Sunlight filtering through the evergreen canopy lit sparks in Tamsin's tangled locks and stirred something deep in Ash that had best remain sleeping. Losing Becky had hurt him worse than being orphaned at ten, but it hadn't turned him off women.

Someday, when he'd finished what he'd started, when he'd rid himself of the itch to keep moving, he'd find a good woman and settle down. He wanted kids, and he wanted a piece of land he could call his own. He didn't fool himself that he could ever feel about a second wife the way he had for Becky. But plenty of solid marriages were built on respect and friendship. He'd known real love, the kind you'd rush into fire for, and he didn't look to see it again this side of the hereafter.

He damn sure wasn't looking for it in a female like Tamsin MacGreggor. If she stirred his nether parts, it was pure lust and nothing more. He was a man with as strong a hunger as any other, but he prided himself on being able to control his physical needs. She was his prisoner. He'd shoot her if he had to, but he'd not take advantage of her.

He settled onto a flat boulder and waited for Tamsin to beg him to find her a worm and thread it on the hook. To his surprise, she turned over a few stones, found what she was looking for, and baited the hook herself.

Mosquitoes buzzed around Ash's head, and he was glad for his coat despite the heat. He stretched out his long legs and massaged an old scar he'd received during the war.

The tip of Tamsin's pole bobbed, then dived toward the surface of the water. She set the hook and pulled in a two-pound trout "See," she called to him. "My breakfast. I'll see what you're having next."

She got another nibble and then nothing. Ash cleaned the first fish. Minutes passed.

"Do you want to try this while I…" She left the rest unfinished.

He nodded. "Long as you go downstream away from the camp. Not too far, around that bend. I doubt you'll try to escape without those horses."

"Right now I'm more interested in food than getting away," she replied coolly. "I do have a change of clothing in my saddlebags. These are-"

"Quit while you're ahead." He took the fishing pole from her.

She looked unconvinced. "I have your word you won't… won't spy on me?"

"Lady, we just spent the night together. If I meant you harm, there wouldn't have been a damn thing you could do about it. Go wash your unmentionables."

Tamsin muttered under her breath as she picked her way through the bushes along the creekbank. Ash turned his attention to fishing. Immediately, something nibbled at the bait. He missed that one but soon caught another trout. He stayed where he was, but he couldn't stop his thoughts from wandering down the creek. He wondered what Tamsin MacGreggor looked like without her clothes. She was slim, not nearly as well endowed as most of the ladies at Maudine's, but he would have bet his saddle she was prime.

Thinking that way was enough to make a man overly warm. He ran a forefinger under his collar and called to her. "You still there?"

"Yes!"

He brought in two more fish before Tamsin rejoined him. Her cheeks were scrubbed rosy, and she'd braided her wet hair into a single plait that hung down her back. She smelled good, woman-clean without a hint of heavy perfume.

"About time," he grumbled. "I've got two fish apiece. With the coffee, that should do us. Of course, we could use biscuits."

"The bread you had in your pack could never be considered biscuits," she replied. "Heavy, stale, nasty lumps of flour and grease."

"You ate them, didn't you?"

Ignoring him, she undid her fishing line from the pole and coiled it up and put it in her pocket. "I'm the prisoner," she said. "You can cook the fish."

"Intended to. That way I'll know it's cooked."

They walked in silence back to the camp, and Ash forced himself to tear his gaze off the sway of Tamsin's shapely hips in that riding skirt.

It was easy to see why Jack Cannon would be attracted to her, even if she was a cut above his usual choice in women. Ash wanted to ask her why the outlaw had let her ride off alone into these mountains and where she intended to meet up with him, but he didn't. It had been Ash's experience that a lady would lie to protect her man faster than a horse could trot. Just listening usually paid off in the end.

Back at the fire, Tamsin found more kindling and saddled her mare while he grilled the four trout. They drank the black, acrid coffee and devoured the hot fish with a minimum of chatter.

It was when he turned away to saddle his gelding, Shiloh, that she hit him in the back of the head. He saw stars and sagged to one knee, half turning to face her just as she brought the chunk of firewood down across his skull again.

Ash knew he'd been hit a second time. He tried to react, but his muscles wouldn't obey. "Son of a-"The remainder of his oath was muffled in the spruce needles as he slid face first onto the ground. Bright lights were exploding in his brain, and his vision was fading.

"I'm sorry," Tamsin said. "But you wouldn't listen to reason."

Rage boiled in Ash's chest as he tried to get up. His head seemed made of lead; his arms, quicksand. "Don't…" he managed. Even his tongue felt odd, too thick for his mouth. The stars were fading, and in their place sprouted two distinct centers of pulsing pain. He tried to speak, but his words slurred. "Can't… take horse… my horse."

"I have to," Tamsin replied.

Through the slits where his eyes had been he saw two blurry, red-haired women lift two rifles.

"Not my gun…" he rasped, and spat sand from his mouth. "No… not take…"

"I'm not stealing your weapons."

He thought that's what the witch was saying, but he also felt a tugging at his holster. Then his pistol passed before his eyes.

"I'll leave them on the far side of the campfire," she said. "That way, you won't be tempted to shoot me while I'm riding away."

"Shoot you… in the back…" Ash forced himself up on his hands and knees and reached for her. She stepped aside and the effort sent him plunging to earth again. "You're the bushwhacker." He gasped, trying to clear the confusion from his mind.

Shot in the back. Someone was murdered. Who? Ash knew that he should remember, but it seemed so long ago. There was a man lying on the ground beside him… a big man.

Moisture clouded Ash's vision.

"I'm sorry," Tamsin repeated. "You'll be all right. I didn't hit you hard enough to kill you."

Ash heard the creak of saddle leather. His horse nickered. Hooves scraped on rock, then faded in the distance. "Tamsin!"

The only answer was the loud chatter of a hairy woodpecker from a bough overhead.

Ash's fiery oath startled the bird, and he caught a glimpse of black-and-white feathers as it took flight through the aspen grove.

Ash closed his eyes and sank against the earth. Something warm trickled down the back of his neck, and he smelled the sweet scent of blood. The scent of blood had filled his head that day his father was murdered.

This blood wasn't his daddy's. It was his.

The MacGreggor woman's killed me, he thought. I hope she's killed me. If she hasn't, she'll soon wish she had.

There was nothing worse than a common back shooter. A renegade Comanchero had killed his daddy from ambush. If Ash closed his eyes, he could see his father sprawled in the red dirt.

"Daddy, get up. Get up, Daddy."

Ash didn't know if he was hearing an echo from the distant past or if the words were coming out of his mouth now. His father had taken him fishing. It was his tenth birthday and his daddy had given him a man-sized pocketknife.

Ash couldn't recollect too much… didn't want to. But it was impossible to forget the sickly sweet smell of blood or the puzzled look on his father's face when he fell.