«What? But it’s dark and —»

«One hour, southern lady. Be at the livery stable down the street or I’ll come and drag you out of your room.»

ONE hour and three minutes later, an impatient knock sounded on Willow’s hotel room door. She froze in the act of fastening one of the many stubborn buttons on the bodice of her riding habit.

«Who is it?» she asked, pausing as she pushed a button through a small buttonhole in the heavy wool.

«Caleb Black. You’re late.»

The voice was as low, compelling, and darkly masculine as Willow had remembered. A tiny shivering feeling uncurled in the pit of her stomach. The sensation surprised her, for she had never been afraid of men.

Then Willow realized she wasn’t really afraid of Caleb. He simply was unlike any man she had ever known, which made it impossible for her to predict what he would do next. Or how she would react. His ability to make butterflies flutter in her stomach simply by talking to her through a closed door was disconcerting.

«I’ll be out in a few minutes,» Willow said, her voice unusually husky.

«You’ll be out in thirty seconds or I’ll come in after you.»

«Mr. Black —»

Whatever Willow had been going to say ended in a husky sound of shock when she heard a key scraping in the lock.

«I’m not dressed!»

«Twenty seconds.»

Willow didn’t waste time arguing. Her fingers flew over the buttons. Even so, she barely had managed to close the bodice halfway over her breasts by the time the door opened. When she saw Caleb’s wide shoulders fill the doorway, for an instant she was too shocked to move. The fine lawn of her camisole and its delicate embroidery of flowers were revealed, as was the velvet shadow lying between the full curves of her breasts.

Flushing to the roots of her golden hair, Willow grabbed the edges of her bodice and held them together. Beneath the tide of embarrassment, a flash of fury burned along her high, slanting cheekbones.

«Get out of my room!»

«Don’t get your back up, fancy woman,» Caleb said as he closed the door behind him. «You’ve got nothing I haven’t seen before.»

Shocked, Willow said the only thing that came to her mind. «How did you get the key to my room?»

«I asked for it. Which one of these carpetbags is going with you?»

For several moments Willow struggled to keep her composure. Caleb might not have much regard for her modesty, but he was making no attempt to take advantage of her. He had looked at her unfastened bodice with complete disinterest. She should have been relieved that he considered her married and therefore out of bounds.

Instead, Willow found herself more than a little irritated by Caleb’s lack of interest in her as a woman. The irrationality of her response only made her more angry.

«I’m taking all my luggage,» Willow said tightly.

Caleb shook his head. «Pick one.»

«But —»

«There’s no time to argue,» he interrupted impatiently. «We’re leaving now and we’re traveling light. There’s a storm coming on. If we get out of here quick enough, we stand a good chance of having our tracks wiped out before anyone realizes we’re gone.»

Willow remembered Johnny Slater’s threat of revenge and frowned. «Do you think Slater’s brother will try to follow us?»

«Jed Slater and anyone else wanting a free woman and expensive horseflesh. That’s a lot of men, and none of them the kind who go to church on Sunday.»

«Mr. Black, I am not a ‘free woman. ’»

He shrugged. «Fine. You’re an expensive woman. Which bag are you taking?»

Willow didn’t trust herself to speak. She went to the smaller bags, grabbed a few items from each and stuffed them in the large carpetbag.

«That one,» she said tightly.

Caleb picked up the bag and turned away, not permitting himself so much as a sidelong glance at the intriguing gaps in Willow’s bodice. The single swift look he had taken when he walked into the room was more than enough. The soft curves and seductive shadows of her body had made him harden in the space of a breath. It had taken a maddening amount of self control not to brush aside her hands and lower his face to her breasts, finding out for himself if she was half as sweet to his tongue as she was to his eyes.

«Southern lady,» Caleb said without looking around, «we —»

«My name is Willow Moran.»

«— aren’t going to a ball,» he said, ignoring her interruption. «That fancy riding outfit of yours is as useless as a four card flush. When that long, flapping skirt gets wet, it will weigh more than you do. Wear something else.»

«Such as?»

«Pants,» he said succinctly.

Willow blinked. He was indeed a practical man.

«That’s impossible,» she said, as much to herself as to Caleb.

