Wes didn’t want to think about such a scene happening with Allie.

The boy who’d brought the tub to their room carried out two huge bowls of chili. He set them down in front of Wes and hurried away as if still embarrassed by the maid having struck him in front of Wes and Allie.

Breaking the silence, Wes mumbled, ‘‘Eat up,’’ as he shoved the first bite in his mouth. ‘‘They say this stuff was invented because the meat turns bad on the trail drives. Put enough peppers and chili powder in with it and the hands don’t notice.’’

Allie didn’t look at him as she tasted the meal.

The boy returned with a glass of milk for her and another whiskey for Wes.

‘‘Thanks, kid,’’ Wes said.

The boy faced him with a man’s measure of courage. ‘‘Not kid. My name’s Jason.’’

Wes always allowed a man, even a young one, his due of respect unless he proved he didn’t deserve it. ‘‘Thanks, Jason. Tell your mother this is mighty good chili.’’

Jason stood an inch taller as if bracing against the north wind. ‘‘I ain’t got no ma or pa.’’

Allie looked up. ‘‘No tribe?’’

He knew what she was asking. ‘‘No one, but I don’t need them. I’m fine on my own.’’

He was on the edge of manhood, too old to ask for a handout and too young to earn his keep.

‘‘Well.’’ Wes chose his words carefully. ‘‘We’re new in town and need a little advice. If you’d allow me to buy you supper, I’ve a heap of questions I need answering about the locals.’’

Jason brightened. ‘‘I know everyone in these parts.’’ He hesitated, glancing at the bowls, then smiled. ‘‘I suppose I got a slow enough spell to help you out.’’

In less time than Wes thought possible, the boy had fetched his own bowl of chili and a glass of milk. But he waited to eat until he’d answered a few questions.

While the boy ate, Wes learned all about the people called Catlin. According to Jason, Maxwell Hardy was an old sheriff down on his luck. He might be too poor to afford a full bottle of whiskey, but he was still more gentleman than any man in town.

Jason had heard of Victoria Catlin, but never seen her. Folks said the last time she left her house was to bury her son from the war. Some said she was crazy, others thought she’d just got tired of living and was holed up waiting to die. She had a little mouse of a sister who came in for supplies now and then.

What he’d heard of Michael Catlin wasn’t good. Folks still talked about the wild pranks he pulled in his youth. Sheriff Hardy kept him out of jail more than once and, talk was, Hardy went to Mexico about ten years back to keep Michael from swinging for murder.

Michael came back wilder than ever, and Hardy returned with a bullet still lodged in his leg. Brady was too quiet a place for the likes of Michael Catlin. This youngest, and only living, son of Victoria just passed through once in a while.

When they’d all finished their meal, Wes thanked the boy and walked out of the saloon with Allie only a step behind. He was halfway to the landing when he noticed she was no longer following.

Wes turned around to find her still in the lobby. She stared at the staircase as if it were on fire and he’d ordered her to climb.

‘‘Come on up, Allie, unless you plan to sleep with the horses.’’

To his shock, she turned and vanished out the front door of the hotel.

She was almost to the stables before he caught up with her.

He was careful not to touch her. He’d learned that lesson the hard way. ‘‘Allie, where’re you going?’’

She stopped so suddenly he almost ran into her. ‘‘To sleep with the horses,’’ she answered in a tone that let him know she thought his question a strange one.

Standing in the center of the muddy street, Wes watched her go. He didn’t know what to say. He’d just spent far too much money making sure she had a nice room, and the woman preferred to sleep with the horses. She had to be related to Victoria Catlin. She was every bit as crazy as a woman who’d fight an alligator over a pet.

Wes walked back to the hotel for his things. He couldn’t very well let her sleep in the livery alone. As he retrieved his gear and headed down the stairs, he realized this would probably be the last night he’d spend with her. Not that it mattered to him, but he’d grown used to having her near. She was a bushel of trouble, but she’d probably be as close to a wife as he’d ever have. If he didn’t need money so badly, he might just stay around and make sure she was treated right.

But he had to find the treasure and buy enough cattle to restock. He’d wasted too much of his life waiting to get started. Now was his time. The treasure might be a long shot, but it was time for a long shot to come in.

Wes entered the barn, thinking about exactly what he’d do with the money from the sell of the gold. He planned to send half to Vince, no matter what the stubborn man told him. Then, with the rest of the money, he’d buy as many head as he could, wait out the winter, and start counting calves next spring.

