“You have a very nice smile, Monsieur Kavanagh,” Tally said.

“You have a very nice—” He looked pointedly at her chest. She’d bound her breasts, but he’d seen what lay underneath the wrappings. “You still have to pay a price for my saving your cow, Miss Bernard.”

“She isn’t my cow.”

“Seems everything you touch ends up belonging to you.” His grin vanished. “Why is that, Tally?”

She faltered under his stare. He put his hands on her hair, slid them down to cup her face.

Mon Dieu. It was truly happening. Not like before, when he’d stolen a kiss just to prove his indifference. There was no indifference in him now. And none in her.

“What will you give me, Tally?” he whispered.

She closed her eyes. “Everything.”

Praise for Susan Krinard

THE FOREST LORD

“This story, a mating of Regency romance and old myths, is enchanting, creating a world and characters to dream upon…. The use of fae characters and ways spices up the story, turning a tale of romance between different classes into a different and magical read.”

—Affaire de Coeur

SECRET OF THE WOLF

“With riveting dialogue and passionate characters, Ms. Krinard exemplifies her exceptional knack for creating an extraordinary story of love, strength, courage and compassion.”

—Romantic Times

TO CATCH A WOLF

“[E]ach scene richly paves the way for an explosive, satisfying conclusion.”

—Romantic Times Top Pick

TOUCH OF THE WOLF

“Touch of the Wolf is a mystical, enthralling read, brimming with lyrical prose, powerful emotions, dark secrets and shattering sensuality.”

—Eugenia Riley, bestselling author of Bushwhacked Bride

ONCE A WOLF

“Once again Ms. Krinard brilliantly delivers a gripping romance, turning every emotion inside out to expose all the facets of love. She holds you spellbound with her magic.”

—Rendezvous

To Tame a Wolf
Susan Krinard

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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CONTENTS

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

PROLOGUE

Hat Rock, Texas, 1866

THE OLD DRUNK, Charlie, was the one who came to tell Sim his mother was dead.

Others would have known earlier, of course—the madam of the brothel, Evelyn’s fellow soiled doves…and any number of clients, respectable and less so, who frequented the Rose of Texas. Gossip traveled fast in a whorehouse.

None of them bothered to pass the tragic news to Evelyn’s only son. Charlie came not because he gave a damn about Sim, but because carrying the story made him feel important. More important than a worthless, troublemaking sixteen-year-old tramp.

Sim, standing in the dusty street in front of Hat Rock’s pathetic excuse for a bank, heard Charlie’s slurred speech without emotion. He’d learned to hide his feelings early on, when he figured out that Ma couldn’t be trusted from one moment to the next. Sometimes she cuddled him and called him “my son,” but more often she cursed him as the bane of her life, the burden who had ruined her for the better things she deserved.

Sim clenched his fists and walked out of the cloud of Charlie’s whiskey-soaked breath. He strolled down the center of Main Street, making the carriages and buckboards and horsemen go around him.

Ma was dead. She’d been going at it a long time, riddled with some kind of wasting disease. But she’d kept working, even when only the lowest clients would take her. And Sim had visited the Rose every day to see if she needed anything from her only kin, if she would accept a little of the money he earned or stole in every petty way he had learned in his years on the street.

On his last visit she’d spat at him. He’d wiped the spittle from his cheek and left, though Madame Rose had tried to bribe him with promises of a hot meal and a free ride after. He’d sworn he wouldn’t go back. He’d planned to break his oath this afternoon. He could have said goodbye.

She could have said she loved him.

He laughed, startling some fine lady’s skittish horse. Her male escort, a rich rancher decked out like a pimp, spurred his long-legged eastern gelding in front of Sim and slashed the air with his quirt.

“Get out of the street, you savage,” he snarled.

Sim tilted back the brim of his ragged hat and looked the man in the eye. The man yanked on the reins. “Filthy beggar,” he muttered. “No better than a—”

His horse squealed as a length of heavy rawhide rope slapped down on the animal’s well-bred rump. The beast took off like a shot, and the lady’s mount plunged after it.

Caleb laughed the way he always did, loud and long. He beat the rawhide against his palm. “Pelado,” he scoffed. “Thinks he’s too good for the likes of us.”

His glance pulled Sim in like a brother’s embrace. Besides Ma, he was the closest thing to real kin Sim had. Except Ma had known she was dying and finally told Sim that he had a pa. One even more important than Caleb’s.

