«Looking for these?» Caleb asked.

«Yes, thank you.»

Instead of putting them in Willow’s outstretched hand, he moved behind her, knelt, and calmly began combing her hair. After her first, startled reaction was ignored, she accepted the small intimacy.

For such a big man, Caleb’s hands were light and surprisingly gentle. Patiently he worked the remaining snarls from Willow’s long, sun-warmed hair. With an unconscious sigh of pleasure, she relaxed beneath his hands.

Caleb’s eyes narrowed as he measured her response to his, but he made sure that Willow saw nothing of his response, for he didn’t think he could conceal the hunger in his eyes and body. Delicately he drew the comb through the incandescent gold of her hair, easing out all tangles before he set the comb aside and switched to the brush without interrupting the slow rhythms of his hands moving over her hair.

«You’re very good at this,» Willow said after a time of hushed silence.

«I had a lot of practice when I was a boy. My mother had a hard time carrying a baby. Most of the time she was so ill she couldn’t wash and comb out her own hair.»

«You did it for her?»

Caleb’s answer was a rumble of sound that had no meaning beyond agreement. «Mom had no daughters and no other living children until Rebecca.»

«Your sister?»

«Yes, my baby sister. She was beautiful, as sleek and quick as a mink. All the boys wanted her, but she wouldn’t have any part of them, until…»

Willow heard both sadness and rage in Caleb’s voice and sensed that the girl called Rebecca hadn’t made a happy choice in her man.

«I’m sorry,» Willow whispered, touching Caleb’s hand where it rested on her shoulder. «It must be very hard for you to be away from your family.»

Caleb had no doubt that Willow meant every word she said. He also had no doubt that she made no connection between herself and a girl called Rebecca Black. When Caleb thought about it, he realized Willow’s ignorance was hardly surprising. Reno wouldn’t be likely to discuss one conquest with another.

Anger prowled in Caleb, but it was no competitor at the moment for the desire that permeated every bit of his big body. He lifted a fistful of Willow’s thick hair and let it slide from his grip in a silky, golden waterfall. The scent of lavender drifted up to him. He knew that her clothes would smell of the same lavender soap she had used on her hair. He inhaled deeply, letting the fragrance expand through him. For some reason he liked lavender even better than the rose sachet JessicaCharteris preferred. Lavender refreshed his senses and tantalized them at the same time.

«My father was an Army surveyor,» Caleb said almost absently as he watched the silken drift of Willow’s hair down her back. «He was gone more than he was home. I did what I could to care for Mother. The part I liked best was brushing her hair. It was black and straight, like mine. Light used to makebluewhite rainbows in it. I thought it was the softest, most beautiful thing in the world, until now.»

Willow shivered as Caleb’s palm moved caressingly from her forehead to her nape and burrowed beneath the thickness of her hair. His hand lifted and let the smooth strands slide away.

«Soft as a kitten’s chin,» he said huskily, «and the color of the summer sun. My mother used to read me fairy tales about princesses with hair like yours. I never believed them, until now. Touching your hair is like touching sunlight.»

Caleb resumed brushing Willow’s thick hair with slow sweeps of his hand. Strands of gold shifted and shimmered beneath his touch. As though alive, filaments of hair lifted and clung to his hands, silently asking that the gentle caresses continue. Strands followed his fingers, clung to his shoulders, and fanned across his chest in soft invitation. He fought against the temptation to unbutton his shirt and feel the silky touch on his bare skin. His shirt remained fastened, but he couldn’t prevent himself from rubbing a handful of her fragrant hair against his cheek. He inhaled deeply, then forced his fingers to release the locks of hair.

«I think the t-tangles are out,» Willow said hesitantly. «Should I get dressed now?»

The sensuous shiver in her voice made Caleb smile. «No hurry. We’re not going anywhere today. I thought I’d catch another mess of trout and gather some more greens before the weather goes bad again.»

«More rain?»

«Probably.»

«When?»

«After sunset.»

Willow sighed. «I was told the plains were dry.»

«They are. You’re in the mountains now. But compared to where you came from, it’s plenty dry. That’s why you keep licking your lips.»

«I do?»

«You sure do, honey. If you’re carrying any oil in that big old carpetbag of yours, you might put some on. Bacon grease works, but you get tired of the taste real fast.»

