«Thank you, Mr. Black,» Willow murmured.

The slight drawl and contralto huskiness of her voice brushed over Caleb’s nerves like a caress. The warm, gentle weight of her fingers sent heat rippling through his body. He hardened with a violent rush that shocked him, for he had never allowed himself to be at the mercy of his own lust. It angered him that his body responded with such primitive eagerness to Willow’s haunting voice and alluring curves.

With too much interest for his own comfort, Caleb wondered if Willow would come to a man with honest passion or if Reno’s «wife» was simply a cold, pretty whore who would open her legs for any man who had a piece of silver in one hand and his hunger in the other. Caleb had no use for whores, including the traditional one.

Across the lobby a short, stocky man stood up slowly and gestured toward them. Hissuitcoat was of a dull broadcloth, his shirt was boiled, and like many men in the West, his pants had formerly been part of a military uniform.

«There’s Mr. Edwards,» Willow said.

«You sound relieved,» Caleb observed.

«Mr. Edwards spoke very highly of you.»

«And you think he was lying.»

Willow stopped walking. Automatically Caleb stopped as well, missing the gentle pressure of her fingertips on his forearm.

«Mr. Black,» Willow began, then faltered when his bleak, whiskey-colored eyes focused on her. She took a breath and began again. «I have apologized for offending you. I truly meant no insult. Your appearance surprised me, that’s all. I was expecting a man twice your age, a scholar of military campaigns, a silver-haired, old-fashioned —»

«Gentleman?» Caleb interrupted.

«— God-fearing man,» Willow finished.

«What makes you think I’m not?»

«I don’t think you’re afraid of anything,» she retorted, «including God.»

Caleb’s mouth shifted again, into a true smile this time, a smile that changed the hard lines of his face. Willow’s breath caught. When Caleb smiled, he was as handsome as the devil was reputed to be. Impulsively she touched his arm once more, smiling in return.

«Could we start over again?» she asked softly.

The seductive bow of Willow’s lips sent a shaft of hunger through Caleb that was almost painful. His body’s savage response to another man’s fancy woman made Caleb furious. The curve of his mouth changed, becoming thin and hard as the blade of the long knife he wore at his belt.

«Save the long eyelashes and soft smiles foryourhusband, southern lady. Every time I look at your fancy dress and silky yellow hair, I remember how many men died on both sides of the war to keep you in the luxury you think you deserve.»

The contempt in Caleb’s voice froze Willow. In truth she was not southern, not rich, not spoiled. But telling Caleb that would do nothing to arouse his compassion and could easily prevent him from accepting the job she was offering him. If he knew that she had no money to pay him until she reached her brother, Caleb might very well turn his back on her.

That would be a disaster. Mr. Edwards had made it clear that Caleb was one of the few men in the West — and the only man in the raw little city of Denver — who could be trusted with Willow’s life, her virtue, and her valuable-blooded horses.

Without a word Willow turned away from Caleb and walked toward Mr. Edwards. She didn’t notice the admiring looks and masculine murmurs that followed her progress through the lobby. It had been so long since she had thought of herself as a woman that she was out of the habit. To Willow her body was something she fed, bathed, and clothed in order to make it work. After her father had gone off to fight, leaving Willow alone with her fragile mother, it had been Willow who had struggled to see that the home farm provided the food that kept the Moran women alive.

Willow might have been oblivious, but Caleb noticed every approving look she drew. His cool, raking glance chastened more than one eager male. Caleb told himself that he wasn’t being protective of Willow’s non-existent virtue; he was merely guarding his ticket to the elusive Reno’s funeral. Any one of the tough young men lounging around Denver’s newest hotel would have been happy to earn fifty Yankee dollars for leading the lovely young Willow into a land so remote that most of its rivers, canyons, and mountain peaks had no names.

«Mr. Edwards,» Willow said in a low voice, «it was good of you to arrange this meeting.»

Eddy smiled, took her hand, and bowed over it before he turned to introduce her to his companion, a plump woman of thirty with black hair, red cheeks, and vivid blue eyes.

«Mrs. Moran, this is Mrs. Sorenson. Rose, this is the young woman you’ve been hearing so much about for the past three weeks.»

Willow looked startled. «Three weeks? But I’ve been in Denver less than three hours!»

Eddy grimaced. «Since the darned telegraph went in, loose talk travels so fast it makes a man dizzy. We’ve been hearing about a beautiful southern lady and her five blooded horses since you climbed on the stage in St. Joseph and tied your horses on behind.»

Rose stood and took Willow’s hand in her own calloused ones. She patted gently. «Pay no mind, Mrs. Moran. Out West a body don’t have much to talk about but rumors. Anything outside the ordinary sets us to buzzing like a kicked-over beehive.»

Willow saw the kindness in the other woman’s face, and the lines of sadness as well. It was a sadness Willow had seen in her own mother’s face, after war and widowhood left her with nothing to look forward to but the illness and death that soon overtook her.

«Don’t worry, Rose,» Caleb said, coming up behind Willow. «Any girl who is chasing a handsome young stud like Matthew Moran all over God’s creation must be used to being the butt of gossip.»

Rose’s laugh sounded suspiciously like a giggle. Smiling, she held out her hand to the dark man who towered above her.

Though Caleb had been careful to stay out of Rose’s bed since he had introduced her to Eddy a few months before, Caleb still enjoyed seeing Rose when he came to Denver. He admired the widow’s combination of grit and humor, and the way she had managed to keep all five of her young children and raise them without a man to support her. If the discreet contributions of a few men had helped in the three years since Rose’s husband had died, Caleb didn’t think less of Rose for it. The money went to her children’s care, rather than to silks and fancy horses.

Caleb swept off his hat and bent over Rose’s fingers with the grace of long practice. The courtly ease of his gesture silently told Willow just how little Caleb respected her. The man had excellent manners, yet he had never once removed his hat in her presence, much less bowed over her hand in greeting.

«I thought you said you didn’t know mybr — husband,» Willow said, her voice as cool as the silk folds of her skirt.

«I don’t.»

Willow’s dark amber eyebrows lifted. «Then how do you know Matt is handsome?»

«I’ve never known a girl to chase an ugly man unless he was rich. Is your husband rich?»

«No,» she said instantly, thinking of the gold strike Matt had found and was trying to protect. «He hasn’t a dime.»

But Caleb wasn’t listening. He was turning away from Willow, offering his hand to Rose’s escort. «Hello, Eddy. Glad to see you back on your feet. I thought that green-broke stud had been the death of you.»

«Damn near, er, darn near was,» Eddy said, taking Caleb’s hand gingerly and then sitting down with obvious relief. «My right hand and leg are stillkinda numb. Next time I’ll let you shake the kinks out of that horse.»

«No thanks. If I were you, I’d unload that stud the same way you got him — in a poker game. He has a flashy golden hide,» Caleb’s glance went to Willow’s hair, «but he’s mean as a snake underneath. Even if he throws yellow colts, you’ll never be able to trust them. Bad blood is bad blood, no matter how pretty the wrapping.»