Once out of the men's sight, she shouldered her saddlebags and followed the alley to the back of the barn. As she'd hoped, the boy was there, leaning against a rail fence. He looked up warily as she approached him.

"My horses have been stolen," she said.

He pretended not to hear. Instead, he crouched down and tossed a stick to the dog.

Tamsin fumbled in her skirt pocket and came up with a ten-dollar gold piece. She tilted the coin so that it gleamed in the sunlight. "You can have this if you tell me where they are."

He ruffled the fur on the terrier's back.

"I won't say anything," she promised. "Please help me."

He reached for the money with a dirty hand. "Sam Steele trades in horses," he whispered. "Some people say he don't care whose."

"Where?"

Sweat ran down the boy's pockmarked face. "They'll kill me if they find out I told."

She held the coin just out of reach. "Where?" she repeated. "You can trust me."

" 'Bout four mile out of town. The Lazy S, first place on the right. You kin see the house from the road. But-" He licked his lower lip and glanced over his shoulder nervously. "Sam Steele's a brother to Judge Henry Steele. Best you forget yer hosses and get away from here, ma'am. Worse kin happen to ya than get yer cayuses stole."

She tucked the ten dollars into his hand. "Thank you."

"Yeah," he said, flashing ebony eyes that seemed far too old for his face. "But I ain't done you no favors, lady."

Maybe not, she thought as he dashed away. She hoped he'd told the truth. If he hadn't, she wouldn't know where to start looking.

She retraced her steps to the front of the stable and was relieved to hear the murmur of voices inside. She couldn't tell what they were saying, but she recognized Walker's voice.

She'd told them she meant to return to the boarding-house. Now she did just that. But when she reached the side street that the building was on, she kept going, circling around until she was once more behind the livery. The muddy ground was covered with horse tracks, far too many to make sense of until she saw one perfect impression.

In Nebraska, Tamsin had paid a smith to fit both animals with special shoes, studded to give them better footing on rocky ground. This print wasn't large enough to belong to Dancer. It had to be Fancy's trail. And where the mare went, the stud followed. Someone might have been tough enough to get him out of the barn, but they couldn't stop him from going after his mate-not without killing him.

Tamsin took a deep breath and started down the road. Her belongings were heavy, but she had no intentions of leaving them behind. Once she got Fancy and Dancer back, she'd put Sweetwater behind her.

Tamsin guessed that she'd been walking for more than an hour when she reached the wooden gate with an oxbow suspended overhead. A large letter S, not upright but turned on its back, was burned into the weathered wood. Beneath the brand were the words SAMUEL STEELE, LAZY S.

Not certain of what she would find or what she would do if these people did have her missing animals, she backtracked a few hundred yards and hid her saddlebags in the bushes just off the road.

She was halfway up the lane to the sprawling log ranch house when a grizzled cowboy loped toward her on a black-and-white horse.

The man pulled in his mount, touching the brim of his slouch hat with a forefinger in greeting, but he didn't smile. What she could see of his hair was sandy, streaked with gray. One cheek was covered with a purple birthmark. It was not a face to inspire confidence.

"You must be lost, woman. This here's private property. You're trespassin'." He reined the piebald around so that they blocked her way. She noticed that the raw-boned gelding had one blue eye ringed in white, a feature she'd found linked to a nasty disposition in horses.

"Are you Mr. Steele?" she demanded with more courage than she felt. "I've important business with him."

The cowboy scowled. "He expectin' you?"

"Not exactly, but if you tell him that Mrs. MacGreggor is here, I know he'll see me."

"Nobody but Injuns and sodbusters walks out here, lady." The horse bared his yellow teeth and chewed at the bit.

Tamsin caught the animal's bridle by the headstall and ran an exploring hand over his neck. "Easy, easy boy," she crooned. "There's an infection here," she said, glancing up at the rider. "It may be a splinter of wood or a thorn. You can feel the heat around the swelling. You'd best cut it out before it becomes serious."

The cowboy's eyes widened questioningly. "You think that's what it is? I figured it for a bee sting."

She shook her head and scratched under the piebald's chin. The horse blew noisily through his lips but then visibly calmed under her touch. "I know horses." She glanced toward the house. "I really need to talk with Mr. Steele."

He shrugged. "Guess he can't do no more than run you off. Ma'am," he added respectfully. She let go of the bridle. He tapped the horse's rump with the end of the reins and continued on down the rutted lane.

Tamsin hadn't gone another hundred feet before she heard the screaming whinny and the thud of iron-shod hooves against a barn wall. Dancer! She would recognize his angry bellow anywhere. And if her stallion was there, Fancy must be with him.

Tamsin broke into a run, but as she neared the stables, she saw several men repairing a railing on the corral. One turned to stare at her, and she slowed to a dignified walk.

"Hey!" the cowboy shouted.

She ignored him and turned toward the house. A black gelding, hitched to a piano-box buggy with yellow wheels, stood near the front porch. The animal's sides were streaked with sweat, and foam dripped from his mouth.

Tamsin circled the horse and carriage, stepped over a sleeping cat, and climbed the steps to the front porch. The door stood open. From inside came the sound of a man's swearing.

"It's not what you think, Sam," a woman pleaded. "Henry-"

"Henry's my brother and you're my wife! You've been whoring with him behind my back!"

Tamsin heard a second man's voice, an older man. "I warn you, Sam. It isn't like that. Don't do anything you'll regret!"

A woman's scream was followed by the crack of a gunshot. Glass shattered and the woman began to sob. "No! No! No!"

Tamsin stood motionless, not sure if she should go inside or turn and run. Then the three burst through the door onto the porch.

The woman, a petite blonde in her mid-thirties, bore the imprint of a man's hand across her cheek. Her eyes were swollen with tears, and her elaborately coiffured hair was disheveled. She clung to the arm of a muscular man with shoulder-length brown hair and a drooping mustache.

"Sam, please," she begged. "It's not true."

Cursing, he backhanded his wife and drove a clenched fist into the belly of the man Tamsin supposed must be Henry.

The blow rocked the middle-aged gentleman in white shirt and waistcoat, and he doubled up, clutching his stomach. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth.

"Get the hell off my place, Henry! If I ever lay eyes on you again, I'll blow you to hell!"

Henry staggered back and steadied himself against a porch post. "Come with me, Sarah," he urged. "It's over. You don't need to stay with him anymore."

"I warn you, I'll kill you." Sam's face darkened with rage. "I'll kill the both of-"

"Not if I kill you first!" Henry flung back.

Then, for the first time, Sam caught sight of Tamsin. "Who are you?" he demanded. "What the hell are you doing on my spread?"

She blanched. "I'm Tamsin MacGreggor," she managed. "And I've come for my horses. A mare and a stallion, thoroughbreds, stolen last night from the livery in Sweetwater."

"You're out of your mind," Sam grated.