Caleb stopped laughing and gave Sim a hard stare. “What’s wrong with you? Been eatin’ leftovers out of Mowbray’s rubbish heap again?”

Sim averted his face and headed for the nearest alley. He had a lump in his throat, and he was afraid he might start bawling. Bad enough to do it in front of Caleb, but if anyone else saw…

Caleb gripped his arm. “It’s the bitch, ain’t it? What’d she do to you this time?”

“Nothing.” Sim yanked free and strode deep into the alley, where the shadows made him feel safe.

Caleb knocked Sim’s hat off his head. “Liar.” He squinted in Sim’s face. “Your eyes are all red. She hit you?” Sim shook his head and snatched at his hat. Caleb held it just out of his reach. “I know damned well you’d never hit her back, no matter how much she deserves it.”

Sim’s heart balled up into a painful knot. “She don’t deserve nothing anymore,” he said. “She’s dead.”

Caleb whistled. “Damn.” He set Sim’s hat back on his head and gently pressed it in place. “Who told you?”

“Charlie.”

“Figures.” Caleb leaned on the wall and bent one knee, wedging his boot heel against the clapboard. “She didn’t leave you anything, did she?”

Trust Caleb to ask that first. He was the one who usually planned their petty thieveries and moneymaking schemes; there was always some little trinket he coveted, some luxury he just had to have, and his father damned sure wouldn’t give him the cash. Marshall Smith was as tightfisted as they came, at least with his own family. The whole town knew that Mrs. Smith and her son lived like the poorest Mexicans, while the marshall spent what he earned on himself and the pretty puta he kept in a house at the edge of town.

Sometimes Sim wondered if he was better off than Caleb. At least Evelyn hadn’t lectured him about the devil and hellfire all day and night like Mrs. Smith. Sim didn’t have his friend’s big dreams for the future, so he wasn’t disappointed. The only thing he had ever really wanted was forever beyond his reach.

Unless he could find his father.

“You better get to the Rose and make sure your ma didn’t leave anything, or one of the other girls’ll steal it for sure,” Caleb said, kicking the wall. “You have the right to take whatever she had.”

A few rags of clothes too big for a wasted body, paint to hide sunken cheeks, a handful of cheap costume jewelry. Sim wanted none of it. But he would go anyway, to make sure Ma had a decent burial. If she hadn’t saved enough, he would find the money somewhere.

His nose started to run from the effort of holding back the tears. He pulled out a handkerchief with the uneven initials stitched into the threadbare linen—S.W.K. Simeon Wartrace Kavanagh. Ma had sewn the cloth for him two Christmases ago, when she was feeling uncommonly charitable.

He shoved the handkerchief back in his waistcoat. Ma was better off dead than suffering. He’d wished her gone often enough. Hated her more than half the time. Hated what she was and what she could never be.

“Hey,” Caleb said. “I’ll make sure you get what’s coming to you, don’t worry. The ladies know me.” He slapped Sim’s shoulder. “Now you don’t have her to drag you down, you’re free. You can leave this stinking town. We can both get out of here and do all that stuff we talked about.”

“Finding lost mines and buried treasure?” Sim said. The words cracked shamefully.

“Hell, that’s only the beginning. We’ll both be rich before we hit twenty. I swear to you, brother, they’ll all remember our names.”

Caleb would make sure they remembered his. If he couldn’t force his father to pay attention to his misdemeanors around town—broken windows and pilfered store goods, mischief grudgingly permitted the marshall’s son—then he would find some other way of getting the kind of life he wanted. He would never be like his ma, trying to ignore humiliation and poverty by believing worldly goods were the paving stones to hell.

No, Caleb would take everything he could beg, borrow or steal, and he’d never look back.

“C’mon,” Caleb said, pulling at Sim’s faded flannel shirt. “Let’s go put the old bitch in her grave.”

Sim stiffened. “Don’t,” he said softly. “Don’t call her that again, Caleb.”

“Or what?” Caleb laughed. “You remember when we met? You were bawling behind the livery stable because your ma beat you and called you her ruination. She said she’d wished she’d gotten rid of you before you were born.”

“You think I don’t remember?”

“I cried once, when I was six and Ma took a belt to my back to whup the demons out of me. I used it all up then. You still have a little left in you, Sim. Get rid of it. Now the War’s over, there’s fortunes to be made in New Mexico and Arizona Territory. We got to find them lost Spanish mines and Aztec gold before someone beats us to it.” He slapped Sim’s shoulder. “We’re getting the hell out of this town, and we ain’t coming back.”

