Willow nodded but said nothing.

Caleb held out his hands, making them into a stirrup. «Time to go.»

She wanted to tell him that she could mount without his help, but the words would have taken too much effort. She put her foot in his hands and swiftly found herself in the saddle.

The park was well behind them before Caleb reined in at a small creek and looked back to see how well the Arabians were following. His mouth flattened when he saw that Willow was riding sixth in line, keeping the loose mares between her and the pack horse, leaving Ishmael to bring up the rear.

Silently, Caleb admitted that the mares were following well enough, but that didn’t make him like Willow’s position far down the line any better. His concern was somewhat eased by Ishmael’s transformation. Being taken off the lead rope had agreed with the stallion. He was walking like a horse on springs, ranging from side to side when the trail permitted, scenting every breeze, and generally acting for all the world like a wild stud overseeing his herd. Any thought a mare might have had of dragging her feet vanished when Ishmael laid back his ears and offered to nip the laggard’s rump.

As the mares caught up with Caleb, they ranged alongside his horse, drinking thirstily. He fished a handful of jerky from his saddlebag and handed it over to Willow.

«When we leave here, ride right behind me,» Caleb said. «The men trailing us could catch up any time between now and sunset.»

Biting her lip, Willow looked at her mares.

«Don’t worry,» Caleb said. «That red stud of yours will keep the mares in line. That’s one hell of a horse. Any other flat country horse would be dragging his tail by now. Not that one. He’s still got lightning in his eyes and thunder in his hooves. Be interesting to breed him to one of my Montana mares and see what we get.»

Willow looked at Deuce and Trey. A small smile played around her lips. «Uh, I don’t know how to tell you this, Caleb, but your Montana horses are geldings, not mares.»

Caleb shot her a look of disbelief, then laughed out loud. The flash of humor in her was as unexpected as the resilient spirit in the Arabians. He leaned forward and tugged gently at one of her golden braids.

«How do you know the difference?» Caleb asked, grinning. «Do tell, honey.»

Willow laughed and blushed at the same time. The sound of her soft laughter blended with the murmuring creek and the sighing wind, becoming part of the beauty of the wild land. Something twisted within Caleb, something very close to the emotion he had felt the first time he had seen the distant peaks of the Rockies and known that he had been born to live among them.

Slowly, Caleb released the golden rope of Willow’s braid, letting it slide between his fingers, wishing he had taken off his riding gloves so that he could feel the silky texture of her hair. When he spoke his voice was deep, almost rough.

«If you fall behind trying to keep your mares following me, I’m going to come back and get you. Then there will be blazing red hell to pay.»

Before Willow could answer, Caleb touched his big horse with spurs and headed across the meadow at a canter.

The land rose steeply again at the far side of the park, forcing the horses to climb until Willow was certain that her head would brush the clouds. The pace slowed to a walk. Willow found herself looking uneasily over her shoulder, half expecting to see riders on dark horses.

Noon came and went unnoticed. The shoulder of land they were climbing was so steep that Caleb was zigzagging upward in long sweeps. Even the Montana horses were breathing deeply and taking small steps, for the footing was made uncertain by loose rock and evergreen debris. Creases in the land held tiny racing brooks, stunted willows, and aspens so slender and supple they looked like pale green flames shimmering on white wicks.

If there was a pass anywhere ahead, Willow saw no sign of it. The peak whose side they were climbing stretched up and up and up until it became swathed in mist. The mountain’s face was seamed by avalanche chutes that were lined with dark, low-growing shrubs and aspen seedlings. Beneath the lid of clouds, other peaks were stacked nearby like cards tightly held in a gambler’s fist.

There were no low places, no inviting valleys or divides winding between thrusts of stone, no visible breaks in the rocky ramparts. More and more often the route Caleb followed took them across patches of broken rock so barren that only avalanche weed grew, sending bright pink spikes lifting toward the overcast sky. Finally, there was rock alone, nothing but broken stone and a single clump of dark spruce and pale aspen ahead, growing in a sheltered fold of land.

Beneath Willow, Dove labored for breath. For the hundredth time, Willow bit back the desire to demand that the relentless climb end until Dove could breathe easily again.

