safe inside a garden fence. Tamsin was the fireweed, strong and self-sufficient, as beautiful as any cultivated flower and too tough for even a forest fire to destroy.
He'd never forget Becky. She'd always have a special place in his heart, but that part of his life was over. Common sense told him that little Becky wouldn't have been happy with the man he was now.
'Fireweed,' he whispered under his breath. Somehow, he had the strangest notion to find a cluster of fireweed and fill Tamsin's arms with it.
Chapter 16
Ash eased out of the low bed, picked up his rifle, wrapped himself in a length of oilcloth, and ventured into the night to relieve himself. Once in the downpour, he circled the cabin looking for any sign of visitors. He didn't see a living thing, hadn't expected to, but old habits died hard.
He was sure that they'd left the Cheyenne behind, but not so certain about Cannon. He had an uneasy gnawing in his gut that the outlaw wasn't too far off. He'd chased Jack for so many years that it seemed as though he'd developed a sixth sense regarding his whereabouts.
He hoped Tamsin would be the key to catching Cannon, but he was torn between his feelings for her and his doubts about her innocence.
Devil take him, he didn't believe Tamsin had murdered Sam Steele in cold blood, but if she killed that Cheyenne, she might have shot the rancher. And regardless of his doubts, he still had to take her in.
He'd chased down enough suspects to know that a man's past, or a woman's, had a way of catching up with them. Tamsin would never find happiness if she couldn't clear her name. California wasn't far enough to run. Sooner or later, a lawman or another bounty hunter would see her face and remember an old wanted poster.
Rather than try to arrest her, he might shoot her down like a rabid dog.
Trouble was, Tamsin wouldn't understand why his way was the only way. His daddy wasn't an educated man, but he was smart. He'd always said that a person couldn't twist and turn the law to suit themselves. Once a man started down that road, he was apt to lose sight of right and wrong.
It would be a hell of a lot easier if he hadn't been born Big Jim Morgan's boy, but it was too late to change that now. His father's sense of right was part of him, and he had to follow that trail whether it was easy or not.
Drenched by the icy rain, Ash dashed back to the cabin. He opened the heavy door to see Tamsin sitting up in bed with a worried expression on her face. 'It's the middle of the night,' he said, throwing off the oilcloth and shaking himself like a wet dog. 'Go back to sleep.'
Her eyes were large and frightened. 'I woke up and you were gone.'
'Just outside.'
Damned if she wasn't a fine sight, wearing nothing but a blanket. Her soft Tennessee accent poured over him like warm honey, making him forget the damp chill. If she kept staring at him like that, she'd have him on top of her, making promises he couldn't keep.
'Nature called,' he said gruffly, trying to force down the rising ache that rose to tempt him from reason.
What had happened between them was physical, good sex between two lonely people, nothing more.
The argument didn't sit right, and he tried to justify the notion as he threw his makeshift cloak over a chair and went to the hearth to dry off. By the time he'd built up the fire so that the bigger sections of log caught, she was standing beside him, her naked body wrapped in a blanket.
'I was afraid you'd left me,' she said, draping another blanket over his shoulders.
'Afraid I'd left you?' He grinned and let his gaze linger on the swell of her breasts beneath the worn patchwork squares. 'After chasing you over half the Rockies?'
Her cheeks flushed pink in the firelight, and she stared at the floor. 'I thought maybe the Cheyenne war party…' She shivered and pulled the blanket tighter around her. 'I've never felt such hate before.'
'They have reason.'
'How can you say that? You killed-'
'I killed them. Yes.' He nodded. 'I cut a man's throat and shot another to keep them from murdering us. But I've seen more savagery out of whites than Indians. At Sand Creek, the Colorado militiamen crushed children under their horses' hooves. They shot them like rabbits, and-'
'Stop.' She raised the blanket to cover her ears. 'It's too horrible. I don't want to hear it.'
' 'Vermin,' John Chivington called them. The good colonel led seven hundred men with howitzers down on Black Kettle's sleeping village. 'Kill and scalp them all,' John said. 'Little and big. Nits make lice.' Can you imagine how grapeshot cuts through a buffalo hide tepee?'
Tamsin's pale face grew white, but Ash continued, as much for himself as for her.
'The militia destroyed every living thing, dogs, ponies, and infants. The warriors fought all day, soaking the earth with their blood, selling their lives dearly to protect their women and children. And when the last Cheyenne brave fell, Chivington's troops slaughtered the wounded and mutilated the dead.'
'No more,' she pleaded. 'For God's sake, no more.'
'I don't imagine the Lord had anything to do with it. Chivington was a Methodist minister, a hero at Glorieta Pass, during the war. I didn't like John much, but I respected him… then. No more. I've always wondered what could make a decent man forget religion when it comes to someone with a different skin color.'
'Come back to bed,' she urged.
'Yes, ma'am.' He went to the door and dropped the heavy wooden bar. 'A little damp outside for travelin', but that should discourage unwanted guests.'
She lifted the covers for him and slid over so that he could settle into the warm hollow in the mattress. He stretched out his legs and put his arm around her, pulling her against him. She came willingly and laid her face against his chest.
'I guess I sound foolish,' she murmured. 'When I woke up and you were gone, I thought…'
'It's all right, Tamsin. I'm here, and I'm not going to leave you.' Not unless I have a chance to go after Cannon, he thought.
Why the hell was this so difficult? How was it that being near her, hearing her voice, touching her soft skin, drove him to distraction? She was tough as rawhide. He'd seen her courage in situations that would have had gritty cowboys soiling their chaps. But right now, she seemed as fragile as the pink-and-white-flowered porcelain Aunt Jane used to set the Sunday supper table.
He'd always been afraid to handle those fancy dishes. He hadn't wanted to break one. That's the way he felt about Tamsin at this minute. He wanted to wrap her in goose down and keep her safe…
… from him as well as from what waited for her in Sweetwater.
She inhaled deeply. 'This is such a magnificent country, but it's so hard. The violence…'
'There was bloodshed aplenty back in your Tennessee during the war, wasn't there?' He stroked her hair and massaged the back of her neck and her shoulders until he felt her tension ease. 'Even in your little town, you must have heard of neighbors-even family-turning against one another.'
'Yes, of course.' She shivered and crept closer to him, laying a hand on his chest. 'I wanted to get away from all that. I wanted to start over in California. It's a new place, new and clean.'
'So is Colorado Territory. You've seen a lot of the bad, but there's good as well. There's nothing so pretty as the sun coming up over the mountains or the smell of the air after a rain.'
She caught his hand and brought it to her lips. Tenderly, she kissed each knuckle in turn. 'There are golden sunrises in California, I hear. The sun goes down over the ocean. It's never cold there. There are giant trees and valleys knee-deep in grass. My horses-'
'You set a passel of store on those animals.'
'I have to. They're all I have left of what was good in my childhood. My home… Granddad. Dancer and Fancy are all I have to build a future.' Her eyes glistened with emotion. 'I raised them from foals, both of them, halter broke them, trained them to saddle.'
'You should have taken ship for California or joined a wagon train. Those horses might have cost you your life.'
She raised her head and looked into his face. 'There are some things worth risking everything for.'