“There’s something I got to do first.”

“Go find your daddy?”

Sim acted without thinking, seizing the front of Caleb’s shirt. “What do you know about him?”

“I told you, the ladies like me.” Caleb shrugged him off. “Frank MacLean. One of the richest cattlemen in Palo Pinto county. I’m sure he’s just rarin’ to acknowledge his long-lost bastard son—if you really are his son.”

Sim backed away, striking the wall behind him instead of hitting Caleb. “Ma told me to find him. It was one of the last things she said to me. She wouldn’t have lied.”

“Then go. I ain’t gonna stop you. Maybe I’ll even wait around ’til you get some sense knocked into that hard head of yours.”

“Don’t do me any favors.”

“Hey.” Caleb grabbed Sim behind his neck and shook him like a newborn pup. He turned up Sim’s palm to display the lumpy scar made six years ago with a dull knife and an oath meant to last for eternity. “We’re blood brothers. Nothing can change that. So you do what you gotta do, and then we’ll light out of this town so fast even the dust’ll catch fire.”

Sim almost smiled. Caleb was good at painting pictures with his words, making Sim believe anything was possible. Even a whore’s son becoming one of the great MacLeans.

“I gotta go,” Sim said. “If I don’t come back, you’ll know my pa took me in.”

“Or you’re dead,” Caleb said, only half joking. “If they kill you, I’ll avenge you right proper, don’t worry about that.”

Sim pulled his hat brim lower over his eyes. “Why would they kill me?”

But Caleb didn’t have to answer. The MacLeans were rich, and also ruthless in protecting their property and their name. Frank MacLean had never come to see Evelyn after Sim was born. He could snuff out an inconvenient trespasser without attracting the slightest notice from anyone purporting to uphold the law.

Deliberately Sim rolled a cigarette, taking special care with the precious tobacco. Caleb lit it for him and rolled his own. They smoked together in silence. Sim crushed the butt under his boot and set off for the undertaker’s. Caleb went his own way, but Sim knew all he had to do was whistle and Caleb would be there, right at his side.

If Frank MacLean accepted his bastard son, Sim would try to bring Caleb in with him. Sim had never believed in fate, but he knew there were only two ways his life could go. If he didn’t find a place with his father’s family, Caleb would set the course for both of them.

Sim shivered in the afternoon heat and almost crossed himself the way his mother had taught him when he was very young. He didn’t think there were saints or angels in heaven who listened to the prayers of people like him. He wouldn’t try to pray for himself. But there was no one else to pray for her, and so he would go to the church and light a candle and pretend someone could hear him.

“Hey, kid!” Charlie shouted from the boardwalk of the Cock ’n’ Bull Saloon across the street. “She used to be a good lay, your mama.” He lifted the bottle in his hand. “Here’s to all the whores in Texas. May they never—”

He broke off as Sim turned on his heel and strode toward the saloon. His hand slapped at his hip for the gun that wasn’t there, but his expression was weapon enough. Charlie squealed and stumbled through the swinging doors.

Sim’s fingers curled around the invisible butt of his imaginary pistol. He couldn’t afford a gun. Caleb said he had something about him that worked just as well as a loaded six-shooter for scaring people off—when he chose to use it.

He went to the undertaker’s and found that his mother’s “friends” at the Rose had paid for her coffin and burial. He didn’t go to the whorehouse. He had Evelyn’s handkerchief, and that was the only memory of her he wanted to keep.

The next morning he set out for the MacLean spread, perched on a ewe-necked bit of crow bait Ethan Cowell had lent him in exchange for two days’ work mucking out the livery stable stalls. The horse returned to town before he did. The doctor pronounced it a true miracle that Sim survived the beating, let alone made it back to Hat Rock on foot.

When Sim recovered enough to ride, he and Caleb stole horses and gear from the livery stable and rode out of Hat Rock so fast that the dust caught fire.

Sim laughed until even the wind was sated with his tears.

CHAPTER ONE

Cochise County, Arizona Territory, 1881

TALLY HATED TOMBSTONE. She hated its dusty streets lined with saloons and brothels, its crowds of miners and gamblers and cowboys out for a little “fun,” its almost frantic attempts at respectability.

