«If you were me, would you do any less?» she asked, wondering at the tangible hostility in Caleb every time her brother was mentioned.

Caleb closed his eyes and tasted the pain that the future would bring, Willow’s screams echoing as she watched her beloved brother and the man she loved face each other over drawn weapons, gunfire echoing and death coming down like thunder.

Be sure you’ve got a good reason to draw on Reno, because a second after you do, both of you are likely to be dead.

«So be it,» Caleb said bleakly.

Fear went through Willow like black lightning. «Caleb?» she asked shakily. «What is it? What’s wrong?»

He didn’t answer. He went to his saddlebags, pulled out his journal, a pencil, and a ruler, and came back to where Willow waited, map in hand and fear in her heart. Saying nothing, he took the map, spread it on his journal, and began drawing lines.

«What are you doing?» she asked finally.

«Finding your goddamned brother.»

Willow winced. «But how?»

«He’s a careful kind of man. He was real careful how he drew these triangles, even though he stood them every which way on the paper.»

«I don’t understand.»

«The triangles are all the same kind, with one angle of ninety degrees and two angles of forty-five degrees.»

Willow stared at the triangles and saw that Caleb was right.

«If you cut the ninety degree angle in two and drop a line down through the base, you get two equal triangles,» Caleb said, working swiftly as he talked.

«So?»

«So if you lay a ruler along that dividing line and draw it out to the edges of the map, and you do it for each triangle, all the lines should intersect somewhere. ‘Three points, two halves, one gathering. ’ It should be about —»

«There!» Willow interrupted, pointing to the map where line after line had crossed. «Caleb, you’ve done it! That’s where Matt is!»

Caleb said nothing. He simply noted the area of intersection in relation to landmarks both in his mind and on the map, and then threw the paper into the fire. Willow made a startled sound as flames bit ravenously into the map. Before she could move to prevent it, the paper writhed and curled and turned to ash.

«Good thing your Arabians are in good shape,» Caleb said tightly. «We’ve got Hell’s own ride ahead.»

He looked from the fire to Willow. In the twilight her eyes were mysterious, the color of autumn rain. The thought of losing her was a knife turning in him. Silently, he held out his hand to her. She took it without hesitation, not understanding the darkness she saw in him, but knowing that he needed her. When he drew her closer, she came willingly, needing him in the same way. For long minutes, they held each other, neither moving except to cling more tightly, as though they expected to be torn apart in the next instant.

«Love,» Willow whispered finally, looking up at Caleb. «What’s wrong?»

His only answer was a kiss that didn’t end until he was deep inside her and she was shivering with the fulfillment that grew more consuming each time he came to her. After he sipped the ecstatic tears from her lashes, he began all over again, taking and giving and sharing until there was no yesterday, no tomorrow, nothing but the timeless instant when two became one.

When Willow fell asleep, she was still joined with Caleb. For a long time he listened to her slow breaths, felt her small stirrings, watched moonlight glow on her cheeks. When he could bear it no longer, he closed his eyes and fell asleep, praying that Reno was already dead.

WILLOW stood in the stirrups and looked over Ishmael’s pricked ears. The land fell away before her in so many shades of green she couldn’t find names to describe all of them. The countryside was neither flat nor truly mountainous. Although distant clusters of high peaks jutted sporadically from the horizon, the land between the clusters was mile upon mile of rumpled forest and grassland, as though a huge patchwork quilt had been thrown over an uneven floor. The wrinkles were long, high ridges where pine and aspen and scrub oak grew. The troughs between wrinkles were equally long, wide parks where rivers ran.

Taking a deep breath, Willow tasted the freshness of the air, grateful that she had finally adapted to the altitude. Caleb had told her that even at its lowest point, the land was nearly seven thousand feet high. Many of the peaks were twice that height. It was like riding on the green roof of the world with stone chimneys rising in the distance. The sense of openness was exhilarating.

Nowhere could be seen smoke, buildings, rutted roads, fences, or any permanent sign of man. Yet men were out there, somewhere. Caleb had seen tracks in places where mountains pinched the grassland into divides that were natural funnels for travelers. Some of the tracks had been headed north or east. Most of them hadn’t. Most of them were headed toward the SanJuans.

