Only His

6

Shadows had already flowed down from the invisible peaks by the time Willow stood next to Ishmael, looking uncertainly at her new saddle. The stallion hadn’t objected to it. In fact, other than a flaring of his nostrils at the unfamiliar scent, he hadn’t seemed to notice any difference.

Willow did. When she bent to pick up the saddle for the first time, its unexpected weight startled her into letting it drop. Caleb reached past her, lifted the saddle one-handed, and secured it on Ishmael’s back.

«Up you go.»

Willow looked up from the leather-clad hands held out for her use as a stirrup. Caleb’s whiskey-colored eyes were watching her with a masculine speculation that startled her. Then he blinked, banking the passionate fires she sensed burning beneath his self-control.

«Shouldn’t I learn how to mount alone?» Willow asked, her voice husky.

Black eyebrows lifted. Caleb shrugged and stepped aside. «Suit yourself.»

Willow held reins and mane in her left hand, lifted her left foot up — way up — to the stirrup and grabbed the saddle horn with her right hand. Halfway up she stopped, remembering that she would have to swing her right leg over the stallion’s rump instead of over the saddle horn. A judicious boost from the flat of Caleb’s hand prevented her from dangling like an ornament from the stirrup.

«Thank you,» Willow muttered as she settled in the saddle, flushed from the tactile memory of his big hand on her bottom.

«My pleasure,» Caleb said gravely.

He hid his smile as Willow raised her left foot out of the stirrup. If he heard the swift intake of her breath when his hand closed around her ankle to move her leg back from the stirrup, he didn’t show it. «I’d better let this down a few notches. I’ve never seenJessi, but she must be an even smaller tidbit than you.»

The red in Willow’s cheeks deepened as she thought of the snug fit of the first two layers of her clothes. «I’m not small,» she muttered.

Smiling, Caleb ducked beneath Ishmael’s neck, gently removed Willow’s right foot from the stirrup, and let it down two notches, though he knew very well one notch would be enough. When he was finished, he fitted her foot in the stirrup with a care that was just short of caressing.

«Stand up, honey.»

Willow obeyed.

Caleb slid his hand along the leather beneath her bottom, testing the clearance between saddle and woman. There wasn’t enough room for his hand to move freely. It could, however, move.

At Caleb’s intimate touch Willow inhaled sharply as she went up on her tiptoes in shock. «Caleb!»

«Yes, I see,» he said blandly. «I’ll have to take the stirrups back up a notch. Sit down again.»

Slowly, Caleb removed his hand and began working over the stirrup leather again. Willow stared down at him. She could see only the black brim of his hat. Gradually, her heartbeat settled down and the feeling of not being able to breathe diminished. She took a rather ragged breath and tried to forget the staggering instant when she had felt his big hand sliding between her legs, sending unnerving sensations radiating up through her body.

Forgetting was impossible.

«Stand up again.»

«I’m sure the stirrups are just f-fine,» Willow said almost desperately.

Her low, shaken voice was as arousing to Caleb as the soft weight of her bottom pressed against his palm had been. He wanted to feel her again, to curl his hand around her heat and rock against her until she moaned.

But she wasn’t asking him to do that. She was askinghimnot to touch her.

«Suit yourself, fancy lady,» he said, turning away. «Just don’t come whining to me if you raise welts on your soft bottom because your stirrups are the wrong length.»

Before Willow could think of anything to say, Caleb swung onto Deuce with a quick, almost savage motion and reined the big black around on his hocks. They followed the ravine due west until the opening became too narrow. It was full dark when they emerged from the crease in the land. A brilliant moon shimmered overhead, alternately veiled and unveiled by wind-driven clouds.

Willow could see just enough of the constellations between the clouds to know that Caleb was heading west rather than south as he had since leaving Denver. She stood in her stirrups and peered ahead, trying to catch a glimpse of the stone ramparts she had never seen fully from top to bottom. Night and clouds defeated her.

Ishmael broke into a quick canter, following the horses in front of him as Caleb led them into the cover of another low ravine. Willow adjusted to the new pace without thinking. Riding astride was easier on her, especially when Ishmael trotted or scrambled up and down steep slopes.

After the first few hours, Willow was able to keep her balance automatically, as though she had always ridden astride. Caleb had been correct about one thing, however. The saddle was indeed harder than Willow’s bottom.

Suddenly, Caleb’s horse came toward her from the darkness ahead. When the two horses were side by side, Caleb bent over until his lips were so close to Willow’s cheek that she felt the warm rush of his breath.