Tombstone reminded Tally of herself. She was as dusty as its streets, as false as the bright facades that lured the naive and reckless into the gambling halls, where fortunes were lost and won every hour of the day and night. She blended right in with the more ordinary class of men, and that was exactly the way she wanted it. No one looked twice at a figure clad in baggy wool trousers and a loose flannel shirt, or a face smudged with dirt under a sweat-stained hat.

Miriam, with her dark skin and simple cotton dress, attracted scarcely more attention, and neither did Federico. People of all races came to the mines or passed through the deserts and mountains of southern Arizona. Tombstone was no longer the mining camp of a few years past but a fully incorporated city of seven thousand souls, with five newspapers, its own railroad depot and a telegraph. There was a whole new world to be won here, a new life to be made by those willing to work—or risk everything for luck.

Tally was willing to work, but luck was definitely not going in her favor. She dodged a heavy wagon loaded with lumber for some new construction at the corner of Second and Fremont streets. The smell of cheap perfume drifted from the nearest cathouse, temporarily overwhelming the stench of horse droppings, whiskey and unwashed clothing.

If André was here, it might take her days to find him. But Tally didn’t know where else to look. Her brother had made arrangements to buy fifty yearlings and two-year-old heifers from a rancher in northern Sulphur Spring Valley, but he should have been back at Cold Creek a week ago. She’d sent Elijah after him at the end of the first week, and now her foreman was missing, as well.

God knew the ranch couldn’t afford to lose any hands in the middle of calving season, even if rustlers had run off with half their stock last winter. Bart and Pablito would make do as best they could, but an old man and a ten-year-old boy didn’t have the time or strength to handle all that needed to be done.

There was a chance that André had met with some mishap. Apache renegades raided American settlements from time to time, and Arizona was an outlaws’ haven. But Tally didn’t believe André had run into that kind of trouble. Far more likely that he’d become distracted by the gambling halls and carnal temptations of Tombstone.

Tally sighed and surreptitiously pulled a handkerchief from her pocket, wiping the dust from her mouth. Miriam, whom Tally wouldn’t think of sending into the saloons, was off buying supplies in the dry goods store while Federico investigated the establishments that catered to the Mexican traders and miners. That left Tally with dozens of saloons and bordellos to visit. She dreaded the brothels most of all.

For that reason as much as any other, she chose Hafford’s Saloon, known for the hundreds of exotic birds painted on its walls rather than for its soiled doves. She walked up to the polished bar and leaned against it like any one of the men.

“What’ll you have?” the bartender asked.

Tally considered her limited supply of coins and ordered the smallest drink she could get away with. “Maybe you can help me,” she said as the barman slapped the shot of whiskey on the counter before her. “I’m looking for my brother— André Bernard. Blond hair, brown eyes, a few inches taller than me. Have you seen him?”

The bartender looked askance under his bushy gray browns. “You just described ’bout a hundred men who passed through here the past couple of days. I can’t remember all of ’em.”

“Then perhaps you’ve seen a black man, very tall….”

“Not as I recall.” He scratched his unkempt beard. “Might ask the faro dealer. He always remembers a face.”

Tally hid her disgust and downed the whiskey. It would affect her a little, but not too much. She’d learned to hold her liquor those first years in New Orleans.

“Listen, boy,” the bartender said with a confidential air of one doing a great good service, “I’d hold off that stuff if I was you. Wait until you’re a mite older. And stay out of Big Nose Kate’s!” He laughed uproariously at his “joke” and slapped the counter so hard that Tally’s empty glass bounced.

A shadow fell over Tally and the bartender. The newcomer seemed very tall in comparison to the stout barkeep—lean and taut with muscle, dressed in the wool pants and coat of a cowman rather than the duds of a miner. His black hat shaded his face, but something in his manner, the way he cocked a hip against the bar and dominated the space around him, alerted Tally’s instinct for danger. She paid for her drink and turned to go.

“Hey,” the bartender said, grabbing her shirtsleeve. “What name should I give if your brother comes looking for you?”

“Tal,” she said, keeping her voice low. “Tal Bernard.”

“Good luck.”

Tally tipped her hat, but he was already serving the tall newcomer. The skin between Tally’s shoulder blades quivered. She walked quickly to the gambling tables and searched out the faro dealer. He looked like a panther about to pounce as she approached, but he was pleasant enough when she explained her mission. A few of the gamblers took pity on the boy and speculated among themselves as the dealer laid the cards on the table.

