardian wrote and told me no one would be coming this summer.»

For a moment Caleb was tempted. Wolfe was good with any weapon, including his fists, and had the ferocity of the Scots andCheyennes combined. But as nice as it would be to have Wolfe guarding his back, Caleb couldn’t risk it. If anyone beside himself knew that Reno and Matthew Moran were the same man, it would be WolfeLonetree. If Willow found out that Caleb was after her fancy man, she wouldn’t lead Caleb anywhere close to Matthew Moran.

«I appreciate it, but it’s not necessary,» Caleb said. «There’s more than one way to skin a cat.»

«A mountain pass isn’t a cat. You might sneak by Slater’s gang on the Rio Grande del Norte, but you won’t have a chance in hell going through Canyon City.»

«There are other passes.»

Wolfe’s black eyebrows rose. «Not many white men know about them.»

«My daddy was with an Army survey party in the fifties. There are other passes.»

With a shrug, Wolfe changed the subject. «Is that stud of hers half what rumor says?»

«Prettiest piece of horseflesh I’ve ever seen,» Caleb said simply.

«Pretty isn’t much of a recommendation for a horse or a woman,» Wolfe said dryly.

«That stud is a lot tougher than he looks. Gentle and quick, too. Make a hell of a trail horse.»

«How’s his stamina?»

«He’s keeping up. So are the mares.»

«Leave the Arabians with me. They’ll only slow you down, especially in the high country.»

«Willow wouldn’t leave them in Denver. Doubt that she’ll leave them here, but I’ll offer. You better pray she doesn’t take me up on it. Having those horses would bring Slater’s outfit down on you like a rash.»

Wolfe smiled. «I’d take it as a personal favor.»

Shaking his head, Caleb chuckled. That was one of the things he liked best about Wolfe — the man was a fighter to the marrow of his bones.

«What about the girl?» Wolfe asked. «Is she holding up all right?»

«She’s like her horses,» Caleb admitted. «Game little thing. Once I get her some dry clothes and a decent saddle, she’ll make it through the passes.»

«Then it’s true? She’s actually riding a sidesaddle?»

Caleb grunted. «It’s true.»

«Be damned. I haven’t seen one of those since I was in England,» Wolfe said.

«If I never see another one again, it will be too soon. Pure foolishness.»

Wolfe smiled gently. «Maybe, but those English ladies looked like beautiful butterflies perched on the backs of their big Irish horses.»

«Hell, if I’d known you felt like that, I’d have brought the damned thing to you. Your shirttail cousin could have used it the next time she visits you.»

«Lady JessicaCharteris prefers to ride bareback at a dead run.» The amusement faded from Wolfe’s voice as he continued, «In any case, the last letter mentioned a marriage. I don’t thinkJessi will be coming to America to plague me again.»

Wolfe looked away, measuring the increasing light rather than confronting the surprising sense of loss he had felt when the letter had arrived telling of Jessica’s pending marriage.

«Better leave your horses under cover here,» Wolfe said. «Slater’s man might have heard that you visit me from time to time. He’ll be looking for tracks from seven horses, not two, but…» Wolfe shrugged and said no more.

Caleb dismounted, tied his horses back in the thick brush that surrounded the runoff from Cottonwood Springs, and walked alongside Wolfe toward the cabin.

«WhenJessi rode with you, did she have anything better to wear than an outfit with flapping skirts and more petticoats than a tree has leaves?»

Wolfe’s smile flashed. «How about buckskin pants and a buckskin shirt made for her by my aunt? Last timeJessi was here she also sweet-talked me into buying her some of those Levis that all the Forty-Ninersand Fifty-Ninerswore. Had a hell of a time finding a pair small enough. Same for the saddle.»

«Sweet-talked you, huh? I’d like to meet that girl. Is she the kind that would get on her high horse if I borrowed her clothes and saddle and let another girl use them for a few weeks?»

«Doubt it. Besides, even if she brought her damned blue-blooded husband here, she wouldn’t shock a bloody peer of the realm by appearing in public wearing pants and riding astride.»

The contempt in Wolfe’s voice when he spoke ofJessi’s future husband didn’t surprise Caleb. Other than the headstrong young Jessica, Wolfe had little use for the British aristocracy that was one-half of his heritage.

«In that case,» Caleb said, «I’d appreciate the loan of her clothes.»