«I smell a campfire up the draw. I’m going to scout a way around. Hold onto Trey until I get back. And don’t let Ishmael start hollering if he scents other horses.»

After handing over the pack horse’s lead rope, Caleb vanished into the darkness.

Willow waited with increasing uneasiness, feeling the minutes move with the slowness of ice melting on a cool spring day. Just when she was certain something had gone wrong, Caleb materialized in front of her as silently as the night itself. At his gesture she followed him back down the draw, retreating from whatever lay ahead. A hundred yards later Caleb turned his horse and came alongside Willow.

«Trouble?» she asked very softly.

His hand snaked out, pulling her even closer. He spoke with a bare thread of sound that couldn’t have been heard a foot away.

«Two men with dirty clothes, clean guns, and fast horses. They were bragging about what they’re going to do with all the money they get from selling your damned fancy horses.»

One of them had also been wondering if Willow would be worth breaking to a different kind of saddle, but Caleb wasn’t talking about that. All that had kept him from drawing on the man right there was the fact that the sound of shots carried, and he couldn’t be sure there weren’t other gunnies camped nearby.

«Are they part of Slater’s bunch?» Willow asked.

«Doubt it. They were northern men. Slater is as southern as cotton.» Caleb listened for a moment, then continued. «There’s another draw a few hundred yards over. We’ll have to dismount so we don’t skyline ourselves. Can you walk in the dark without tripping over shadows? There’s no wind to mask any noise we make.»

«I sneaked past more than one soldier boy,» Willow said. «I got caught once. I never got caught again.»

Caleb thought of what might have happened to a girl caught by soldiers and felt a cold rage congeal in his gut. He wondered if that was why Willow had become a fancy woman-once lost, no matter how, a girl’s virginity couldn’t be regained. And after the first time, no man could know how many men had been there before him, so a girl might as well make the best of a bad situation. More than one widow had.

With quick motions, Caleb ducked out of the shotgun sling and settled it over Willow so that the weapon hung muzzle-down. A single motion would pull it into firing position.

«It’s loaded,» Caleb said tersely. «Any man gets close to you, blow him straight to Satan. Hear me?»

Startled, Willow whispered, «Yes.»

There was a whisper of sound as Caleb took the thong off his revolver and slid it in and out of the holster, making certain that the gun wouldn’t hang up if he had to draw quickly. He reined his horse toward a place which showed as a narrow shadow across the moonlit land. Holding Deuce to a walk, Caleb rode with his hand on his belt gun and his eyes searching the land. Behind him, the sounds of six other horses lifted into the darkness. A lazy breeze stirred, but it wasn’t nearly enough to cover the beat of so many hooves against the land.

Like trying to sneak dawn past the night, Caleb thought savagely.

He cast a bleak look at the sky. The clouds weren’t getting any thicker. The moon wasn’t getting any dimmer. And the crease in the landscape they were descending into was narrow and barely four feet deep.

As Caleb dismounted, he slipped his repeating rifle from its scabbard. Carrying the rifle in his left hand, he walked forward noiselessly. Deuce followed without urging. Roped together as they were, the mares had to walk so close together that they were all but stepping on one another. Inevitably, they made more noise than a horse walking singly would have.

It seemed to Willow that half the night had gone by before Caleb abandoned the inadequate cover and came back to lift her onto Ishmael’s back.

«Do you want to keep the shotgun?» he asked in a low voice.

«Yes, please. If you wouldn’t mind…?»

«I’ll get its scabbard.»

A few minutes later Caleb led the horses off in a northerly direction at a brisk walk. When they were beyond possible earshot of the two men, Caleb touched Deuce with spurs. He held the pace at a canter as long as the land and the illumination permitted. As moonlight waned beneath a thickening lid of clouds, he dropped back to a fast trot. Only when the land pitched up steeply did he allow the pace to slacken.

Not once did he dismount to rest the horses. Before dawn came, he wanted as much land as possible between Willow and the two men who had lounged at ease around their small fire, listening to the night with senses honed by years of living beyond the law.

As the dark hours wore on, Willow clung to the saddle numbly, balancing herself with saddle horn and stirrups, trying to move with Ishmael rather than against him. The first, faint sign of the darkness lifting had never been more welcome. Eagerly, she watched each hint of the coming transformation of night into day. When Caleb reined aside and led them to a small creek, she almost groaned with pleasure at the thought of hot food and a chance to stretch out full length on the ground. Dismounting, she braced herself for a few moments against her patient stallion before she began to walk slowly toward a nearby thicket.

