Ash took careful aim at the bushes with his rifle. Dancer snorted and muscles rippled beneath his glossy hide. Tamsin didn't move.

She waited, expecting to hear a bear growl or the cougar snarl. But to her surprise, the sound that rose from the brush was a whine.

"It's all right," Ash called.

"I don't-" Tamsin broke off as the Utes' black dog emerged from hiding. The wretched animal's tail curled between his legs and his belly hung close to the ground.

Ash crouched and slapped his knee. "Come here, War-et."

Instantly the little dog plunged into the stream and paddled across. Wet and shivering, still whining pitifully, the dog slunk to Ash's side.

"Where's your master?" Ash murmured. "Where's Mountain Calf?"

Tamsin grabbed the strawberry roan's bridle and hurried back to the fire. "Why did the dog come back here?" she asked.

"That's what I'd like to know." He patted the animal's head. "Poor pup. He looks as though he's had a rough time."

Tamsin saw that one of War-et's ears was bloody and that he was covered with scratches.

"Nothing deep enough to be a puma attack," Ash said, answering her unspoken question. "But it's odd he'd leave on his own."

"He looks hungry. Do you want something to eat?" she asked the animal. Sad eyes stared back at her. She glanced at Ash. "Can I-"

"Yes, cut him off some of that venison. We've more than we can eat before it starts to turn anyway."

Tamsin sliced off bits of raw meat and fed them slowly to the dog. When she decided he'd had enough, she shook her head. "That's it. You'll be sick if I give you more."

War-et's tail flicked hopefully.

"No more," she said.

With a final whine, he curled at her feet.

"Maybe it chased the mountain lion and got separated from the Utes," Tamsin suggested.

Ash remained alert, rifle cradled in the corner of his arm. "Maybe," he replied. He didn't think so. And suddenly, this hollow didn't seem like a perfect campsite anymore. An uneasy feeling gnawed at his innards. "Saddle the horses," he said to Tamsin.

"What?" She rested one hand on her hip and stared at him in puzzlement. "But you said-"

"Forget what I said. We're backtracking. Now!" He began to kick dirt over the fire.

"You said that Shiloh's leg should rest today. You-"

"Damn it, woman. Can you never accept a simple order?" He didn't owe her any explanations. He had none to offer. And he'd already said too much to Tamsin. He'd told her about Glorieta Pass and Aunt Jane and Uncle Matt, private things he hadn't spoken of to another living soul in years.

Something about Tamsin made him want to trust her with his innermost secrets, but common sense told him that was foolhardy. If he wasn't careful, he'd let his personal life interfere with his job, and that was one rule he never broke.

He had an itch for Tamsin. Hell, it was more than that. He wanted her. He couldn't keep his eyes off her. She made his hands sweat, and his blood race, and his imagination run wild. The way she moved, the tilt of her head when she laughed, the sparkle in her green eyes, all drew him like a thirsty mustang to water.

He'd been too long without a woman when he'd let his ballocks rule his head. It would have been far better for him if he'd accepted Shelly's offer. He could have pulled her into Maudine's tub and scrubbed her from head to toe first. Shelly was none too bright, but she gave a man honest reward for his money.

And he didn't have to worry about Shelly shooting him in the back.

He tried to think of Shelly. She barely came up to his shoulder, and her hands and face were lily-white and soft. Her cupid mouth was painted scarlet, her eyes outlined in kohl as black as her hair. What clothes Shelly wore were feminine, tight-fitting, lacy, intended to entice a man.

How was it that he'd rejected a willing little baggage like Shelly to be tempted by a tall, freckle-faced outlaw's woman with callused hands and a will of iron?

Hellfire and damnation. Another night rolled in a blanket with Tamsin and that southern-sweet whiskey voice of hers would convince him that Henry Steele had murdered his own brother, and she was the next thing to a cross-wearing nun.

He stirred himself from thoughts of Tamsin and glanced around. Birds and squirrels still rustled in the trees; the horses seemed to have lost their fear once they saw the dog. Yet, he could not shake the feeling that something was wrong.

Maybe Jack Cannon and his boys were near, or maybe it was just his nerves stretched too tight.

Tamsin tightened the cinch on Shiloh's saddle. "Which way are we going?"

"You have to ask?" He motioned to the narrow passageway that led east.

"This canyon ends here?" Tamsin eased a snaffle bit into the mare's mouth and slipped the headstall behind the animal's ears. Fancy stood unmoving, ignoring the stallion who pranced behind her, showing his teeth, and laying back his ears.

"It narrows again, then opens into a valley. But it runs west. We're going back toward Sweetwater."

"Oh, I just wondered." She pursed her lips thoughtfully. "Then I was going in the right direction. West, through the mountains."

"I just said so, didn't I?"

She nodded and turned away from him, toward the big bay.

"Will you tell me one thing?" Ash asked as Tamsin swung the plain Texas stock saddle over the mare's back. "Why is it you put a western saddle on that sweet-tempered chestnut, and an English rig on that devil stud? Why not the other way around? I'd think you'd need more saddle under you to ride him."

"I don't ride him much," she said. "Dancer's full of surprises."

"If you'd had him properly broken, he wouldn't be so damn flighty."

"The Texas saddle seemed more practical for such a long journey," Tamsin continued. She approached the stallion carefully, crooning softly to him.

The animal squealed and shied away, but she kept talking and moving closer. Finally, she was able to grab his halter and snub him to a tree. Ash kept watch as Tamsin secured her packs and tied them to Dancer's saddle. "All done except for your bags and bedroll," she said. She undid a strap on a leather pouch and adjusted the contents.

"It will just take me a minute," Ash answered. He switched his rifle to his left hand and reached for his blanket with his right.

"Stop there!" Tamsin said. "Drop your gun."

"What-" He spun toward her, then froze in his tracks when he saw the big Navy Colt in her hands. "I said drop the rifle."

"You won't shoot me."

She squeezed the trigger, and a bullet whizzed past his left ear and thudded into a tree behind him. "I mean it," she warned. "I don't want to hurt you, Ash, but I'm not going back to face that judge."

Ash was certain he could get at least one shot off, but the bullet would tear a hole in Tamsin a man could throw a steer through. His muscles coiled, but he couldn't do it. He didn't want to kill her. He dropped the rifle onto the stony ground.

"Shall I turn around?" he demanded. "Would you rather take aim at my back than look me in the eye and shoot?"

"I'm a good shot, Ash. I could have put that lead between your eyes if I'd wanted to. Step back."

He swore an oath that would melt leather, but he did as she ordered.

"Now draw your gun with two fingers. Don't make me kill you, Ash."

He watched her eyes, saw the moisture pool in them, read the determination there.

"You won't get away. Murder me, and more men will come after you. California isn't far enough to run, Tamsin."

She kicked his rifle away. "Do as I say." Her voice cracked, but her hands held the Colt steady. "Throw your revolver into the creek."

"There are hostiles on the move. That strawberry hair of yours will end up on some young buck's scalp belt. And if the Indians or the cougar don't get you, you'll lose your way in the mountains and starve."