«Take them. She’ll never use them again. Anything else? Don’t be shy. Hell of a lot better to get it from me than to go into Canyon City for supplies and have the Slater bunch down on you like a hard rain.»

«I’d been counting on picking up supplies in Canyon City,» Caleb admitted.

«Name it and you’ve got it.»

«Food for us and grain for the horses, if you can spare it,» Caleb said. «Grass is fine for a time, but where we’re going, the horses will need the kind of stamina that only grain gives.»

«Food is no problem. Will a hundred pounds of grain be enough?»

Caleb let out a relieved breath. «Thanks, compadre. Can you spare a blanket or two? Unless this storm breaks, it will be damned cold in the first pass.»

«I’ve got something better than blankets. Sleeping bags.»

A half-disgusted, half-amused sound was Caleb’s only answer.

«Jessiinsisted,» Wolfe continued, ignoring his friend. «After the first night on the trail, I stopped complaining. No matter how much you thrash around, no cold air gets in.»

Caleb cut a sideways glance at Wolfe. «Getting newfangled in your old age, aren’t you?»

Wolfe smiled, for there wasn’t a day’s difference in their ages. Both men had turned thirty in late April. «I like my comforts. I’m not an Old Testament sort like you.»

For an instant, Caleb remembered Willow’swords: Aneye for an eye. Is that your Western code?

«I’ll settle for old-fashioned blankets.» Silently, Caleb fished a gold piece from his pocket. «If this doesn’t cover it, just —» he began.

«Put it away before you make me mad, you stiff-necked son of a bitch,» Wolfe interrupted.

Caleb gave the other man a slicing, sideways look, but put the coin back in his pocket.

They walked in silence to the door of the cabin. The interior was dark, cool, furnished with a western flavor. The instant the door closed behind them, Wolfe turned toward Caleb and started talking about the one thing he and Caleb had never discussed after the first time the issue came up — a man called Reno.

«I’m glad you’ll be too busy to hunt Reno for a time,» Wolfe said quietly. «You never said what you wanted with him and I’m not asking. None of my business. But I’m telling you something, Cal. If you ever find Reno, be damned sure you’ve got a good reason to draw on him, because a second after you do, both of you are likely to be dead.»

Caleb said nothing. Beneath the dark brim of his hat, his eyes were expressionless.

Wolfe looked at Caleb’s hard face. «You hearme, amigo? You and Reno are too well matched.»

«I hear you.»

«And?»

«So be it.»

ISHMAEL’S ringing whinny brought Willow awake with a pounding heart. Slanting sunlight streamed into the ravine, but she took little notice of its beauty. Grabbing the shotgun in one hand and the blanket in the other, she raced for cover, making as little noise as possible. When she could go no deeper in the dense thicket she turned around and crouched, motionless, straining to see what had disturbed her stallion.

A ghostly sound slid through the silence, echo of a wolf’s wild cry.

After a minute Caleb rode into sight, leading Trey. It took a moment for Willow to realize what was different about the pack horse — Trey was wearing a riding saddle rather than the familiar pack saddle. Two bags of corn were roped over the saddle and a thick bedroll was tied on behind. A sheepskin jacket was lashed on top.

«Anything bother you?» Caleb asked when Willow emerged from the thicket.

«Not until a minute ago, when Ishmael scented you.»

«That’s why I came in upwind, to give you warning.» Caleb dismounted, stretched, and began stripping gear off Deuce with quick, almost angry motions of his hands. «No one is around. While I rub down Deuce, make coffee over the smallest fire you know how to build.»

Willow started toward Trey, wanting to help Caleb, who looked tired. At a curt gesture from him, she retreated.

«Work on the fire, fancy lady. Flames don’t care about flapping skirts or blankets. My horses do.»

When Caleb was finished with Deuce, he went to work on Trey. The scent of grain carried downwind to the four mares when he took the bags off the saddle. The Arabians nickered eagerly. He untied one of the fifty-pound bags of grain, lifted it easily, and went from horse to horse, pouring a small mound of grain for each one. The mares’ dainty muzzles and delicate greed reminded Caleb of their mistress stealing every last taste of bacon from her fingertips with tiny, secret licks of her tongue.

The thought sent a surge of desire through Caleb. Ruthlessly, he shunted it aside and concentrated on what lay ahead — trails and passes, storms and sunlight, endurance and exhaustion, Slater’s bunch and Willow’s fancy man.