Caleb watched the stiffness of Willow’s movements and considered stopping for more than the few minutes he had planned. Then he remembered the muscular, racy lines of the horses picketed near the gunmen’s campfire and knew he couldn’t take the chance. Those horses were deep-chested, long-legged, and in top condition, able to run all day. His own horses had hard days of riding behind them.

After Caleb put Willow’s saddle on one of the sorrel mares, he stripped the gear from his own big horses and switched riding saddle for pack saddle. By the time Willow returned, he was ready to ride once more. When she saw they weren’t going to camp after a long night of riding, she had to bite her lip against a protest.

Willow’s first effort at mounting failed. Before she could try again, Caleb lifted her into the saddle.

«The only way we can hope to stay ahead of those two men is by riding longer hours than they do,» he explained as he mounted his own horse.

«Do you really think they heard us going by?» Willow asked.

He looked into her hazel eyes, trying to measure her strength. Dawn showed the dark smudges beneath her eyes, silent testimony to her exhaustion.

«Two horses might have sneaked by that campsite, or maybe even three,» Caleb said finally. «But seven? Not a chance in hell. Along about first light those men will be casting around for our trail. Shouldn’t take them more than ten minutes to find it. The ground is damp, just right to hold tracks. Seven horses leave a trail a blind greenhorn could follow. Those men aren’t greenhorns. They’ll be able to track us at a dead run.»

Willow looked at her horses and knew what Caleb wasn’t saying. Without the Arabians, they would have a much better chance of evading any pursuit. Leading extra horses slowed the pace as well as churning the land with tracks.

«Our only chance of staying in front of anyone trailing us,» Caleb continued, «is to ride and keep on riding and pray that a good storm comes along to wash out our tracks.»

Shifting in the saddle, he reached back into a saddlebag and pulled out a dark bandanna that had been tied around the remains of their last meal. «Here’s what’s left of our bread and bacon,» he said, tossing the knotted cloth to her. «Eat when you have the chance. There’s fresh water in the canteen on your saddle.»

«What will you eat?»

«Same thing you will when that’s gone. Jerky.»

Before Willow could say anything more, Caleb touched his horse with spurs and set off at a hard trot.

The transition from night to day was so gradual that Willow couldn’t be certain when one ended and the other began. The clouds had thickened to the point that sunlight threw no shadows. All that was visible of the mountains were low ridges lightly clad with pine and wholly capped by clouds.

The land rose and the clouds lowered until no more than a thousand feet separated the horses from the bottom of the mist-shrouded sky. Rain fell occasionally, but never enough to blur the signs left by the passage of seven horses as they pressed higher and higher into the first range of the Rocky Mountains.

Gradually, trees became more common on the hillsides. These weren’t the cottonwoods Willow had become accustomed to seeing scattered along the stream courses, but evergreens lifting their elegant arms to a gray sky that was almost close enough to touch. The tracks the horses left beneath the trees would be more difficult to follow. The realization comforted Willow, but not much.

Apparently, it didn’t comfort Caleb at all, for he kept up a hard pace, letting the horses rest only infrequently despite the steepness of the route. Centuries of pine needles softened the impact of hooves on the ground, giving a silence that was almost eerie to the horses’ passage. Other than the creak of saddles and the occasional snort of a horse, the only noise was a distant, fitful rumble that could have been repeated thunder or the sound of a waterfall carried by an unpredictable wind.

And once. Willow was certain she heard gunshots.

As the land rose, the air became colder and more restless. The wind strengthened into a steady moan. Willow tightened the chin string of her hat and settled more deeply into the saddle, hunched against the cold. Through the trees she caught glimpses of land falling steeply away. The horses were breathing deeply now, working hard even at a walk. Finally, they topped out on the shoulder of a mountain whose upper half was swathed in opaque veils of mist and rain.

Caleb pulled a gleaming brass spyglass from one of his saddlebags and looked out over theirbacktrail. Willow reined Ishmael in next to Caleb. Her breath came with a surprised gasp when she realized how much of thebacktrail they could see from their vantage point. The land was as empty as the wind. No smoke rising from the forested areas. No wagon roads or clear trails through the meadows. No buildings or tilled fields. No tree trunks or stumps with the mark of a steel axe upon them.

«What’s that?» she asked finally, noticing a dark thread over lighter meadow grass a thousand feet below.