“I think I seen him,” a miner offered. “About so high, curly yeller hair? Saw him at the roulette wheel over at the Crystal Palace, oh, near ten days ago. You say he’s your brother?”

Tally nodded, her heart sinking to the soles of her boots.

“Don’t think he did too good. Lost a heap o’money. Heard him talk about buying gear and heading into the Chiricahuas to make his fortune.” The miner chuckled. “Poor feller. Looked like he might know something about beeves, but mining…” He shook his head. “I’d ask over at the harness shops and livery stables. He’d’a needed a couple good mules, at the very least.”

Tally thanked the miner and trudged out of the saloon. André must have gone crazy. He knew that money had to go for cattle or the ranch could fail. And he knew less about mining than she did. If he really had gone to the mountains, it was probably because he was too ashamed to face her and had thought up some cockeyed scheme to recoup his losses.

No, André wasn’t crazy, just rash and sometimes thoughtless. She had hoped this time he would prove responsible. She had needed to trust him with the money she’d saved from her marriage, needed him to show that he cared as much about Cold Creek as she did.

She’d expected too much.

Still, reckless or not, André was her brother. He knew what she’d been, and he hadn’t turned his back. He was the only family she had left. Even if all the money was gone, she had to find him and bring him home.

Tally began the wearisome rounds of Tombstone’s numerous corrals, stables and supply stores. By late afternoon she knew that André had indeed bought a pair of mules and all the appropriate gear, and had set off from Tombstone over a week ago. His likely path would take him east, toward the Chiricahuas, but well north of Cold Creek’s little side valley.

Tally muttered a curse she saved for only the worst situations and returned to the stable where she had left the wagon and horses. Miriam and Federico were waiting for her in the shade of the building. Federico looked as though he’d eaten a sour lemon, and Miriam was furiously knitting the shawl she’d begun on the ride to Tombstone. She stopped when she saw Tally.

“Bad news?” she asked softly.

“Bad enough. André gambled the money before he bought any cattle and went back to the mountains with mining gear.”

“Madre de Dios,” Federico muttered.

“Elijah?” Miriam said.

The worry in her voice revealed far more than her dispassionate face. Tally knew how much she cared for Elijah, and he for her. God help the man if he ever made Miriam cry.

“I can’t find any evidence that Elijah was ever in Tombstone,” Tally said.

“He’s been gone a week,” Miriam said, crumpling the shawl between her graceful hands.

“He may be looking for André in the Valley. It’s a big area to cover.” Tally pushed back her hat and blotted the perspiration from her forehead. “We can’t afford a hotel tonight. We’ll sleep in the wagon and decide what to do in the morning—if you don’t mind bedding with the horses, Rico.”

The Mexican shrugged. “What will we do tomorrow, señorita?”

“I can find him for you.”

Tally whirled to face the man from Hafford’s—the one who had made the uncharacteristic shiver race down her spine. His back was to the sun, so she still couldn’t make out his features. But his height was a dead giveaway, and his voice, deep and rough, made her think of dark alleys and smoking guns. He was what the girls at La Belle Hélène used to call a “long, tall drink of water.” Tally’s mouth had suddenly gone very dry indeed.

She held her ground, staring up into the shadows of his eyes under the black hat’s brim. “Who are you?”

“Someone who has what you need.” He angled his head so she could see that the slitted eyes were the palest gray tinted with green, nestled in a web of wrinkles carved by sun and wind. His hair was a brown so dark as to be almost black. No single element of his face could be called handsome, yet the overall effect was one of compelling strength and inner power. Few women would fail to look at him twice.

“You followed me here,” Tally said.

“I heard you was looking for your brother,” he said, glancing over her shoulder at her companions. Federico took a step forward, compelled against his mild nature to assume the role of gallant protector. “Call your man off. I mean you no harm.”

“It’s all right, Rico,” she said, never taking her gaze from the stranger’s. “Why do you think you can help us?”

The man drew closer, crowding Tally up against the wall of the livery. She dodged neatly, keeping her distance. He smelled of perspiration, as everyone did in the desert, but it was not an unpleasant odor. In fact, he smelled different from any man she’d met. He moved easily, smoothly, like a puma or a fox. But he didn’t offer a threat, and if he wore a gun, it was well hidden under his coat.