With a grimace, Caleb rubbed the back of his neck and headed for the campfire. It burned hotly, making coffee bubble and seethe. Willow knelt nearby, wearing his shirt rolled up to her elbows and the blanket wrapped around her hips. She had braided her hair and tied it with narrow strips of lace ripped from her petticoats. Dressed as she was, there should have been nothing appealing about her.

But when Willow came to Caleb and knelt beside him, her hands full of fragrant food, it was all he could do not to pull her into his arms. He should have been too tired to feel desire, but the proof of his ability was stretched hard against his pants.

With a savage word, Caleb reached for his coffee cup.

«Caleb?» Willow asked uncertainly, not understanding the bleak intensity of his eyes.

«The passes are open, so long as you don’t get caught in a storm. Slater’s gang divided up. They’re waiting for us somewhere along the Rio Grande and the Arkansas both,» he said flatly.

What he didn’t say was that Slater had also put a bounty on Caleb’s head, enough hard cash to make every outlaw between Wyoming and Mexico sit up and rub his hands with greed.

«What are we going to do?»

Caleb’s bleak, golden glance fell on the sidesaddle. With an angry motion he grabbed it and chucked it into the small stream that ran alongside camp. Her torn riding habit followed.

«Caleb! What in heaven’s name are —»

«They’re looking for a girl fool enough to ride sidesaddle into the Rockies,» Caleb interrupted in a cold voice, looking into Willow’s started hazel eyes. «I don’t know any girl that foolish. Do you?»

Willow’s mouth opened, but nothing came out.

«Good,» Caleb said, nodding curtly. «They’re looking for a girl stupid enough to wear fancy, flapping clothes that never dry out from rainstorm to rainstorm. I don’t know any girl that stupid. Do you?»

Lacing her fingers together, Willow said nothing.

Caleb grunted and continued. «They’re looking for a girl stubborn enough to try and sneak five fancy horses past every damned outlaw between her and hell. I don’t know any girl that stubborn. Do you?»

«My horses go with me,» Willow saidinstantly. «That was part of our bargain, Caleb Black. Are you going back on your word?»

The instant the words were out of her mouth, Willow wished she could call them back. But it was too late. She had said them and now she must face Caleb’s wrath.

«I’ve never gone back on my word to anyone, not even to a spoiled southern lady who is no better than she has to be,» Caleb said icily.

Without looking away from Willow, he yanked the ties of the thick bedroll and unrolled it with a snap of his wrist, revealing the clothes that had been packed inside. He grabbed a fistful of buckskin, denim, and cotton flannel.

«Start with the flannellongjohns,» Caleb said in a cold voice. «Then put on the buckskin pants. Then the Levis. On top, wear —»

«I’ve been dressing myself for years,» Willow interrupted. «I can tell top from bottom.»

Caleb stuffed the clothes into her outstretched hands. «There’s a hat and jacket for you inside Wolfe’s sheepskin jacket. He didn’t have a slicker forJessi. Sorry.»

«What about you?»

«Wolfe and I both hate slickers. They only work if you’re sitting inside a tent.»

Curiosity finally overcame Willow’s caution. «Who is Wolfe? IsJessi his wife?»

«His name is WolfeLonetree. Jessi is his stepmother’s cousin or some such.»

«Where does he live? I’d like to thank him personally.»

«I doubt that you’d have much to do with him.»

«Why not?»

«His daddy was a British blueblood, but his mother was the daughter of a Cheyenne shaman.»

«A medicine woman?» Willow asked eagerly.

Caleb looked down at her throughslitted eyes. He saw only curiosity rather than the contempt many people had toward a man of mixed blood.

«I never asked him,» Caleb said finally. «Why?»

«She would know the healing plants of the West,» Willow explained. «I’ve recognized some that are the same as back home, but not many.»

«You’re the damnedest southern lady I’ve ever met.»

«Probably because I’m not a southern lady,» she retorted.

Caleb smiled slightly. «Couldn’t tell it by the drawl. Listening to you is like licking honey off a spoon.»

«Just because I don’t have a voice like agravelbottom river —»

«You can insult me some other time,» he said, cutting across her words. «We’ve got better things to do right now.»

With quick motions, Caleb tossed the blankets Wolfe had given him onto the tarpaulin, set his saddle in place as a pillow, and crawled into the makeshift bed.