«Seven horses flattening the grass,» Caleb said grimly. «Even if those two gunnies can’t track worth sour apples, they’ll find us at every meadow we had to cross. We’ll be damn lucky to avoid theUtes, too. Usually I don’t have any trouble with them, but usually I’m not trailing a chief’s ransom in horses behind me.»

«I didn’t realize…» Willow said. Her voice trailed off in dismay. Nothing in her previous experience had prepared her for a land so little traveled that tracks were like signal fires burning until a heavy rain came to put them out.

Caleb put the glass down long enough to look at the worried face of the young woman who was standing so close to him that he could hear the slow drawing and exhalation of her breath. In the gloomy morning light, her eyes were almost silver, with only a few hints of the warm splinters of gold and brilliant blue-green he had come to expect. Her lips were a soft rose, the same shade of pink that wind had teased from her cheeks, and her braids were the color of the absent sun. He wondered how her hair would feel spilling over his naked skin.

With a silent curse at his unruly desires, Caleb collapsed the spyglass and urged his horse forward again. The route he chose took them through forest much of the time, skirting meadows and the gentle, parklike clearings that Willow found so unexpected in such a wild land. Around them, shrouded in clouds, the land rose more and more steeply with each mile. Creeks fell awaydownslope in a racing white froth.

After a time it began to rain in earnest. At first, Willow welcomed the downpour as a means of blurring their tracks, but soon realized that rain was making their passage much slower and more difficult. Riding through a storm in gently rolling countryside was one thing. Riding through a storm in asteepsided, stone-bottomed landscape was quite another.

The heavy wool jacket Willow wore repelled most of the water, but eventually it become as wet as her Levis. Water ran off the brim of her hat onto the saddle. Low-sweeping evergreen branches added their lot to the miserable going, shedding sheets of water at the lightest touch. From time to time the ghostly, slender trunks of aspen trees appeared among the dark evergreens. The aspen leaves were light green on top, silver underneath, and trembled at every touch of rain. In many cases, the trunks grew so close together that Caleb avoided the groves whenever he could, knowing the packhorse and mares would come to grief in the tight spaces between trees.

A cold wind came wailing down the slope, tearing apart the clouds. Willow barely noticed, for the trail had become very steep as they worked around the shoulder of a mountain. Way down below and to the left, there was a stream. It was invisible beneath the shroud of rain, but Willow was certain a stream had to be there. The sheets of water washing down off the mountain guaranteed it.

Without warning the clouds parted ahead. Sunlight streamed over the land, setting ablaze the countless drops of rain clinging to the forest.

Caleb glanced up, but had little heart for the beauty of the land. He knew what was coming next, and he knew Willow would fight it. But he had no choice. He had known this moment would come since she had refused to leave her horses in Denver and refused again to leave them the night he had seen WolfeLonetree.

Grimly, Caleb urged his horse forward to the edge of aparklike clearing in the forest. There were many such places in the Rockies, some so high that tundra rather than grass grew. Watching the land for movement, Caleb waited for Willow to come alongside. Across the park, deer watched in return. After a few minutes of alert scrutiny, the graceful animals resumed browsing along the opposite edge of the park.

Green, shimmering with raindrops, bright with a crystal ribbon of water winding through its lush center, the grassy basin was so beautiful that Willow made a sound of pleasure when she reined in next to Caleb. Then she looked up from the grass to the mountain tops finally free of clouds, and she froze.

The mountains were overwhelming. Lashed by snow, swept by wind, naked in their bleak granite heights, the peaks dominated sky and earth alike. She had never seen anything to equal them in her life.

«It’s like seeing the face of God,» she said in a shaking voice.

The emotion in Willow was echoed in Caleb’s eyes. He loved the mountains in a way he loved nothing else, a soul-deep feeling of belonging to them and they to him. But he understood the Rockies as deeply as he loved them. The mountains were special to man.

Man was not special to the mountains.

Caleb dismounted and systematically began tying the mares’ lead ropes around their necks, releasing them from the relentless tugging at their halters.

«Does Ishmael have a favorite mare?» he asked.

«Dove. The sorrel you’ve been leading.»

«Get down. I’ll saddle her for you, unless you think Ishmael won’t follow us at all unless he’s on a rope.»

«I don’t understand.»

«I know you don’t.» Caleb’s mouth flattened. He didn’t like what he was going to do, but that didn’t change anything. It had to be done. «Your Arabians are tough and quick and well-trained. Now we’re going to find out if they’re smart. If they are, they’ll follow without a lead rope, no matter how tired they get or how rough the trail. If they aren’t smart…» He shrugged. «So be it. I’m not getting us killed for any horseflesh, no matter how fancy.»

