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.»

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.