Willow looked around and saw no other blankets. «Where is my bed?»

«Same place it was last night.» He lifted the blankets, indicating the empty half of the tarpaulin. «Right here.»

She looked as shocked as she felt. «I slept next to you?»

«You sure did.»

«But I–I don’t remember it.»

«You were so tired you wouldn’t have noticed if a buffalo crawled in and snored in your ear,» Caleb said. «Now you can sleep next to me and stay warm or you can sleep alone and get cold. Your choice, fancy lady. Either way, put out the fire after you’ve changed your clothes.»

Before Willow could think of a suitable answer, Caleb pulled his hat down over his eyes, shutting her out. Within moments his breathing changed, slowing and deepening.

Willow watched Caleb for a while longer, seeing the even rise and fall of his chest with each breath he took. He seemed to be asleep. Even so, she considered retreating into the brush to dress, but was reluctant to drag the wonderfully dry clothes into the dripping willow thicket. Besides, it would be chilly away from the cheerful leap of flames.

«Caleb?» she whispered.

He didn’t answer. Nor did he stir.

Abruptly, Willow made her decision. Moving slowly and silently so as not to awaken Caleb, she took off her boots and she set down the clothes on the strip of tarpaulin he had left empty. Easing thelongjohn bottoms from the tangle of clothes, she turned her back and left the blanket she was wearing open. Fumbling slightly, she pulled the ribbons that fastened thepantelets around her waist. The thin cotton fluttered down her legs and heaped around her ankles beneath the blanket entirely. She stepped out of the frail cloth and managed to pull on thelongjohn bottoms without dropping the blanket entirely.

It wasn’t easy. Whoever had been the previous owner of the underwear was somewhat smaller than Willow. What should have been a loosely fitted garment covered her like a second, supple skin. The long-sleeved top was as snug as the bottom. The result wasn’t uncomfortable, simply unexpected.

For Caleb it was breathtaking, especially as Willow had tired of wrestling with the blanket and let it drop in order to pull the top of the underwear into place. When she finished, she ran her hands over the soft, warm flannel and made a sound of pleasure. Caleb set his teeth against a groan. He would have given a great deal to have his hands running over the same fabric and to hear Willow murmur with pleasure in response to the touch.

Grimly, Caleb closed his eyes and rolled onto his side, making no noise as he turned his back on Willow. She didn’t notice his change of position when she bent to the new clothes once more, for she was entranced by the feel of the buckskin pants. They were softer than velvet and supple as the wind.

With a murmuring sound of pleasure, Willow ran her palm over the pants before pulling them into place over thelongjohns. Again, the fit was close without being uncomfortable. The top, with its rain-shedding fringe and laces down to her breasts, was as soft as the pants and fitted her just as lovingly. Like the underwear, the buckskins were fragrant with the rose petal sachet that had been tucked in the folds. She took a few tentative steps, feeling as though she might float away without the accustomed weight of skirt and petticoats. The freedom of movement pants gave her was almost startling.

Mother would have an attack of the vapors if she saw me in pants, Willow thought with a combination of amusement andsadness. Butbeggars can’t be choosers.

Besides, the pants are warm and they cover as much of me as a skirt would. They just don’t cover it in quite the same way.

All that remained were the Levis and the wool lumberman’s jacket with its big checks of blended red and black. The Levis were looser than the other clothes, as was the jacket. The derringer fit so nicely in one of the jacket’s large front pockets that Willow left it there. The fly front fastening of the Levis baffled her for a moment, then her fingers went to work over the stubborn steel buttons. Finally, she shoved her arms into the jacket’s sleeves. The jacket had been made for a man rather than for a woman, which meant that the buttons were on the wrong side. Both Levis and jacket had been worn enough to make them flexible.

Willow picked up the pearl-gray, flat-crowned, wide-brimmed hat that had been rolled among the clothes. A few strokes of her hands pushed the hat back into shape. She put it on her head, fastened the chin strings, and wished she had a mirror.

«Just as well I don’t,» she muttered softly. «My hair must look like river weed.»

The warmth of the clothes seeped into Willow, making her realize how long it had been since she had been dry. Almost fearfully, she glanced up at the sky. No clouds were overhead, but that was no guarantee that it wouldn’t rain later on. By the end of daylight, clouds could easily pour down from the peaks in one squall line after another.