«Surely the storm washed out our tracks,» Willow said urgently. «We’ll be able to keep ahead of anyone following unless they know the area as well as you do.»

«I doubt if they do, but whether or not they know the high, little-used passes just doesn’t matter.»

«What?»

«It doesn’t matter,» Caleb repeated flatly. «We’re through leading horses. It’s too damned dangerous. From here on out the trail gets rough.»

«Getsrough?» Willow’s voice was faint, appalled.

«That’s right, southern lady.» He fixed her with a fierce, tawny glance. «What we’ve been over so far is a few lumps set in the middle of a lot of valleys and parks. Nothing special. A horse can lose its footing, go down, get scuffed up some, get up, and go on its way.» Caleb took off his hat, whipped his fingers through his hair, and yanked the hat back into place. «It’s different where we’re going. Up ahead it will be worth your life to lose your footing. There are places where you could scream for a long time before you hit bottom.»

Willow turned away and looked at her horses. The altitude and the days of hard riding had told on all of them. They were thinner, less alert, and they grazed hungrily on any grass within reach. The Arabians were strong and willing, but they were being ground down. So was she, even though she had done little more than hang on.

Saying nothing, Willow looked back to the park and to the magnificent, uncaring peaks blocking out the sky wherever she turned.

«Is there really a way through them?» she whispered.

«Yes. It isn’t obvious from where we are, but it’s there just the same. Finding the route isn’t a problem. Getting to it before we’re overtaken by those two gunnies is.»

Wide hazel eyes searched Caleb’s face. «Don’t you think the rain washed out our tracks?»

«Maybe. Maybe not. Depends on how good at tracking they are. It’s not something I want to bet your life on.»

Willow closed her eyes, trying not to show how much her composure was costing her. She would have argued with Caleb, but she knew there was no point. She had refused to leave her horses behind. Now she had to live with the result of her refusal.

At least there was an abundance of natural food around. Even if the Arabians wouldn’t follow without being led, they wouldn’t starve. She and Matt could come back for them.

Willow clung to that thought as she dismounted. «I’ll get Dove.»

Caleb watched from beneath hishatbrim while Willow moved among her mares, touching first one and then another, talking to them in a low voice, stroking their warm, sleek hides. He had expected Willow to pitch a fit over his order, but she hadn’t. She had looked at the peaks, looked at him with eyes that made him ache, and then she had climbed down from her stallion and gone about doing what must be done.

It took only a moment for Caleb to switch the saddle to Dove’s back. Despite the altitude and hard trail, the mare had enough energy left to lip playfully at Caleb’s coat sleeve. He smiled and pushed the soft muzzle out of the way, only to have it return again. While he cinched the saddle snugly in place, Dove snuffled over the thick, wooly pelt that lined hisshearling coat.

«You’re like your mistress,» he said, rubbing the mare’s velvety muzzle. «Small but game.»

«I’m not small,» Willow said behind Caleb’s back.

He turned and caught her chin in the palm of his hand, tilting her face up gently toward him. «If Ishmael won’t follow, do you want to ride him instead of Dove?»

Willow knew what Caleb was asking without actually putting it into words: If the horses wouldn’t follow, which one did she want to save?

She closed her eyes. For a moment her long lashes quivered against her cheeks as she fought for control of the tears that burned behind her eyes.

«I — yes,» Willow said huskily, turning away without meeting Caleb’s eyes. «Ishmael.»

«It would be better that way,» Caleb agreed. «There are wild horses around. The mares won’t be alone for long. Some stud will drive his herd up here for summer grazing. He’ll take care of your mares. Ishmael would try, but he’s paddock raised. He doesn’t know about high-country snow and mountain lions.»

Willow nodded but said nothing.

Caleb held out his hands, making them into a stirrup. «Time to go.»

She wanted to tell him that she could mount without his help, but the words would have taken too much effort. She put her foot in his hands and swiftly found herself in the saddle.

The park was well behind them before Caleb reined in at a small creek and looked back to see how well the Arabians were following. His mouth flattened when he saw that Willow was riding sixth in line, keeping the loose mares between her and the pack horse, leaving Ishmael to bring up the rear.

