None of that had happened in America. Wolfe had deliberately left her alone. When that hadn’t affected her determination, he had made her go without servants, but that had been harder on him than on her. He would never forget the silky electricity of her hair clinging to him as he brushed it, or the elegant femininity of her back beneath fine lingerie as he buttoned each tiny button for her. Nor would he forget the stab of fear he had felt when he heard her scream, or the relieved laughter that had followed when he found her safe, though held prisoner by her braid.

A girl that helpless won’t last long outhere, Wolfeassured himselfsilently.TheWest requires a woman with staying power. A woman like Willow.

But it wasn’t Willow’s blond hair and hazel eyes that haunted Wolfe’s thoughts and his fitful sleep. It was a sensuous red-haired elf weeping crystal tears.

The silence between Wolfe and Jessica wasn’t broken until afternoon, when a young, rather pregnant woman got on board. Her single trunk had been lashed awkwardly to the boot, for Jessica’s trunks took up much of the top, even though Wolfe had decreed that only three would come on the stage with them. The rest had been put aboard a freight wagon destined for Denver.

«Thank you, sir,» said the young woman, as Wolfe handed her into the stagecoach. «I’m afraid I’m more clumsy each day.»

«It’s a difficult time,» Wolfe said, subtly eyeing the girl’s waistline. In the stagecoach’s dim interior light, she looked at least six months pregnant. «Are you traveling alone?»

The kindness in Wolfe’s voice made the girl smile shyly at her hands. «Yes, sir. I couldn’t bear being away from my husband any longer. My aunt and uncle wanted me to stay in Ohio until the baby was born, but I just couldn’t wait. My husband is stationed at Bent’s Fort, you see.»

«Then you have an even longer trip than we do. We’re going only as far as Denver.»

The girl sat down thankfully and smoothed her hands over her dress. The costume was as expensive as Jessica’s, and considerably less mussed. The girl looked barely seventeen. She was plainly uneasy at the prospect of the stage ride.

«I’ll sit up with the driver,» Wolfe said. «It will be more comfortable for you.»

«Oh, no, sir,» she said quickly, looking no higher than his chest. «It’s too raw out there for man or beast. Besides, it’s the wilderness that makes me nervous, not you. There are rumors of Indians.» She shuddered. «The thought of those murderous heathens being anywhere near me just gives me the shivers.»

Wolfe concealed his amusement.

«Not all Indians are murderous,» Jessica said. «Some are quite hospitable. I’ve spent time in their camps.»

«You were a hostage?» the girl asked, horrified and fascinated at the same time.

«Hardly. Lord Robert Stewart was a friend of the Cheyenne. We were guests.»

«I’d sooner befriend the Devil as a redskin, and that’s a fact. You can’t trust them.» She smoothed her dress again and changed the subject with transparent determination. «That’s a lovely dress, ma’am. Is it French?»

«Yes. My guardian preferred English styles, but I like the simplicity of the new French fashions.»

The girl looked quickly at Wolfe, wondering if he was the guardian in question.

«My husband,» Jessica added, stressing the word lightly, «prefers no style at all. Isn’t that correct, Mr.Lonetree?»

«There’s little use for silks and foolishness in the West, Lady Jessica.»

«Lady?» said the girl quickly. «Then you’re English?»

Jessica bit back the temptation to correct the girl. «Close enough.»

«A true titled lady?» the girl persisted.

«Not here,» Jessica said. «Here I am Mrs.Lonetree.»

«I’m Mrs. O’Conner.» The girl hesitated. «Lonetreeis an unusual name.»

«The true name is Tree That Stands Alone, butLonetree is easier for most people,» Wolfe said.

«It sounds Indian.»

«It is.»

The girl’s face paled. She stared at Wolfe, noticing for the first time the man beneath the expensive city clothes.

«Dear Lord, you’re a redskin!»

«Sometimes,» he agreed. «Sometimes I’m an over-civilized citizen of the British Empire. Most of the time I’m just a Western man.»

The young Mrs. O’Conner made a low, unhappy sound and began twisting her handkerchief between trembling fingers. She looked everywhere in the coach but at Wolfe.

Wolfe sighed, settled his hat more firmly on his head, and reached for the door of the bouncing coach. When the door was opened wide, he braced himself in the doorway and reached for the luggage railing that ran around the top of the coach.

«Wolfe, what on earth…?» Jessica asked.

«Mrs. O’Conner will feel easier if I’m not inside with the civilized folks.»

With that, Wolfe swung himself up onto the top of the stagecoach with feline grace and moved forward to sit next to the startled driver. The coach door banged shut.

«You’re acting like a complete ninny hammer,» Jessica said, eyeing the young woman coolly. «My Wolfe is more a gentleman than anyone I’ve met in America.»

«My family was murdered by redskins when I was twelve. I was hiding, but I saw what they did to Mother and Sissy, and Mother was seven months along.» The girl’s hands smoothed over the swell of her own pregnancy. «That poor little babe died before he ever lived. Savages. Murdering savages. I hope the Army sends them all back to the devil that spawned them.»

Jessica closed her eyes as nightmares turned and coiled just beyond the reach of memory. She, too, had seen babies born dead. There was a horror in those tiny, still bodies that words couldn’t describe.

Shivering, Jessica pulled her heavy travel cloak more tightly around her body. Wishing she could curl up against Wolfe’s warmth, she did the next best thing. She curled up against the small leather travel bag Wolfe kept inside the coach with the rifle case.

Numbing miles went by. Jessica made no effort to speak to Mrs. O’Conner again. The loathing and fear in the girl’s voice when she spoke of Indians were not subject to reason any more than the aristocrats who spoke of «the viscount’s savage» were amenable to seeing past Wolfe’s Cheyenne mother andbastardy to the man beneath.

Finally, Jessica slept, only to be brought awake by the sound of shots and a high scream of terror from Mrs. O’Conner.

«Indians!» the girl screamed, crossing herself frantically. «Jesus and Mary, save me!»

Jessica bolted upright and yanked open the side curtain while the young Mrs. O’Conner’s screams pierced the interior of the coach. At first Jessica could see nothing but the flat landscape. Then she realized the terrain wasn’t as flat as it seemed. The land was folded gently, providing shelter for men and animals. It also provided ambush sites for unwary travelers. Apparently, a band of Indians had waited in one of those folds for the stage to approach.

«Dear God,» Jessica breathed as she heard rifle fire booming from the low hills.

Wolfe was on top of the stagecoach, exposed to every shot. He could use the driver’s shotgun, but there was no accuracy with such a weapon. It was intended to deter hold-ups, not an Indian attack.

The driver’s whip cracked repeatedly as he yelled at the team, demanding every bit of speed from the big horses. The coach bucked and swayed wildly each time it hit a rough spot on the road, and there were many spots. Jessica braced herself as best she could and stared out the window.

The Indians were a bit ahead and considerably to the left of the coach. They were too far away for accurate shooting. Granted, they were racing closer with every moment, and firing as they came. Even so, Jessica had hunted enough game to realize that the trap — if indeed it was a trap — had been sprung too soon.

Mrs. O’Conner’s screams rose to the point of pain as she began to claw frantically at the door, as though she believed safety lay outside the coach rather than within. When Jessica grabbed the girl’s hands and dragged them away from the door, Mrs. O’Conner turned on her like a wildcat. Jessica’s palm smacked against the girl’s cheek with a force that cut through her hysteria. Abruptly her screams gave way to sobbing. She sank to the floor and hid her face in her hands.