Wind blew with a long, lonely cry, reminding Willow of the icy night she had endured. Sparks leaped up from the flames. Quickly she pulled apart the fuel, and the fire guttered and died. As she banked the few coals in ashes, she regretted the loss of warmth. She looked at the narrow strip of tarpaulin that remained and realized all over again what a big man Caleb Black really was. The thought was daunting, but not as dismaying as the idea of lying down on the cold, wet ground in her dry clothes.

Making no more motions than necessary, she removed her hat, jacket, and Levis, lowered herself to the tarpaulin, and eased beneath the blankets. The feel of Caleb’s body so close to her own was unnerving at first, but when he showed no awareness of her, Willow relaxed, enjoying the warmth that radiated from him. With a long sigh she fell asleep.

It took Caleb a lot longer, but he, too, finally slept. As was his custom, he awoke periodically, listened to the small sounds around him, and fell asleep once more. At one point, somewhere between waking and sleeping, he found himself with his arm around Willow, her head snuggled against his shoulder and her arm flung across his chest. Smiling, he eased the blanket higher, pulling it over their heads, shutting out the light, creating a world whose only inhabitants were himself and the girl who slept so trustingly in his arms. As Caleb fell asleep once more, the scent of rose petals curled around him, residue of clothes once worn by British aristocracy.

The last time Caleb awoke, the ravine was filled with the slanting golden light of very late afternoon and Willow was tucked against him spoon-fashion. Both of them were lying on their left side. His arm was around her waist, holding her close. The warm weight of her hips nestled intimately in his lap had a predictable effect on his body.

Motionless but for the heavy running of his blood, Caleb told himself all the reasons why he would be a damned fool for sliding his hands beneath Willow’s clothes and finding out if her nipples tightened half as much in response to a man’s caressing hands as they did in response to cold rain. None of the reasons for keeping his hands in his pockets sounded as good in the sleepy, intimate twilight beneath the blankets as they had in the full light of wakefulness.

Slow down, soldier, Caleb advised himselfsavagely. Shemay be married. And even if she’s not, she’s a woman alone in a mighty empty land. I’m not going to have her saying that 1 took advantage of her. If she wants me, she’ll have to look me in the eye and say so in plain English.

Before his body could overrule his brain, Caleb rolled out of the inviting, rose-scented nest of blankets. Willow murmured sleepily and rolled over, seeking the warmth that had been so close a moment before.

«Wake up,» Caleb said as he stamped into his boots. «This isn’t a fancy hotel. You want breakfast, you’ll have to stir your hind end for it.»

Hazel eyes opened and watched him from beneath long, thick lashes. She yawned, curling her tongue like a kitten, then sighed. Dense amber lashes fluttered down once more.

«I mean it, southern lady. When I get back from looking around, there better be a fire laid and fresh water in the pot. Your stud could use a grooming. If you don’t have a currycomb in your fat carpetbag, you’ll find one in my saddlebag.»

«Good morning to you, too.»

Willow waited until Caleb stalked out of sight before she threw off the blankets, pulled on her boots, and began arranging twigs for the fire. The new freedom of movement offered by pants kept surprising her at odd moments.

The air was warm, stirred only occasionally by a breeze. Hidden birds sang through the ravine, falling silent only when Willow went to the narrow stream. There were clouds overhead. Some of them had slate bottoms, but not all.

«Maybe it won’t rain tonight,» Willow said wistfully to herself.

The rustling of leaves in a curl of wind was her only answer. With a sigh, she made her pilgrimage to some dense brush, where she discovered a drawback of her new clothes. Unlike herpantelets, thelongjohns were sewn together at the crotch. That would have caused no particular inconvenience for a man wishing to relieve himself; for a woman, it meant shucking out of every stitch of clothing. Grumbling, Willow bared her backside to the playful wind.

By the time Willow got back to camp, she was still grumbling under her breath about dealing with men’s clothing and a woman’s body. She was tempted to light the fire, but didn’t. If Caleb had wanted that done, he would have said so. For herself, Willow had lived in fear for too many years to be careless about starting fires that advertised her presence to anyone within sight or scent of the smoke.

