began arranging twigs for the fire. The new freedom of movement offered by pants kept surprising her at odd moments.
The air was warm, stirred only occasionally by a breeze. Hidden birds sang through the ravine, falling silent only when Willow went to the narrow stream. There were clouds overhead. Some of them had slate bottoms, but not all.
«Maybe it won’t rain tonight,» Willow said wistfully to herself.
The rustling of leaves in a curl of wind was her only answer. With a sigh, she made her pilgrimage to some dense brush, where she discovered a drawback of her new clothes. Unlike herpantelets, thelongjohns were sewn together at the crotch. That would have caused no particular inconvenience for a man wishing to relieve himself; for a woman, it meant shucking out of every stitch of clothing. Grumbling, Willow bared her backside to the playful wind.
By the time Willow got back to camp, she was still grumbling under her breath about dealing with men’s clothing and a woman’s body. She was tempted to light the fire, but didn’t. If Caleb had wanted that done, he would have said so. For herself, Willow had lived in fear for too many years to be careless about starting fires that advertised her presence to anyone within sight or scent of the smoke.
Willow began putting the camp in order, shaking out and rolling blankets, stacking small pieces of kindling close to the fire, and getting fresh water. When that was done, she found Caleb’s currycomb and went to work on the horses. Deuce and Trey welcomed the attention without a fuss, for there was no flapping cloth to worry them now. Ishmael, as always, was a gentleman. She was hard at work on Penny, one of the little sorrel mares, when the Arabian nickered and looked over Willow’s shoulder. Only then did she realize that Caleb was standing a few feet away, watching her with unblinking golden eyes.
Abruptly Willow wondered what he thought of her dressed in buckskins like an Indian, her hair loose and tumbling down to her hips. But if Caleb noticed the change of clothes, he said nothing. Nor did he stare at the legs she had never before revealed in such a way to any man.
«Did my horses give you any trouble?» Caleb asked, wondering if Willow had even thought to check on his animals.
Relieved that he was going to accept her clothes without comment, Willow answered cheerfully. «Trey and Deuce were as gentle as could be while I curried them. They held up each foot in turn and didn’t try to lean on me while I cleaned their hooves.»
Caleb’s eyes widened a fraction as he realized that she had indeed cared for his horses. That was almost as much a shock as the instant he first had seen her wearing buckskins that fit her like a pale shadow, revealing every womanly line of her body. He was beginning to think that wearing pants had been a bad idea — for his comfort, not for hers.
Nor was the top she wore any better. It cupped her breasts as lovingly as a man’s hands.
«A freight wagon is headed south, going at a good clip,» Caleb said after a moment. «Wind is from the west. If we keep the fire small, nobody on the wagon will smell it. And about moonrise, with a cold wind coming down off the peaks, we’ll be glad for a canteen of coffee and a hatful of cold bread.»
Willow flashed a smile. «Can we have coffee now, too?»
The corner of Caleb’s mouth turned up almost unwillingly as he admitted, «I was looking forward to it myself.»
When Willow was finished with the horses, she took her camisole andpantelets and washed them in the tiny creek with a sliver of soap taken from her personal baggage. Carefully, she shook the garments out and draped them over the cottonwood log near the fire, knowing that the thin fabric would dry quickly.
In silence, Caleb stacked bacon andfrybread on plates made from a slab of cottonwood bark. Willow finished pouring coffee into the canteen, sat, and began eating. As she reached for a chunk offrybread, Caleb brought out a small pot of honey, one of the many small luxuries Wolfe had thrown into the pack.
«Honey!» Willow cried softly.
«No call to go getting fresh,» Caleb said, deadpan.
When she realized what he meant, she blushed and said, «Caleb Black, you know very well I meant what’s in that pot rather than you.»
«I’m hurt.»
«And I’m Salome of the Seven Veils,» she muttered.
Caleb glanced at the nearly transparent lawn camisole and fine cottonpantelets that were draped over the cottonwood log to dry.
«Looks more like two veils from here.»
Willow said only, «Honey, please.»
«How can I resist when you ask so nicely?» he said, surrendering the clay pot.
She made a sound that was almost a giggle. His answering smile made her feel as light as fire. For a shivering instant, Willow felt almost at home again, the home that existed only in her memories and dreams — firelight and her parents and her brothers’ masculine teasing, and Matt’s affectionate deviling of the younger sister who worshipped him.
Silently, Willow tipped the jar and dribbled a tiny stream of honey over the bread. The thick liquid shimmered like captive sunlight as it was slowly absorbed into the bread. She licked up stray threads of sweetness before she sank her teeth into the unexpected treat. The complex flavor of honey spread through her mouth. Without realizing it, she made a small sound of pleasure at the back of her throat. It had been three years since she had tasted the sun-drenched richness of honey.
Caleb watched from the corner of his eye, telling himself that she wasn’t doing it on purpose, licking her lips and sending that quick little tongue out to scoop up stray drops of honey. She wasn’t putting on a show for him. She was simply enjoying the honey with a sensual intensity that aroused him as much as seeing her in nearly transparentunderthings had.
If Willow had been teasing him, Caleb would have had no difficulty ignoring or accepting her invitation, depending on how he felt at the moment. But she wasn’t issuing invitations, which put him at a real disadvantage. He wanted her. She didn’t want him.
Or if she did, she was keeping it under her hat better than any woman he had ever met.
Maybe she really is Reno’s wife. Not every man buys his woman a ring.
Then why does she blush like a kid caught stealing apples each time thewordhusbandis mentioned?
There was no answer but the obvious one — Reno wasn’t Willow’s husband.
Absently, Caleb fingered the locket he carried safely within his watch pocket. Then he looked at the angle of the sun. Three more hours of daylight. Less if a storm came. But it didn’t look like it was blowing in the right direction for a storm. A few showers here and there, maybe, but nothing like it had been last night or the night before.
With a reluctance he didn’t understand, Caleb pulled out the locket, flicked it open, and studied the two pictures inside. From what Willow had said, she was more familiar with Reno’s parents than she was with her own. All he had to do was show her the locket. If she recognized the photographs, she was Reno’s wife. If she didn’t, she wasn’t. Cut and dried.
Show it to her. Find out if she’s available.
What if she isn’t?
The question went into Caleb like a knife, telling him how much he wanted the woman with the golden hair and the laughter to match.
Thou shall not covet thy neighbor’s wife.
It was easy enough to say. It had been easy enough to obey, before Caleb had met Willow. Now he wasn’t certain he could obey the letter, much less the spirit, of that ancient law.
What you don’t know won’t hurt you, right?
Wrong, fool. What you don’t know can —
«What’s that?» Willow asked, interrupting Caleb’s thoughts.
He turned toward her with a suddenness that made her flinch.
«I’m sorry,» she said quickly. «I didn’t mean to startle you.»
Caleb looked from Willow’s clear hazel eyes to the twin golden ovals of the locket lying open in his palm. Two unsmiling faces stared back up at him. With a casualness that cost a great deal, he held his hand out so that