“My name’s Sim Kavanagh,” the man said. “I heard your brother ran off to the mountains after losing big at the Crystal Palace. They say he’s a tenderfoot who wouldn’t know a pickax from a shovel, so I figured—”

“André’s no tenderfoot. We have a ranch on the other side of Sulphur Spring Valley. He—” She wasn’t about to confess André’s irresponsibility to this man. “He has dreams, sometimes,” she finished awkwardly.

Kavanagh narrowed his eyes. “He’s your older brother? Sounds like you look after him. He gamble away all your money?”

Tally bristled. “What is your interest in my brother, Mr. Kavanagh?”

“I was a scout for the army. I know all the ranges—the Dragoons, Chiricahuas, the Mules. Tracking’s what I do. And right now I need a job.”

His confession startled Tally into silence. A man like this Sim Kavanagh wasn’t the type to admit such a need any more than she was. She examined him more closely. His clothing, though of good quality, was much worn and patched at the seams. He’d been down on his luck for some time…or perhaps he was simply a scoundrel on the run. Surely even an outlaw wouldn’t consider what they had worth stealing.

Federico appeared at her shoulder. “How do we know you are what you say you are, señor? How do we know you are good at what you do?”

Kavanagh shrugged. “I’m willing to take half pay before, half after your brother’s found.”

“I can’t pay much,” Tally said. “You’d do better to look elsewhere for employment.”

“When your belly’s empty,” Kavanagh said, “even a few pesos look pretty damned good. You got supplies?”

This was moving much too fast for Tally. She didn’t trust men. That was the principle tenet of her life. “We can’t be sure he went into the Chiricahuas,” she said. “I sent my foreman to look for him, but he hasn’t returned, either.”

“Soon as I leave town, I’ll be able to tell which direction your brother rode—and your range boss, too, if he was in Tombstone,” Kavanagh said with an offhand conviction that brooked no argument. “Your brother’ll be headed east on the road to Turquoise if he’s making for the Valley. You pay me two dollars now and give me directions to your ranch, and I’ll deliver your brother within the next two weeks.”

Tally laughed. “Two dollars is your idea of half pay?” She turned her back on Kavanagh, and ice ran up and down her spine. Ice like the color of his eyes. “If I hire you, it’s one dollar now and one when you bring André back. Alive.”

Kavanagh also laughed, and the sound wasn’t pretty. “He have a bounty on his head?”

“No. And I might as well tell you that he can’t have much money left himself, so robbing him won’t do you much good. As you said, he can’t tell a shovel from a pickax. If he found anything worth mining, it would be a miracle.”

Federico laid his hand on her arm in warning. Kavanagh barely shifted, but Tally was aware of the tracker’s movement as if he had been the one to touch her.

“You don’t think too highly of me, do you, boy?” he said with a faint smile. “What taught you to be so suspicious so damned young?”

Life, she wanted to answer. And men like you. She turned and met his cold eyes. “I don’t know you,” she said. “I don’t know if anything you say is true. I could spend another day asking around town for references, but I don’t want to lose any more time.”

“I give my word that I’ll do exactly as I say or forfeit the money.”

His word. A man’s word meant as little to her as a snap of her fingers, but Kavanagh’s gaze held so steady that she began to believe him. Those eyes…

She shook her head to clear it. “There’s only one way I’ll hire you, Mr. Kavanagh, and that’s if I go with you.”

“I work alone.”

She ignored him. “Federico, you take Miriam back to the ranch and wait. Maybe Elijah and André will turn up while I’m gone.”

Federico’s black brows furrowed above his brown eyes. “No, seño—no, Mr. Bernard. I will not leave you alone with this man.”

“You don’t think I’m afraid?” She smiled at Kavanagh. “What could Mr. Kavanagh do to me, Rico? Steal a few dollars and my horse?”

Kavanagh snorted. “You ain’t coming with me, boy.”

“I am, or the deal’s off.” She pulled a coin from her wallet and tossed it in the air, catching it in one hand. “One dollar now, one after, and I go with you. Take it or leave it.”

She expected Kavanagh to leave it. She could see in his eyes how little he liked being ordered about, and there was a quiet menace simmering under the calm, cool air he affected. She was a little afraid. If he found out she was a woman—and he very well might, with them traveling together…

Zut. There wasn’t a thing he could do to her that hadn’t been done already. And she had her .44 hidden under her coat. She was prepared to shoot if any man touched her against her will, and the law would be on her side once they knew she was a woman. At least as long as they didn’t know what kind of woman.

