All night, he'd sat there beside the body, holding Daddy's tin star. He hadn't wept. His loss was too deep for tears. One minute he'd been Big Jim Morgan's boy, and the next…

He was alone.

Until the Comancheros returned in the first gray light of dawn to steal the horses and weapons and scalp his father.

And the bad times started.

Ash cradled his head in his hands as dusty images of pain and fear washed over him. Vaguely, he knew what he was seeing in his mind was long past.

Reason told him that he had to get on his feet… had to go after his escaped prisoner. But his skull was splitting. It was easier to lie on the warm ground and think about nothing at all.

A branch whipped across Tamsin's face, but she paid no heed to the sting and spurred Ash Morgan's strawberry roan into a hard trot.

She hadn't planned on bashing him over the head, but she'd found herself standing there with the stick in her hand. She'd realized that she would probably never have a better chance of getting away. If she hadn't taken his horse, he'd soon be on her trail again.

Ash would survive. He'd have a long walk back to Sweetwater, but she'd left him his rifle and handgun. What more could he ask?

She wondered if she was going to spend the rest of her life running. Horse stealing was a hanging offense. She'd been innocent of that charge when they'd written up a warrant for her arrest. Now she was as guilty as sin.

"Horse thief." She tried out the phrase. It sounded ugly… despicable. She'd never stolen so much as a penny's worth of candy in her life.

No wonder there were so many desperadoes in the West, she mused. One mistake, and an honest person could find themselves on a wanted poster.

For what it was worth, she intended to leave Ash's roan gelding at the next town, but that probably wouldn't count for much if she was captured and faced a jury.

A rabbit dashed out of the bushes, and the gelding leaped sideways. Tamsin kept her seat easily. Her two horses were following close behind. She'd thought it wiser to ride Ash's mount. Leading an unwilling horse would have been a problem in these trees, especially since Dancer kept sneaking up to take nips out of his rump.

Tamsin hoped the mountain lion was far away. It had fled uphill, leaving her an escape route back down the way she had come the day before. She knew from her map that she needed to find a pass through these foothills, and she remembered the entrance to a promising valley she'd seen on the way in.

Ash would think the worst of her. She hated to leave him with the impression that she was a killer and a horse thief.

"Damn you, Atwood MacGreggor," she swore. "I hope your coffin leaks." It was all his fault. If he hadn't been such a jackass's behind, she'd be back in Tennessee sipping lemonade on her own front porch… And maybe Granddad's heart wouldn't have given out so soon.

She'd realized that she'd made a mistake on her wedding night. Atwood had embarrassed her with crude re-marks and selfishly taken his pleasure on her rigid body. Worse, he'd blamed her when his red-faced thrusting met no resistance.

He'd called her a whore, accusing her of not being a virgin. That was a lie, but she'd had no way to prove her innocence… any more than she could prove her innocence to Ash Morgan.

Her honeymoon with Atwood had been a great disappointment. Afterward, she'd wondered what all the fuss was about mating and why some women were willing to risk everything for illicit affairs with men not their lawful husbands.

Tamsin removed her hat and wiped the sweat off her forehead. If Atwood MacGreggor had looked anything like Ash Morgan in the altogether, perhaps she could have mustered a little more enthusiasm for his husbandly attentions.

Just thinking about Ash's naked body made her mouth go dry and butterflies flutter in the pit of her stomach. There must be something sinful in her if she could take such pleasure in remembering the dark sprinkling of hair that ran down his flat belly to the tightly curled mat above his sex… Or the way drops of water glistened on his muscular arms.

Even if things were different between them, if Ash hadn't been a bounty hunter paid to bring her back to Sweetwater, it would make no difference. A good-looking man like Ash Morgan would never be interested in her.

Growing up, she'd had no woman to teach her feminine ways. Her mother had died giving birth to her, and her grandmother had never gotten over the shock of losing her only child. Gran had lived in a wispy world of ghosts and voices only she could hear. She was always happy, always ready to give her granddaughter a hug or a sweet. The trouble was, she couldn't remember Tamsin's name or who she was.

Tamsin didn't blame anyone for her inability to fit into Three Forks society. Her grandfather's wealth couldn't make up for her unconventional ways. Her hair was too red and too unruly to be smoothed into a proper coiffure, and her dresses were always torn from climbing fences and trees. All her life she'd heard remarks, some whispered, some rudely spoken aloud.

"Too broad-shouldered for my taste," a neighbor's son had remarked. "They say all heiresses are beautiful, but I'd rather court one of her grandfather's racehorses."

Atwood hadn't said any of those things, not until after she became his wife and he had control of her inheritance. Then he'd taunted her with far worse. He'd said she was too mannish and stupid to boot.

She knew he was wrong. The only truly stupid thing she'd done in her life was to accept Atwood's proposal of marriage.

She'd known about her husband's gambling and foolish business ventures, but she hadn't guessed the extent of the damage. And in the end, the mare and stallion were all she had to start a new life.

She was well rid of him. She would build again in California, bigger and better. She didn't need a husband to take care of her. She was quite capable of managing her own-

Tamsin reined up the gelding. She'd been so busy dredging up old memories that she'd nearly ridden past the entrance to the valley. She dismounted to drink and let the horses drink their fill from the stream.

Once in the saddle again, she pushed hard up the valley. Ahead mountains rose in folds, some still snowcapped. She had a compass and a map showing two passes through the Rockies. Now she was cutting too far north to find either one. She couldn't go back to Sweet-water, nor could she go south without taking a chance on meeting up with Ash again.

"I'll simply have to find another way."

She rode on through the heat of the noonday sun, seeing nothing more threatening than a golden eagle winging overhead and a coyote with two pups trotting after her. The air was so clean and sweet that she inhaled it in great gulps, savoring the bite of evergreen on her tongue.

In midafternoon, Tamsin rode past a herd of elk grazing peacefully in a meadow of yellow flowers not unlike the buttercups that had grown so profusely at home. A massive bull with spreading horns raised his head and gazed at her, but the cows and long-legged calves seemed unconcerned.

Tamsin was amazed by the vastness of the country. Other than Ash, she'd not seen a single human being since she'd left Sweetwater behind. Moved by the panorama of endless sky and mountains, she rode in silence, filling her eyes and memory with the tranquil beauty. The creak of saddle leather and the comforting cadence of the horses' hooves were almost hypnotic, lulling her into a sense of deep peace.

Abruptly, the valley narrowed, and trees lined the passageway. Already shadows lengthened, telling Tamsin that it was time to look for a place to camp for the night. But she had found no other stream, and she was reluctant to make a dry camp.

A rock fall from the ridge above made her look up in alarm. Small stones tumbled down, unnerving the horses. Laying his black ears flat against his head, Dancer rolled his eyes and snorted. Fancy mouthed the bit and pressed up behind her mate.