Silently, Caleb admitted that the mares were following well enough, but that didn’t make him like Willow’s position far down the line any better. His concern was somewhat eased by Ishmael’s transformation. Being taken off the lead rope had agreed with the stallion. He was walking like a horse on springs, ranging from side to side when the trail permitted, scenting every breeze, and generally acting for all the world like a wild stud overseeing his herd. Any thought a mare might have had of dragging her feet vanished when Ishmael laid back his ears and offered to nip the laggard’s rump.

As the mares caught up with Caleb, they ranged alongside his horse, drinking thirstily. He fished a handful of jerky from his saddlebag and handed it over to Willow.

«When we leave here, ride right behind me,» Caleb said. «The men trailing us could catch up any time between now and sunset.»

Biting her lip, Willow looked at her mares.

«Don’t worry,» Caleb said. «That red stud of yours will keep the mares in line. That’s one hell of a horse. Any other flat country horse would be dragging his tail by now. Not that one. He’s still got lightning in his eyes and thunder in his hooves. Be interesting to breed him to one of my Montana mares and see what we get.»

Willow looked at Deuce and Trey. A small smile played around her lips. «Uh, I don’t know how to tell you this, Caleb, but your Montana horses are geldings, not mares.»

Caleb shot her a look of disbelief, then laughed out loud. The flash of humor in her was as unexpected as the resilient spirit in the Arabians. He leaned forward and tugged gently at one of her golden braids.

«How do you know the difference?» Caleb asked, grinning. «Do tell, honey.»

Willow laughed and blushed at the same time. The sound of her soft laughter blended with the murmuring creek and the sighing wind, becoming part of the beauty of the wild land. Something twisted within Caleb, something very close to the emotion he had felt the first time he had seen the distant peaks of the Rockies and known that he had been born to live among them.

Slowly, Caleb released the golden rope of Willow’s braid, letting it slide between his fingers, wishing he had taken off his riding gloves so that he could feel the silky texture of her hair. When he spoke his voice was deep, almost rough.

«If you fall behind trying to keep your mares following me, I’m going to come back and get you. Then there will be blazing red hell to pay.»

Before Willow could answer, Caleb touched his big horse with spurs and headed across the meadow at a canter.

The land rose steeply again at the far side of the park, forcing the horses to climb until Willow was certain that her head would brush the clouds. The pace slowed to a walk. Willow found herself looking uneasily over her shoulder, half expecting to see riders on dark horses.

Noon came and went unnoticed. The shoulder of land they were climbing was so steep that Caleb was zigzagging upward in long sweeps. Even the Montana horses were breathing deeply and taking small steps, for the footing was made uncertain by loose rock and evergreen debris. Creases in the land held tiny racing brooks, stunted willows, and aspens so slender and supple they looked like pale green flames shimmering on white wicks.

If there was a pass anywhere ahead, Willow saw no sign of it. The peak whose side they were climbing stretched up and up and up until it became swathed in mist. The mountain’s face was seamed by avalanche chutes that were lined with dark, low-growing shrubs and aspen seedlings. Beneath the lid of clouds, other peaks were stacked nearby like cards tightly held in a gambler’s fist.

There were no low places, no inviting valleys or divides winding between thrusts of stone, no visible breaks in the rocky ramparts. More and more often the route Caleb followed took them across patches of broken rock so barren that only avalanche weed grew, sending bright pink spikes lifting toward the overcast sky. Finally, there was rock alone, nothing but broken stone and a single clump of dark spruce and pale aspen ahead, growing in a sheltered fold of land.

Beneath Willow, Dove labored for breath. For the hundredth time, Willow bit back the desire to demand that the relentless climb end until Dove could breathe easily again.

Caleb isn’t a cruel man. He can see how worn Dove is from carrying me. If he thought it was safe to stop, he would.

Willow repeated the words to herself for the next hour, which was how long it took the horses to struggle up the steep route to the small group of trees growing among the rocks. As soon as Caleb reached the grove, he dismounted, jerked off his boots, and pulled on knee-high moccasins.

By the time Dove caught up, Caleb had the repeating rifle free of its scabbard and was inspecting the firing mechanism, making certain no moisture had gotten in during the ride. His gloves were in his coat pocket. Despite the cold air, his bare fingers were swift and sure as he worked over the rifle. When he looked up, there was no more comfort in his eyes than there was in the chill gleam of the rifle barrel.

«How do your horses feel about gunfire?» he asked.

«They got used to it during the war. Are we finally stopping?»