«Indian women do it all the time. We’re not riding down country lanes. We’re going over some of the roughest land God made this side of Hell. Last thing you need is yards of cloth flying and flapping and catching on every branch.»

«I’ll just have to do the best I can. I don’t have anything else suitable.»

Against his better judgment, Caleb glanced over his shoulder at Willow. The single lantern in the room was reflected in his eyes, making them look like they burned.

«Then at least take off the petticoats,» he said bluntly.

«I can’t. They’re sewn into the seams of the riding skirt.»

A spatter of rain hit the hotel window. Thunder rumbled distantly. Caleb looked at the black shine of water on the glass, shook his head, and opened the door. A quick glance assured him that no one was in the hall. With a curt gesture he indicated that Willow should precede him through the door.

«What about the rest of my luggage?» Willow asked.

«It will be waiting at Rose’s boarding house when you get back.»

Without another word Willow walked past Caleb into the dark hall, trying not to touch him on the way by. It was impossible. He left very little room when he stood in a doorway. The renewed realization of Caleb’s size sent a flush to Willow’s cheeks and more of the odd, shimmering sensations racing from her breastbone to her knees.

The few hall lights had been put out recently, leaving behind the smell of smoldering wicks.

«Left,» Caleb said in a low voice that carried no farther than Willow.

She turned left, wondering where she was going, for the hotel lobby lay to her right.

«Mr. Black, where —» she began.

«Quiet,» he interrupted swiftly.

A look over her shoulder convinced Willow that it was the wrong time to ask Caleb questions. Wearing the same dark trail clothes he had earlier, he looked like a huge shadow following her. He made no more noise than a shadow, either. If it hadn’t been for the gleam of his eyes and the occasional shine of metal where his jacket had been tucked out of the way behind his gun holster, Caleb would have been nearly invisible.

Uneasily Willow turned around and stared into the darkness ahead of her. She walked slowly, carefully, trying to make her steps as soundless as Caleb’s. The rustling of petticoats beneath her heavy wool riding skirt defeated her.

«Wait,» Caleb said softly.

Willow stopped walking as though she had run into a cliff. She felt the brush of Caleb’s body, then the warmth of him radiated against her as he leaned down, putting his mouth next to her ear.

«I’ll go first,» he said. «The stairs are narrow and uneven. Put your hand on my shoulder for balance.»

Before Willow could answer he brushed by her, turned his back, and waited. Hesitantly, she put her hand on his shoulder. Even through the wool jacket and shirt, she felt the vital heat of Caleb’s body. She drew in her breath swiftly. She hadn’t been this close to a man since her fiance had gone off to war.

But Steven hadn’t affected her like this, her heart racing and her knees going suddenly weak.

When Caleb moved without warning, Willow stumbled and reached out blindly for support. He turned and caught her with the same lightning swiftness that had been Johnny Slater’s undoing. The feel of Caleb’s hands pressed around her waist, digging into her, supporting her, was as unnerving as the speed and power of his body. When he bent to whisper in her ear, Willow couldn’t force herself to breathe.

«If you can’t even walk without tripping in that damned thing,» Caleb muttered roughly, «I’ll take my hunting knife and cut the cloth off at your knees.»

Instinctively, Willow’s hands went to Caleb’s upper arms as she braced herself against his strength.

«You — you surprised me, that’s all,» she whispered. «When you moved.»

Caleb stared down into Willow’s face. It was no more than a pale blur in the darkness. He was grateful. If he couldn’t see her eyes, she couldn’t see the hunger in his. She smelled of lavender and sunshine. Her slender waist felt good in his hands. Too good. It was all he could do not to knead her tender flesh while he drew her hips against his thighs, easing and teasing the hunger that lay rigidly against the dark cloth of his pants.

Abruptly Caleb released Willow, grabbed her carpetbag, and turned his back on her. There was a pause before he felt a small hand settle lightly on his shoulder once more. The heat of her touch went all the way to his heels. Silently, savagely, he cursed his unbridled response to Reno’s fancy lady. Caleb knew he would be suffering the torments of the damned before he pried the secret of Reno’s hideout from Willow.

But pry it out he would. There was no other way to bring down justice on the man who had abandoned Rebecca to a lonely death days after she had given birth to her lover’s child, a child that died within hours of its mother’s death.