Caleb isn’t a cruel man. He can see how worn Dove is from carrying me. If he thought it was safe to stop, he would.

Willow repeated the words to herself for the next hour, which was how long it took the horses to struggle up the steep route to the small group of trees growing among the rocks. As soon as Caleb reached the grove, he dismounted, jerked off his boots, and pulled on knee-high moccasins.

By the time Dove caught up, Caleb had the repeating rifle free of its scabbard and was inspecting the firing mechanism, making certain no moisture had gotten in during the ride. His gloves were in his coat pocket. Despite the cold air, his bare fingers were swift and sure as he worked over the rifle. When he looked up, there was no more comfort in his eyes than there was in the chill gleam of the rifle barrel.

«How do your horses feel about gunfire?» he asked.

«They got used to it during the war. Are we finally stopping?»

«We don’t have any choice. It took us half an hour to go three miles and gain five hundred feet of altitude. We’ve got a thousand feet higher to go. Without rest, your mares won’t make it at all.»

Willow didn’t disagree.

«I’m going to watch ourbacktrail,» Caleb continued. «Get some rest yourself. You look like a gust of wind would blow you away.»

He walked off, moving over the loose rock without hesitation or noise, for the soft soles of his moccasins allowed him to feel if the footing was secure before he committed his weight to it. He walked until he reached a low pile of boulders that would both conceal him and give him a clear field of fire over the open parts of the trail below. He settled in behind the rocks, rested the rifle barrel in a notch between two boulders, and began scanning the landscape, sighting over the rifle barrel.

Fifteen minutes passed before he heard Willow’s soft voice.

«Caleb? Where are you?»

«Over here,» he replied.

Willow scrambled down into the boulders, only to find there was very little room in the stony nest. Caleb’s wide shoulders all but filled the space.

«Why aren’t you resting?» he asked.

«I thought you might be thirsty.» Breathing quickly from the short walk, she squeezed in next to him and held out the canteen. «You didn’t take time to drink.»

He uncapped the canteen, lifted it, and tasted a tantalizing hint of peppermint. «You did.»

«What?» Willow asked as she settled gingerly onto the rocky ground.

«You drank. I can taste it.»

She gave him a startled look.

«Mint,» he said simply.

Pink climbed up her cheeks when she realized what he meant. «I’m sorry. I didn’t —»

He put the pad of his thumb against her lips, stopping her embarrassed apology. «I like the taste of you, Willow.»

For a moment the silence was so intense she was certain Caleb could hear the wild beating of her heart. The corner of his mouth lifted in what could have been a smile. His touch became heavier, pressing against the inside of her lower lip in a caress that was as unexpected as it was sensual. Then his hand lifted, leaving her feeling disoriented. He brought his thumb to his lips, tasted it, and smiled.

«Mint.»

Willow took a shaky breath and wondered at the feelings coursing through her. The white curve of Caleb’s teeth against his black beard was unreasonably handsome. The gold in his eyes was a fire burning, watching her.

Caleb turned away and pulled the spyglass from his coat pocket, changing the direction of his thoughts in the most efficient way he could. Methodically, he began quartering thebacktrail. After a few moments, his breath came out in a hissing curse.

Far below, a horseman was coming at rapid clip, taking the same way over the land that Caleb and Willow had. Even using the spyglass, the distance was so great that Caleb couldn’t identify the man. Caleb waited. A second man came out of the forest. He, too, was riding a dark, rangy horse.

Caleb kept watching, but no other figures showed up in the magnified circle of the spyglass. Two men, two dark horses that showed signs of being ridden hard over a long distance. They were the same men he had seen last night. Caleb was as certain of it as he was of the smooth brass tube in his hand.

«The altitude has slowed them a little, but not enough,» Caleb said.

«Altitude?»

«We’re more than eight thousand feet high. That’s why you’re out of breath after a few steps. It gets to the horses the same way until they’re used to it. Mine are mountain horses. So are theirs. Yours aren’t.»

«What are we going to do?»

Caleb lifted his rifle and sighted down its barrel. The men were still out of range. Even so, he didn’t lower the rifle. He simply waited.