One lantern, nailed to a barrel in the center of the room, cast light over the stable. A half loft hung over one corner for hay storage. Most of the stalls were empty.

‘‘Allie?’’ Wes called as he walked the length of the barn. She didn’t answer, but a dusting of hay rained down from the loft, telling him where she was. ‘‘I thought I’d stay with you since you won’t go back to the hotel room.’’ He tried to make his words sound casual.There was no use pestering her about her insanity. ‘‘If you don’t mind.’’

He started up the ladder.

The lantern light reached only half the hayloft, but he could see her as he climbed. She didn’t turn in his direction as she spread her blanket over the hay.

He looped his saddlebags over the railing.

‘‘Now, don’t be worried about tomorrow,’’ he said, thinking she was probably planning to run again. ‘‘I know it seems a strong possibility that this old woman is your grandmother, but if she’s crazy you don’t have to stay.’’ He didn’t add that he had no idea what he’d do with her if this didn’t work out. ‘‘There’s bound to be another place for you if this doesn’t work out.’’

He stepped from the ladder and passed the blanket he carried from one hand to the other. ‘‘I’ll sleep by the door. That way, you’ll have no reason to be afraid here in the barn.’’ He flipped the blanket over his shoulder and put his foot back on the ladder.

She looked at him then with those huge blue eyes that always struck him with the intensity of their emotion. She appeared to be about a flea’s-width away from crying.

‘‘Or,’’ he fumbled for words, ‘‘I could bed down next to you for warmth. It’s not a cold night, but it might get that way before morning.’’

For a time, she watched him and he wasn’t at all sure she cared. Hell, he didn’t even know if he did. He was pretty sure they’d gotten past the point when she thought about killing him in his sleep, but he wasn’t sure she wanted to cuddle.

Finally, she made her choice by taking the few steps to him and lifting the blanket from his shoulder. She turned and spread it over hers.

Wes needed a little conversation, even if it was his own. ‘‘Well, all right. I guess I could sleep up here and keep you warm. I’ve no objections. I mean, after all, in the eyes of the law, we are man and wife. There’s nothing wrong. ’Course, some folks might think it strange that we have the best hotel room in town and choose to sleep with our horses. But I’m not saying a word about that.’’

She glanced at him as she pulled off her boots and placed them by his saddlebags.

‘‘No, not me,’’ he added quickly. ‘‘The barn seems just fine. It’s cleaner than most, and there aren’t enough horses in here to keep us awake.’’

He removed his gun belt and laid it within reach, then took off his vest and boots. When he spread out on the makeshift bed, Allie was still standing near the railing. The light was behind her, turning her hair to warm colors of fall. She untied the ribbon and placed it carefully on the board. Then she removed her dress and folded it over the rough wood.

Wes watched her, thinking how gracefully she moved. He knew she didn’t want to sleep in her clothes, but putting on a gown in a stable seemed strange. She must have thought so too, for she shoved the gown back in her bag and turned to face the bed.

He opened his mouth to tell her that skipping her gown was a wise idea since she might have to get dressed quickly in the morning. But no words came out as Wes watched her move toward him. He’d seen her in a dress and in Nichole’s high-necked nightgown, but he’d never seen her in just her underclothes. In truth, he’d seen very few women in their underthings. At the moment, he could think of none.

The chemise and drawer were a plain cotton, but they fit her body like a glove, molding like a second skin. The straps were an inch wide on her shoulders and bordered in lace. Lace also ran over the top of her breasts. He hadn’t given it all that much thought, but her waist was smaller than he’d guessed. Her hips nicely rounded and her breasts…

Wes looked away. He didn’t even want to think about her breasts. He couldn’t let his mind concentrate on those high, perfectly rounded breasts. ‘‘Maybe you should sleep in your dress,’’ he mumbled. ‘‘It won’t matter if it’s wrinkled.’’

He wouldn’t think of those breasts even if he thought he could barely see the outline of the darker tips.

He glanced back at her, just to check his memory. Sure enough, there was the outline of the tip of what he wasn’t thinking about showing through the cotton.

Allie didn’t answer him as she pulled the top blanket back and crawled in beside him.

Wes didn’t move. He was too busy trying not to remember the way her body looked with only a layer of cotton over it. The cotton wasn’t even covering all of her, he decided. Almost half of her was showing. When she breathed, maybe more. He closed his eyes and tried to calculate the percentage accurately.