For a few moments there was only the whisper of soft bristles moving through Willow’s long hair. She closed her eyes and savored the unexpected luxury of having her hair brushed by someone other than herself. Then a thought struck her.

«How will you catch the trout?»

«Same way I did last night.»

«How was that?»

«With my hands.»

Willow turned and looked over her shoulder with wide hazel eyes. «You’re teasing me.»

«Maybe a little.» Caleb’s nostrils flared as he inhaled the scent of her oncemore. Butnot as much as I’m teasing myself. «Close your eyes, you’re distracting me.»

«If I close my eyes, will you tell me how you really catch trout?»

«Sure.»

Long amber eyelashes lowered until they rested against Willow’s smooth skin. Sunshine caught and tangled in the thick lashes, making tiny, iridescent flashes of light. Caleb watched, fascinated, wanting to run the tip of his tongue over the soft fringe.

«My eyes are closed,» Willow pointed out when Caleb didn’t speak.

«I noticed. How did you get such long eyelashes, honey?»

«I stole them from a calf.»

He laughed softly, shaking his head at her quickness.

«Caleb,» she said coaxingly, «how do you catch trout with your bare hands? I’ve never heard of anyone doing that.»

«Not even Matthew Moran?»

She shook her head. «Not even Matt.»

With a rumbling sound of satisfaction, Caleb resumed brushing Willow’s hair, admiring its shine and softness. When he began to talk again, there was a subtle difference in his touch, a lingering over the nape of her neck, a tracing of the long tendrils that curled down her arm, a sensuous stroking down the length of her spine that encouraged her to arch against his palm like a cat.

«First of all,» Caleb said deeply, «you have to find trout that haven’t been scared out of their pretty little scales by a southern lady taking a bath in their parlor.»

Willow laughed behind her hand.

«It’s true,» he said, tugging teasingly at a lock of hair. «Trout are like beautiful girls, flighty creatures that take a lot of soothing before they can be caught.»

The brush moved from Willow’s crown to her nape, followed by Caleb’s hand. Long fingers eased beneath the heavy strands and skimmed over the curve of her neck. She shivered, wondering if the touch had been accidental. His fingers skimmed over he neck once more, tracing the hairline with a caress as light as a breath.

«So a man with trout on his mind walks softly and sort of eases up to the edge of the brook,» Caleb continued, his voice as lazy andmurmurous as the breeze. «Then he kneels down real slow and easy like, and slides his hand into the water behind a trout.»

As Caleb spoke, his big hand gathered up the golden mass of Willow’s hair and lifted so that he could brush from beneath. Some of the strands slipped away from his fingers, for the hair caught on the big buttons of the cavalry shirt she wore. Setting the brush aside, he began to gently untangle her shining hair from the buttons. No sooner did one strand come free than another slithered from his grasp and fell forward, becoming trapped and tangled on a button.

«Damn,» Caleb said softly, using both hands to corral Willow’s silky hair. «This isn’t working. Lift your arms up, honey. Higher. That’s it.»

Caleb peeled the shirt from Willow’s body so matter-of-factly that she didn’t think to object until it was too late.

«Caleb, I don’t —»

«Once your hand is in the water,» Caleb continued, talking over Willow’s words, «then you just stay real still for a time, as though you had nothing on your mind but sitting and dreaming by a meadow stream.»

The brush glided through Willow’s hair once more, sending shivers of pleasure over her scalp, shivers that were only increased by the soothing hand that followed each stroke of the brush. The strands that fell forward no longer tangled around buttons, but instead fanned in a golden veil over her camisole. The full curves of her breasts pressed up against the fine lace.

While Willow watched, tendrils of hair slid away from her breasts, leaving the peaks barely covered. She bit her lip, wondering if her hair concealed the outlines of her body enough for decency.

«It’s all right,» Caleb said softly, sensing the tension in Willow. He stroked the shining hair that fanned over her shoulders and back. «Your hair covers as much of you as my shirt did. Unless you’re cold?»

She shook her head, making light ripple and twist sinuously through her hair. «The sun is almost hot.»

«Yes, it is.»

Caleb’s voice was so low it was like a purr from a big cat, as much felt as heard. Without breaking rhythm, he continued brushing Willow’s hair with slow, gentle movements until she sighed and relaxed once more, giving herself to a pleasure that was so acute it made sweet chills course over her skin.