"Maybe it would be better with oil and vinegar," she suggested, but forced herself to chew and swallow a little more of the odd vegetation.

Ash folded his arms over his chest and rested his back against a tree. "I bought the horse from a Pennsylvanian heading to Arizona. He told me the gelding's name was Shiloh."

"But you did fight in the War between the States?"

He nodded. "It's easy to see you're from back east. Folks out here in the west prefer to forget what's happened in the past. They look on too much curiosity as prying into what's private."

Tamsin settled onto a mossy outcrop and curled her legs under her skirt. "You fought with the Union," she persisted, ignoring his broad hint.

His eyes were as dark and glittering as an Indian's. Looking into them, she could read a will as strong as her own… and something more… bone-deep sorrow.

"Colorado volunteers," he answered. "I wasn't in too long, but what I saw was hot enough. We went head to head with Sibley's Texans at a place called Glorieta Pass."

"In Colorado?"

"New Mexico."

She stroked the soft green moss with her fingertips and waited. For minutes there was no sound but grazing horses, the gurgle of rushing water, and the melodious whistle of a wren echoing down the canyon.

"I was wounded at Glorieta," Ash said huskily. He slid a lean hand down his upper leg and massaged a spot midway between knee and hip. "The ball missed bone, but it bled like hell. It got infected, and I spent nearly a year recovering."

A picture formed in her mind of Ash lying near to death, leg swollen, and skin burning with fever. She shuddered. "After that?"

He gestured with his hands. "Hostile Indians and cutthroats were raiding outlying ranches-stealing, burning, murdering innocent folks. When my leg mended good enough to ride, I gathered a few friends and we organized a home defense force." Ash shrugged. "Never did get back into the war proper."

"At least you volunteered," she replied. "Even if it was for Lincoln." She sighed. "More than I can say for Atwood."

"How did he die?"

She didn't miss the suspicion in his voice. "Don't look at me. I was at a church meeting the night he drowned in a mud puddle behind Lacy Satin's River House. Nine gentlemen swore that Atwood left the establishment stone broke and too drunk to ride." She shook her head. "Not that it mattered. He didn't have a horse left to ride home on. He'd just lost my gray Tennessee walker, Alabaster, to a Yankee lieutenant in a hand of poker."

Ash frowned. "Sounds fortunate for you, to be rid of such a husband."

"Yes and no. I'd not wish Atwood dead, although I did wish him in China many a night. I'm glad to be rid of him, but he cost me dear. A woman may as well be a slave under the law. Her husband has complete control of her funds."

"Slavery's done with."

"Not for wives. If we had the vote-"

"Why stop at the vote? Why not a woman governor of the territory?"

"You're making fun of me," she said. "Do you truly believe that women are born inferior to men?"

He pushed his hat brim up with a long forefinger. "I've known women who would put most men to shame when it came to thinking. My Becky was one. But I never heard her clamoring to vote. I expect she was content to leave such matters to me."

"But why?" Tamsin demanded. "Why should only men have the vote?"

Ash scoffed. "Damned if I know, Tamsin. It's always been that way. It's not a thing that's ever kept me awake nights wondering about."

"Maybe you should." She remained silent for a few minutes, then leaned toward him slightly and asked, "Were you really a prisoner of the Comanche when you were a child?"

He shook his head. "Outlaw Comanche. No self-respecting Indian would have them in his village. They were outlaws, torturing, bloodthirsty killers. They robbed the Texans, other tribes, and the Mexicans."

"How did you survive?"

He made a tight, bitter sound in his throat. "Who says I did?" He stared off into the trees. "I wanted to die, God knows. I prayed to die."

"How did you get away from them?"

"I put a bullet through the man who murdered my father, took his horse, and rode south to Texas."

"At ten? Eleven?"

Ash shook his head. "Twelve. I told you. I was with them for two years, give or take a month. It's not too clear in my head."

"They didn't come after you?"

"Maybe. They sure as hell didn't catch me."

"Texas was your home? That's where you grew up?"

He nodded. "Daddy was a Texas Ranger. I was born in the back of a wagon, somewhere north of Austin. I can't tell you much about my mama, only that he claimed I got her black hair and that she came from a highfalutin family in New Orleans. He said her folks were French, that they'd lost all their money and come west to make a new start. I wouldn't know about that. She ran off with a man named Jules Valjean when I was two weeks old, left Daddy a note telling him that she couldn't abide Texas or raising a child on the frontier."

"Your mother just left you?"

"Left us both. Daddy never married again. He brought me up himself. He was a federal marshal when he was killed."

"Did you have family to go to when you got back to Texas?" she asked.

"Uncle Matt and Aunt Jane took me in. They weren't real kin. Uncle Matt was a ranger, same as my daddy. The two of them were close as brothers. I was loco as a bee-stung mustang and half-starved, but Aunt Jane filled me full of hot soup and biscuits, scrubbed off two years' worth of dirt, and tucked me into her feather bed. I must have slept for three days straight. When I woke up, Uncle Matt was sitting there beside me with tears rollin' down his cheeks."

Ash's voice grew husky with emotion. "I needed somebody, and I guess they did, too. They never had any kids of their own that lived. I stayed with them until I was seventeen. Then they died of spotted fever, and I quit school and hired on to drive a herd of cattle out here to Colorado."

"It must have been very difficult, losing your father and then your… your aunt and uncle."

"Aunt Jane didn't have more than eight years of schooling, but she was the finest lady I've ever known. As for Uncle Matt, just ask any decent folks in Texas about Matt Bell. They'll tell you that they don't make men like him anymore."

"I never knew my own mother," Tamsin began. "She-"

Suddenly Dancer threw up his head and whinnied. Fancy sidled close to him and stared down the valley, the way that they had come the day before.

Tamsin tensed and her heartbeat quickened. "The cougar?" she whispered urgently. "Do you think-"

"Quiet!" Ash went to the campfire and retrieved his rifle. His pistol hung around his waist. He'd recovered the handgun earlier. "Bring the horses into camp," he said.

"All right." She tried to whistle, but her mouth was so dry that it came out a squeak. But Fancy's keen ears caught the sound. Instantly, the mare turned to look at her. Tamsin whistled again, and Fancy trotted toward her with the nervous stallion close behind.

Ash scanned the woods line as she put a rope on Fancy and tied her to a tree. A jay screamed a warning overhead. On the ground, a few yards away, a squirrel raced by, then scampered up a trunk and vanished in the green leaves.

"Shall I fetch Shiloh as well?" Tamsin asked. She pressed her hands against her sides so that Ash wouldn't see her trembling. She could imagine the mountain lion leaping on her as it had before. Her legs felt as though they were made of wood.

"Might as well." Ash's dark gaze continued to rake the surrounding forest. "Something spooked the horses. It may be nothing, but you don't make many errors in judgment in these mountains and survive."

Then, as Tamsin forced herself to step out of the shade and into the sunlight of the clearing, she caught a flicker of movement on the far side of the creek. "There!" She pointed. Something black appeared, then vanished again in the thick foliage.