«Here you are, sugar man,» she whispered to Ethan. «I know how lonely those nights can be.»

The baby’s hand closed around the doll with surprising strength. He waved it and crowed happily.

Though Eve had meant her words to be too soft for anyone but the baby to hear, Reno did. His eyes narrowed as he searched Eve’s face for any sign that she was trying to get his sympathy. He saw only the gentleness that came over her expression whenever Ethan looked at her and cooed his delight.

Frowning, Reno looked away and reminded himself that all women — even conniving saloon girls — had softness in their hearts when it came to babies.

Willow came out of the kitchen, took Ethan, and headed for the bedroom. Immediately the coos became unhappy cries.

«I don’t mind walking him around the room for a while,» Reno offered.

«If he’s still crying in a few minutes,» Willow said firmly.

«How about if I sing him to sleep?»

Willow laughed and gave in. «It’s a good thing you’re going gold hunting. You spoil your nephew shamelessly.»

Smiling, Reno followed his sister into the bedroom. A few moments later, the gentle strains of a hymn floated out into the room, sung by Reno’s fine baritone. Willow’s clear soprano joined in a few moments later in flawless harmony.

Eve’s breath came in with surprise and pleasure.

«Had the same effect on me the first time I heard them,» Caleb said. «Their brother Rafe sings like a fallen angel, too. I’ve never met the other three brothers, but I imagine they’re the same.»

«Think of sitting next to them in church. …»

Caleb laughed. «Something tells me the Moran boys ran more to fighting than to sitting in church.»

Absently Eve smiled, but it was the voices that claimed her attention. Music had been one of the few pleasures in the orphanage, and had been practiced under the demanding yet patient choirmaster from the nearby church.

Eyes closed, Eve began humming to herself. She didn’t know the particular verse they were singing, but the tune was familiar. Automatically she took the counterpoint, letting her smoky alto voice weave through the simple harmony created by brother and sister.

After a few minutes, the music claimed Eve, making her forget where she was. Her voice soared, skimming between the light of Willow’s soprano and the deep shadow of Reno’s baritone, enriching both like a rainbow stretched between sunlight and storm, radiant with all the hopes of man.

Eve didn’t realize what she had done until the harmony stopped abruptly, leaving her voice alone. Her eyes snapped open.

She found herself being stared at by Caleb, Reno, and Willow. Color rose in Eve’s cheeks.

«Forgive me. I didn’t mean to —»

«Don’t be a goose,» Willow interrupted quickly. «Where on earth did you learn that gorgeous harmony?»

«The church choirmaster.»

«Could you teach Caleb to play that on the harmonica?»

«No time,» Reno cut in. «We’ve got journals to work on tonight, and we’re leaving at first light tomorrow.»

Willow blinked at the roughness in her brother’s voice. It hadn’t escaped her that Reno was reluctant to involve Eve in his family. Willow couldn’t imagine why.

The look in Reno’s eyes told her not to ask.

«I found where the journals cross,» Caleb said into the uncomfortable silence.

«Good,» Reno said.

«I doubt it,» Caleb said dryly.

«Why?»

«It leaves you with half the West to explore for gold.»

Reno took the chair on the other side of Eve and sat down.

Bracketed by the two men, Eve felt frankly petite. As she was every bit of five feet, three and one-half inches tall, the feeling was unusual; most of the men she met were barely a hand taller than she was.

Trying not to touch either of the pair of wide shoulders she was wedged between, Eve reached for the old Spanish journal.

So did Reno. Their hands collided. Both jerked back with a muttered word — an apology in Eve’s case and a curse in Reno’s.

Caleb looked away so that neither of his companions would see the broad smile on his face. He had a good idea what was making Reno so touchy. Wanting a particular woman very badly and not having her had been known to shorten the tempers of men much more easygoing than Reno Moran.

And Reno looked like a man who was wanting a particular woman. Badly.

«Now,» Caleb said, clearing his throat, «you say the Cristobal expedition came up from Santa Fe to Taos. …»

«Yes,» Eve said quickly.

She reached for the journal once more, hoping that the slight tremor in her fingers didn’t show.

Her skin burned where Reno had touched it.

«Some of the early expeditions went past the Sangre de Cristos and into the San Juans before turning west,» Eve said in a carefully controlled voice.

As she spoke, she turned pages, tracing routes on maps that had been drawn by men long dead.

«They crossed through the mountains about…»

She turned to Caleb’s journal.

«…here. They must have passed very close to this ranch.»

«Wouldn’t surprise me,» Caleb said. «We’re on the flats, and only a fool climbs mountains.»

«Or a man looking for gold,» Reno said.

«Same thing,» Caleb retorted.

Reno laughed. He and Caleb had never seen eye to eye on the subject of hunting gold.

«But here the trail gets hard to follow,» Eve continued.

Beneath her slim finger a page in the Spanish journal showed the major route unraveling into a network of trails.

«That symbol means year-round water,» Eve said, pointing to one.

Caleb picked up his father’s journal and began thumbing through it rapidly. Year-round water was rare in the stone canyons. Any source his father had discovered would have been carefully mapped and marked.

«What does that symbol mean?» Reno asked.

«A dead end.»

«What does the sign in front of it mean?» Reno asked.

«I don’t know.»

Reno gave Eve a sideways glance that was just short of an accusation.

«Tell me more about the other symbols,» Caleb said, glancing between the two journals. «That one, for instance.»

«That means an Indian village, but the sign just to the right of it means no food,» Eve explained.

«Maybe the Indians were unfriendly,» Caleb said.

«There was a different symbol for that.»

«Then it’s probably some of the stone ruins,» Reno said.

«What?» asked Eve.

«Towns built of stone a long, long time ago.»

«Who built them?»

«Nobody knows,» Reno said.

«When were they abandoned?» Eve persisted.

«Nobody knows that, either.»

«Will we see any of the ruins? And why don’t the Indians live there today?»

Reno shrugged. «Maybe they don’t like scrambling up and down a cliff to get water, or to hunt, or to grow food.»

«What?» Eve asked, startled.

«Most of the ruins are smack in the middle of cliffs that are hundreds of feet high.»

Eve blinked. «Why on earth would anyone build a town in a place that hard to get to?»

«Same reason our ancestors built castles on stone promontories,» Caleb said without looking up from his father’s journal. «Self-defense.»

Before Eve could say anything, Caleb laid his father’s journal down next to the other one and pointed at a page in each.

«This is where the journals go separate ways,» Caleb said.

Reno looked quickly between the two hand-drawn maps.

«You sure?» he asked.

«If Eve is right about that sign meaning a dead end, and that one meaning an abandoned village…»

«What about white cap rock?» Reno said, pointing to Caleb’s journal. «Does your father mention it?»

«Only well north of the Chama. Red sandstone is what he saw most of.»

«Cliffs or arch-forming?» Reno asked.

«Both.»

«How thick? And what about mudstone?»

«Lots of it,» Caleb said. He pointed to the Spanish journal. «Here and about here.»