Willow began putting the camp in order, shaking out and rolling blankets, stacking small pieces of kindling close to the fire, and getting fresh water. When that was done, she found Caleb’s currycomb and went to work on the horses. Deuce and Trey welcomed the attention without a fuss, for there was no flapping cloth to worry them now. Ishmael, as always, was a gentleman. She was hard at work on Penny, one of the little sorrel mares, when the Arabian nickered and looked over Willow’s shoulder. Only then did she realize that Caleb was standing a few feet away, watching her with unblinking golden eyes.

Abruptly Willow wondered what he thought of her dressed in buckskins like an Indian, her hair loose and tumbling down to her hips. But if Caleb noticed the change of clothes, he said nothing. Nor did he stare at the legs she had never before revealed in such a way to any man.

«Did my horses give you any trouble?» Caleb asked, wondering if Willow had even thought to check on his animals.

Relieved that he was going to accept her clothes without comment, Willow answered cheerfully. «Trey and Deuce were as gentle as could be while I curried them. They held up each foot in turn and didn’t try to lean on me while I cleaned their hooves.»

Caleb’s eyes widened a fraction as he realized that she had indeed cared for his horses. That was almost as much a shock as the instant he first had seen her wearing buckskins that fit her like a pale shadow, revealing every womanly line of her body. He was beginning to think that wearing pants had been a bad idea — for his comfort, not for hers.

Nor was the top she wore any better. It cupped her breasts as lovingly as a man’s hands.

«A freight wagon is headed south, going at a good clip,» Caleb said after a moment. «Wind is from the west. If we keep the fire small, nobody on the wagon will smell it. And about moonrise, with a cold wind coming down off the peaks, we’ll be glad for a canteen of coffee and a hatful of cold bread.»

Willow flashed a smile. «Can we have coffee now, too?»

The corner of Caleb’s mouth turned up almost unwillingly as he admitted, «I was looking forward to it myself.»

When Willow was finished with the horses, she took her camisole andpantelets and washed them in the tiny creek with a sliver of soap taken from her personal baggage. Carefully, she shook the garments out and draped them over the cottonwood log near the fire, knowing that the thin fabric would dry quickly.

In silence, Caleb stacked bacon andfrybread on plates made from a slab of cottonwood bark. Willow finished pouring coffee into the canteen, sat, and began eating. As she reached for a chunk offrybread, Caleb brought out a small pot of honey, one of the many small luxuries Wolfe had thrown into the pack.

«Honey!» Willow cried softly.

«No call to go getting fresh,» Caleb said, deadpan.

When she realized what he meant, she blushed and said, «Caleb Black, you know very well I meant what’s in that pot rather than you.»

«I’m hurt.»

«And I’m Salome of the Seven Veils,» she muttered.

Caleb glanced at the nearly transparent lawn camisole and fine cottonpantelets that were draped over the cottonwood log to dry.

«Looks more like two veils from here.»

Willow said only, «Honey, please.»

«How can I resist when you ask so nicely?» he said, surrendering the clay pot.

She made a sound that was almost a giggle. His answering smile made her feel as light as fire. For a shivering instant, Willow felt almost at home again, the home that existed only in her memories and dreams — firelight and her parents and her brothers’ masculine teasing, and Matt’s affectionate deviling of the younger sister who worshipped him.

Silently, Willow tipped the jar and dribbled a tiny stream of honey over the bread. The thick liquid shimmered like captive sunlight as it was slowly absorbed into the bread. She licked up stray threads of sweetness before she sank her teeth into the unexpected treat. The complex flavor of honey spread through her mouth. Without realizing it, she made a small sound of pleasure at the back of her throat. It had been three years since she had tasted the sun-drenched richness of honey.

Caleb watched from the corner of his eye, telling himself that she wasn’t doing it on purpose, licking her lips and sending that quick little tongue out to scoop up stray drops of honey. She wasn’t putting on a show for him. She was simply enjoying the honey with a sensual intensity that aroused him as much as seeing her in nearly transparentunderthings had.

If Willow had been teasing him, Caleb would have had no difficulty ignoring or accepting her invitation, depending on how he felt at the moment. But she wasn’t issuing invitations, which put him at a real disadvantage. He wanted her. She didn’t want him.

Or if she did, she was keeping it under her hat better than any woman he had ever met.

Maybe she really is Reno’s wife. Not every man buys his woman a ring.

Then why does she blush like a kid caught stealing apples each time thewordhusbandis mentioned?

There was no answer but the obvious one — Reno wasn’t Willow’s husband.