«That’s where we’re going,» Caleb said, pointing. «The farthest peaks you can see.»

From where Willow was, the cluster of mountains looked rather like a low, spiky, purple crown set with fractured pearls. The country between her and the SanJuans was as wild as it was beautiful.

«How long will it take us to get there?» she asked, having learned that travel time rather than distance was the only measure that counted in the West.

«Two days if we could ride directly. As it is, we’ll be lucky to do it in four.»

«Why?»

«Indians,» Caleb said. «TheUtes are damn tired of tripping over white men every time they turn around. Then there’s always Slater and his bunch.»

«Don’t you think we lost them?»

«It’s hard to lose someone who knows where you’re going,» Caleb said sardonically.

«Won’t they give up after not finding any of our tracks for almost three weeks?»

«Would you give up?» he asked.

Willow looked away from the bleak clarity ofCalleb’s eyes. Although he hadn’t mentioned abandoning the hunt again, she knew he wanted to. Yet when she asked why, he changed the subject with an abruptness that stung.

«Jed Slater is riding a grudge,» Caleb said, looking away from Willow. «He’s the kind of man who will ride it until he dies or I do.»

«Is that why you don’t want to find Matt?» Willow asked, remembering the older Slater brother’s reputation as a gunman. «Because you know Slater will be looking for you in the same place?»

Caleb gave Willow a hooded glance. «Only a fool hunts trouble. Enough of it comes without looking for more.»

He kicked Deuce lightly, sending the horse trotting down into the long, winding park that eventually would descend to a grassy valley thousands of feet below their present elevation. Unhappily, Willow looked at Caleb’s broad back vanishing down the trail and wished she had phrased her question more tactfully. No man liked admitting that he was looking for ways to avoid a fight.

Frowning, Willow urged Ishmael forward, thinking about the man she loved rather than the route ahead. Caleb had been withdrawn since they had left the little valley yesterday. He had kept to a hard pace, his whole manner that of a man getting through a distasteful task as quickly as possible. And never once, either in the valley or after it, had he spoken of what would happen between the two of them after they found her brother. Never once had Caleb said that he loved her, that he wanted to marry her, that he even wanted to be with her after his promise to guide her to her brother had been kept.

Yet Willow had awakened this morning to find Caleb looking at her with a yearning that was so great it had made her heart turn over. Then he had gotten up without a word, leaving her with tears standing in her eyes and fear coiling coldly in her stomach.

The memory haunted Willow throughout the long day, prickling her skin like an icy rash, making the beauty of the land bittersweet.

The long descent from the high country ended as many others had, in a wide valley that wound between ranges of mountains. Their route took them along a river that was rarely more than a hundred feet across. The water was clear, clean, and swift. Aspen and a tree that looked like a poplar grew along the river’s edge, spreading masses of shiveringsilvergreen leaves across the sky. Flowers of every hue winked and flirted among the grasses, telling of a spring that was not yet spent.

As always, the sun was hot. Willow was wearing only Levis and the buckskin shirt with most of its laces undone. The flannel underwear that had felt so good in the higher country was now folded and rolled into a blanket behind her saddle, along with the heavy wool jacket. The silver murmuring of the river had become a siren song promising cool, pure water to ease her growing thirst.

Just when Willow was certain Caleb was going to go past supper without stopping, he reined in, dismounted, and walked back to her.

«We’ll rest here for a bit.»

Willow began to dismount, only to be plucked from Ishmael’s back. Caleb lowered her slowly to the ground, letting her slide down his front. The look in his eyes and the frank arousal of his body made her heartbeat double. The uneasiness that had haunted her all day was replaced by a giddy sense of relief and a glittering rush of anticipation. Heat rippled through her, transforming her. In the space of a few breaths her body changed, preparing itself for the joining to come.

«Rest?» Willow asked, smiling, wanting so much to take the darkness from Caleb’s eyes. One of her hands drifted down his body. «Are you sure that’s all you had in mind?»

His breath came in swiftly. «I thought I might catch some trout for supper.»