through grass a hundred feet away.
«Sit down and rest while I build a fire,» Caleb said.
Willow let out a sound of relief and said, «I was afraid we were going to have another cold camp.»
He smiled thinly. «Even if those gunnies had friends, no man’s going to come over that mountain today, wondering every step of the way if I’m going to cut loose on him again.»
Despite her fatigue, Willow picketed her horses and gathered enough dry wood for a fire before she allowed herself to rest. Caleb had put the saddles over a fallen log. She propped herself against the nearest saddle, sighed, and was asleep before she took another breath.
Caleb returned from the forest, saw that Willow was asleep, and covered her with a blanket to ward off the chill of the ground. She didn’t awaken when he went into the forest once more and returned with a huge armload of springy evergreen boughs. Nor did she stir when he went into a nearby thicket of young evergreens, spread the boughs into a bed, and began tying the supple young trees overhead to form a living tent.
His big, lethally sharp knife quickly cut more boughs to weave among the still-living branches, filling in holes until he had made a surprisingly watertight structure. The opening beneath was small, fragrant, and protected. One tarpaulin was lashed over the top of the living shelter. The other went over the cut boughs. He shook out the sole cotton flannel blanket as a sheet, added two heavy wool blankets on top, and the wilderness bed was complete.
When Caleb came outside again, Willow was still fast asleep.
«Willow,» he said, sitting on his heels next to her.
She didn’t stir.
Bending down slowly, Caleb brushed his lips over her cheek, inhaled deeply, and wondered how any woman who had spent as much time on hard trails as she had could still smell of rose petals.
«I’ll be back,» Caleb said as he stroked golden strands of hair away from Willow’s eyes.
She sighed and turned toward his touch, curling trustingly against his hand. Slowly he gathered her into his arms and stood. The slight weight of her pierced him, reminding him of how small she was and how much had been demanded of her on the trail. He was as tired as he had been since the war. He could imagine how exhausted she must be.
Taking care not to awaken Willow, Caleb carried her into the fragrant shelter he had made.
«Sleep for a little while,» he whispered.
He brushed the back of his fingers over her soft cheek and retreated from the shelter as silently as the sunlight sliding back up the mountain slopes.
MARVELOUS scents awakened Willow — bread and onions and trout and bacon and coffee all mixed together with evergreen resins and the coolness of a mountain evening.
«I’m dreaming,» she muttered, rubbing her eyes. She inhaled deeply. The enticing aromas remained.
«Do you want to eat or sleep?» Caleb asked from just beyond the shelter.
Willow’s stomach growled loudly.
He laughed and went back to the fire. «Up and at ’em, honey.»
A few moments later Willow emerged from the shelter. Overhead the sky was scarlet and gold. The surrounding peaks were a crystalline black with edges sharp enough to draw blood. The horses were grazing quietly at the fringe of the meadow. The only sound was the muted crackle of the small, carefully shielded fire.
Caleb handed Willow a battered tin plate and a tin fork with one bent tine. Startled, she looked at him.
«I know it’s not very fancy for a southern lady,» he began coolly, «but —»
«Oh, do hush up!» Willow interrupted. She took the plate and the fork and sat cross-legged near the fire. «I was just surprised to see a plate and fork. I didn’t know you had anything but a knife longer than my forearm, a frying pan, and a little pot with a broken hinge for coffee. Suddenly, all kinds of things appear, forks and plates and evergreen tents.»
«No point in getting out the cutlery for bread and bacon,» Caleb said, amused without showing it. Politely, he offered her a tin cup. «Mind the rim. It will burn your soft little mouth.»
Hazel eyes flashed with reflected firelight as Willow shot him an irritated look. «I’ve drunk from tin cups before.»
«Didn’t know you fancy southern women favored tin.»
Whatever Willow had been going to say was lost when she saw the contents of the frying pan.
«Trout?» she said, hardly able to believe what she was seeing. «Where on earth did you get them?»
«Undercut bank at the far end of the meadow.»
«I didn’t know you brought a fishing rod.»
«I didn’t.»
«Then how…?»
«Little devils smelled that bacon grease and just jumped right into the pan.»
Willow opened her mouth, closed it, and shook her head as she stared at the succulent, golden-brown fish. «Caleb Black, you are the mostastonishing, maddening man.»
Smiling slightly, he took the tin plate from her hand, bent over the skillet, and deftly used the tip of his big hunting knife to flip two fish onto her plate.
«Greens?» he asked.
Mutely, Willow nodded. He stacked some dandelion greens next to the trout.
«How about mountain onions and Indian celery?»
«Please,» she said faintly.
The fish tasted even better than it smelled. Willow and Caleb ate quickly, before the descending night could steal warmth from the food. Despite her haste and head start, he finished before she did. He watched her delicate greed and smiled with the knowledge that he had given her an unexpected pleasure.
«Honey?» he asked when she set aside her plate.
«What?»
«Do you want honey on your bread?» he asked, grinning at her dazed look.
«I thought we ate it all.»
«I found a honey tree. The bees had already bedded down for the night, so they didn’t mind too much when I stole a bit of honeycomb.»
«Did you get stung?» Willow asked instantly, searching Caleb’s face.
«Once or twice.»
With a small sound, she came to her knees beside Caleb. «Where?»
«Here and there,» he said, shrugging.
Caleb felt Willow’s fingers searching lightly over his bearded cheeks, his forehead, his neck, checking that he was all right. The concern in her expression made his breath stick in his throat. It had been a long, long time since anyone had worried about the small wounds that daily life left on his tough hide.
«Where?» she insisted.
«Neck and hand,» he said huskily, watching her lips.
«Let me see.»
Obediently, Caleb held out his left hand. Willow caught it between her own and leaned closer to the fire. There was a slight swelling among the crisp black hairs on the back of his hand.
«Show me the other sting,» she said.
Without a word, Caleb unbuttoned his wool shirt and flipped the left side open. On the side of his neck, where the heavy line of his beard merged with the curling black hair of his chest, there was another small swelling.
«Lean down closer to the fire,» Willow said. «You’re so tall I can’t see if the stinger is still in.»
Caleb leaned closer. When he felt Willow’s warm breath move across his skin, he was very tempted to grab her and show her the part of his body that was presently suffering a lot more discomfort than his neck.
«Does it hurt?» she asked.
His mouth crooked, but he shook his head slowly.
«I can’t see a stinger.» Willow looked up, rather startled to realize how close she was to Caleb. His eyes were only inches away and they reflected the golden leap of flames.
