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.