«We don’t have any choice. It took us half an hour to go three miles and gain five hundred feet of altitude. We’ve got a thousand feet higher to go. Without rest, your mares won’t make it at all.»

Willow didn’t disagree.

«I’m going to watch ourbacktrail,» Caleb continued. «Get some rest yourself. You look like a gust of wind would blow you away.»

He walked off, moving over the loose rock without hesitation or noise, for the soft soles of his moccasins allowed him to feel if the footing was secure before he committed his weight to it. He walked until he reached a low pile of boulders that would both conceal him and give him a clear field of fire over the open parts of the trail below. He settled in behind the rocks, rested the rifle barrel in a notch between two boulders, and began scanning the landscape, sighting over the rifle barrel.

Fifteen minutes passed before he heard Willow’s soft voice.

«Caleb? Where are you?»

«Over here,» he replied.

Willow scrambled down into the boulders, only to find there was very little room in the stony nest. Caleb’s wide shoulders all but filled the space.

«Why aren’t you resting?» he asked.

«I thought you might be thirsty.» Breathing quickly from the short walk, she squeezed in next to him and held out the canteen. «You didn’t take time to drink.»

He uncapped the canteen, lifted it, and tasted a tantalizing hint of peppermint. «You did.»

«What?» Willow asked as she settled gingerly onto the rocky ground.

«You drank. I can taste it.»

She gave him a startled look.

«Mint,» he said simply.

Pink climbed up her cheeks when she realized what he meant. «I’m sorry. I didn’t —»

He put the pad of his thumb against her lips, stopping her embarrassed apology. «I like the taste of you, Willow.»

For a moment the silence was so intense she was certain Caleb could hear the wild beating of her heart. The corner of his mouth lifted in what could have been a smile. His touch became heavier, pressing against the inside of her lower lip in a caress that was as unexpected as it was sensual. Then his hand lifted, leaving her feeling disoriented. He brought his thumb to his lips, tasted it, and smiled.

«Mint.»

Willow took a shaky breath and wondered at the feelings coursing through her. The white curve of Caleb’s teeth against his black beard was unreasonably handsome. The gold in his eyes was a fire burning, watching her.

Caleb turned away and pulled the spyglass from his coat pocket, changing the direction of his thoughts in the most efficient way he could. Methodically, he began quartering thebacktrail. After a few moments, his breath came out in a hissing curse.

Far below, a horseman was coming at rapid clip, taking the same way over the land that Caleb and Willow had. Even using the spyglass, the distance was so great that Caleb couldn’t identify the man. Caleb waited. A second man came out of the forest. He, too, was riding a dark, rangy horse.

Caleb kept watching, but no other figures showed up in the magnified circle of the spyglass. Two men, two dark horses that showed signs of being ridden hard over a long distance. They were the same men he had seen last night. Caleb was as certain of it as he was of the smooth brass tube in his hand.

«The altitude has slowed them a little, but not enough,» Caleb said.

«Altitude?»

«We’re more than eight thousand feet high. That’s why you’re out of breath after a few steps. It gets to the horses the same way until they’re used to it. Mine are mountain horses. So are theirs. Yours aren’t.»

«What are we going to do?»

Caleb lifted his rifle and sighted down its barrel. The men were still out of range. Even so, he didn’t lower the rifle. He simply waited.

Willow saw a stillness come over Caleb, the ingathering of muscle and concentration of a cat about to spring. Far below and off to the left, two riders were crossing the distant park at a hard canter. He levered a shell into the rifle’s firing chamber and began tracking the second of the two riders.

«Are you going to shoot them without even finding out who they are?» Willow asked, her voice strained.

«I know who they are.»

«But —»

«Look up that mountain,» Caleb interrupted savagely. «Do you see any cover, any place to hide a person, much less seven horses, if someone starts shooting from below?»

«No,» Willow said unhappily.

«Think about it, southern lady. Once we leave that grove, we’re sitting ducks.»

Willow laced her fingers together and held on hard, trying not to tremble while Caleb shifted position very slightly, never taking his eyes from the men below.

«How about it?» he asked without looking away from the men. «You want to take a chance on those two being God-fearing, church-going boys who just happened to be taking a long ride over a hard, little-known pass that leads to nothing but another long ride and another little-known pass?»

«No,» she whispered.

Caleb smiled grimly. «Don’t sound so unhappy, honey. At this range I’ll be lucky to get close enough to scare them.» He sighted on the second man but made no effort to take slack off the trigger. «Wish to hell Wolfe was here. That man is pure hell with a rifle.»