Absently, Caleb fingered the locket he carried safely within his watch pocket. Then he looked at the angle of the sun. Three more hours of daylight. Less if a storm came. But it didn’t look like it was blowing in the right direction for a storm. A few showers here and there, maybe, but nothing like it had been last night or the night before.

With a reluctance he didn’t understand, Caleb pulled out the locket, flicked it open, and studied the two pictures inside. From what Willow had said, she was more familiar with Reno’s parents than she was with her own. All he had to do was show her the locket. If she recognized the photographs, she was Reno’s wife. If she didn’t, she wasn’t. Cut and dried.

Show it to her. Find out if she’s available.

What if she isn’t?

The question went into Caleb like a knife, telling him how much he wanted the woman with the golden hair and the laughter to match.

Thou shall not covet thy neighbor’s wife.

It was easy enough to say. It had been easy enough to obey, before Caleb had met Willow. Now he wasn’t certain he could obey the letter, much less the spirit, of that ancient law.

What you don’t know won’t hurt you, right?

Wrong, fool. What you don’t know can —

«What’s that?» Willow asked, interrupting Caleb’s thoughts.

He turned toward her with a suddenness that made her flinch.

«I’m sorry,» she said quickly. «I didn’t mean to startle you.»

Caleb looked from Willow’s clear hazel eyes to the twin golden ovals of the locket lying open in his palm. Two unsmiling faces stared back up at him. With a casualness that cost a great deal, he held his hand out so that Willow could see the pictures.

«Just a locket,» he said, watching her intently.

Willow bent forward at the waist and rested her fingertips on the pad of flesh at the base of Caleb’s thumb. He responded to the light pressure by tilting his hand, giving her a better view of the pictures.

The man had an unremarkable face, light eyes, dark hair, a mustache, and the most outstanding pair of ears Willow had ever seen. The woman had an unremarkable face, light eyes, dark hair, no mustache, and the second most outstanding pair of ears Willow had ever seen. Surreptitiously, she glanced at Caleb, wondering if the couple was related to him. She saw nothing of them in the lines of his face, in the shape of his eyes, in the curve of his mouth.

And most especially, nothing of them in his ears.

She cleared her throat, swallowing the laughter that lurked just at the edge of her control, and murmured, «Birds of a feather…»

A corner of Caleb’s mouth lifted in a hard curl. «Yes, I thought the same thing when I first saw the pictures.»

«Then the people aren’t, er, related to you?» Willow asked carefully.

«I was going to ask you the same thing.»

Willow’s hands went to her head, lifting her thick, heavy hair away from her ears. «What do you think?»

Caleb thought he would like to take a gentle bite or two, but he said only, «What about your husband?»

Fighting a guilty tide of color, Willow looked away. «Matt’s ears are as flat as mine.»

«Not his parents, either, huh?» Caleb said, making his voice light, as though he was teasing her.

Golden hair flew as she shook her head emphatically. «No. I’ve never seen those people before in my life.»

«Sure?» he asked, smiling a slow, lazy kind of smile.

«Do you think I’d forget those ears?»

He laughed softly, feeling much better about life than he had when he awakened lusting after a woman who might have been another man’s wife.

«No, southern lady, I don’t. Those are the damnedest ears I’ve seen short of a Missouri mule.»

Willow wondered at the honey-licking satisfaction in Caleb’s smile and voice, but couldn’t help responding to it. She laughed softly, pleased that she had somehow slipped past his reserve for a few moments. Not until Caleb’s hand curled over hers did she realize that her fingertips were still resting on the hard flesh at the base of his thumb.

A shiver of awareness coursed through Willow, startling her. Instinctively, she pulled back. Sensing both the response and the wariness, Caleb released Willow’s fingers with a caressing motion that emphasized his strength and his restraint. Now that he was reasonably certain of her marital status, he was willing to conduct a careful campaign of seduction, one that would end with her pleading for him in no uncertain terms.

That wouldn’t happen today or maybe even the day after tomorrow, yetappen it would. The hunter in Caleb was as certain of his ultimate success as he was that he would find and kill the man called Reno.

The man whowasnot Willow’s husband.

«Better get your Levis on, honey,» Caleb said, standing and pulling Willow to her feet in the same motion. «We’ve got a long, hard ride ahead before we’ll be shed of Slater and his bunch.»