A misty rain began to fall as the two riders vanished into the forest that ringed the park. If they followed the tracks, they would emerge again at the bottom of the slope in twenty minutes. Caleb lowered the rifle and turned to Willow.

«You better go back to the grove,» he said. «If one of those men has a big-bore Sharps rifle, things could get real lively in these rocks.»

«At this range?»

«I’ve seen men killed at six hundred yards with a big Sharps. I’ve heard of men killed at eight hundred yards.»

«How far down is it to the park?» Willow asked.

«Less than a thousand feet straight down. Where they’ll come out of the trees, they’re maybe six hundred yards away. That wouldn’t be a problem for Wolfe, but I’m only middling good with a long gun. Get moving, honey.»

Willow started to come to her feet, only to be yanked down by Caleb.

«Those damn fools are coming straight up! They must be afraid they’ll lose us in the rain!»

The men burst out of the trees about nine hundred yards away, spurring their horses in great lunges, climbing diagonally across the mouth of an avalanche chute. Caleb tracked the second man with the rifle but did not shoot. They would have tocriss — cross that chute, and others, several times before they gained the cover of the grove where seven horses were concealed. At a normal pace it would take the men half an hour to climb to where Caleb and Willow were concealed, yet the men were less than three thousand feet away as a rifle bullet flew, and they were closing fast.

«Keep your head down,» Caleb ordered.

Crouched among the cold rocks, Willow watched the only thing she could see — Caleb Black. He was both motionless and relaxed, holding the rifle easily, waiting for the men to come closer. His eyes were those of a bird of prey, intent and clear. No tension showed in his hands or in his face. Willow wondered how many times he had waited like this during the war, utterly still, watching prey that were also men come closer with each instant.

Aiming low to compensate for the steep slope, Caleb squinted into the shifting veil of rain and squeezed the trigger. The rifle leaped in his hands. Before the report echoed away down the mountainside, he fired quickly, repeatedly, levering bullets into the firing chamber without drawing the rifle barrel off target.

The second man yelled and grabbed his right arm. The first man drew his rifle from its saddle scabbard, but was forced to drop the weapon and hang onto the saddle horn with both hands as his horse started plunging wildly down the slope. Bullets whined and ricocheted off stone, sending sharp rock chips flying around the horses’ feet and stinging their bellies. Bucking, sliding on their hocks, fighting their riders every step of the way, the horses tried to bolt back down the mountainside.

Swearing beneath his breath because he had missed one of the men and failed to seriously wound the other, Caleb kept levering in bullets and firing. When a bullet whined off a nearby boulder, the uninjured rider spurred his horse savagely. It panicked, lost its footing, and rolled head over heels downhill. The rider didn’t kick clear of the stirrups in time. When the horse regained its feet and plunged on down the mountainside, the rider stayed sprawled on the rocky slope. The second rider looked back but kept going, abandoning his partner to whatever fate awaited.

Caleb let out a long breath, sighted, and squeezed the trigger very gently. The rifle leaped. The fleeing rider pitched forward for an instant, then struggled upright once more. The forested flank of the mountain reached out, swallowing up horse and rider before Caleb could fire again. The skirmish had lasted less than a minute.

«Damnation.»

Silence came, almost stunning in the aftermath of the rifle fire. Willow looked up and shook her head, dazed by the number of times Caleb had shot. She had heard of repeating rifles, but had never seen one in action. The amount of bullets one man could shoot in a short time was frightening.

«You’re a one-man army with that rifle,» she said faintly.

«Some godforsaken army,» Caleb muttered, scowling bleakly down the slope as he methodically fed shells into the rifle, replacing those he had used. «Can’t hit the broad side of a barn at six hundred yards.»

«In this light you’d be lucky to see the barn.» Shifting so that she could look through a crack between rocks, Willow peereddownslope. «Looks like you hit one of them.»

«His stupidity laid him low, not me. Damn fool spurred his horse when it was already scared enough to jump over the moon. Horse went down and so did he.»

«Is he alive?»

Caleb shrugged and continued peering down the mountainside over his rifle barrel, trying to pick out any motion of a horse returning or a man moving up to the edge of the forest to return Caleb’s fire.

Thedrumroll of running horses drifted back up the slope, thehoofbeats sounding thick and slurred in the silence that had followed the sharp, distinct reports of the rifle.

«Time to go,» Caleb said.

«What about him?» Willow asked, looking at the fallen rider.

«He’s counting the wages of sin. Leave him to it.»