“You drive a tough bargain, kid,” Kavanagh said gruffly. “But I’m making one thing clear. If you can’t keep up with me, if you fall behind, you’re on your own, and I still get my money for delivering your brother.”

Tally nodded. “I agree.” She waited to see if he would offer his hand, and when he didn’t, she bucked up her courage and offered hers. “My name’s Tal Bernard.”

He hesitated, then clasped her hand hard enough to squeeze the bones. The feel of his rough skin didn’t repulse her as much as she expected. She pulled her hand away, flexing her fingers behind her back, and tossed him the coin. He caught it so fast that she didn’t even see the gesture.

“We leave at dawn tomorrow,” he said. “You can tell me more while we’re riding.”

“What about supplies?”

“I have my own. You have a bedroll and rations?”

“Enough for a few days.”

“Don’t bring too much. It’ll weigh the horses down.”

“I’ll meet you at the south end of town tomorrow, Mr. Kavanagh. I have business of my own tonight.”

His lip curled in a way that suggested he knew what business she’d be about. “Don’t get too worn out, kid. I ride fast and hard.”

“I’m overwhelmed by your concern,” she said.

He leaned close, and she noted that his breath held not even the slightest taint of alcohol. “You talk mighty pretty, boy. Schooled nice and proper, I’ll bet. But all the fancy education in the world won’t help you out here.”

You’re wrong, she thought. There are certain kinds of education that are invaluable in a place like this. “Dawn. Tomorrow,” she said, dismissing him. “Good night, Mr. Kavanagh.”

He backed away, drawing his hat brim down over his eyes. A moment later he was gone. Tally let out her breath and met Miriam’s gaze.

“What do you think?” she asked her friend.

“Dangerous, for sure, but I think he was telling at least some of the truth.” Miriam looked down the street the way Kavanagh had gone. “You be real careful, Miss Tally. Real careful.”

“It is not good,” Federico put in.

“It has to be done. You know I won’t take any chances.”

“No chances,” Federico grumbled. “Ay, Dios!”

“You just see that Miriam gets back to Cold Creek.”

“I’ll pray for you and Mr. André,” Miriam said. And Elijah, but she didn’t need to say it.

“Thank you, Miriam.” Tally went to see the stable owner about staying the night and checked on the horses. She, Miriam and Federico shared fresh bread Miriam had bought at the bakery and a wedge of cheese, along with the jerky they’d brought from Cold Creek. Federico bedded down in a pile of clean straw, while Miriam and Tally lay rolled in blankets in the wagon bed.

At cockcrow the next morning, Federico harnessed the wagon horses. He and Miriam set out on the rough fifty-mile ride home, while Tally took Muérdago, her roan, and rode to the southern edge of town.

Kavanagh was waiting for her. He looked like Death himself, silhouetted against the lightening sky, the rolling, scrubby hills and mountains behind him. Tally hesitated only a moment and then urged Muérdago to join him.

She had a feeling that she would need every prayer Miriam could send her way.

CHAPTER TWO

SIM WATCHED THE SLENDER RIDER trot up the hill, admiring her graceful posture and firm seat. He didn’t make a habit of admiring women—with one notable exception—but he had to give this one credit for the guts to pose as a man and the skill to pull it off.

Of course he’d known she was female the moment he stood beside her at Hafford’s Saloon, and that was after he’d heard someone named Bernard was searching for a brother called André. He’d followed her at a distance through the streets of Tombstone, waiting for the right moment to get closer and hear the full story. It seemed too lucky that he’d located his prey so easily, but here she was, just where Caleb had told him to look.

Caleb had mentioned that André had a sister who’d lived with him in Texas, but nothing Caleb said had suggested she was vital to Sim’s mission. What was her name…? Chantal. A handle as fancy as her speech. He rolled the name around his tongue, disliking the taste of it. He preferred the name she’d given herself: Tal.

He didn’t trouble himself wondering why she disguised her sex. She gave off a powerful impression of fearlessness—even he had been hard pressed to sense her unease—but she must be pretty damned afraid of something. Afraid, and yet confident enough to keep anyone from looking too close at what lay beneath the mask.

He had a suspicion that she cleaned up a lot nicer than her outward appearance indicated. Her features under the grime were strong but just a little too delicate for a boy, her lips full, her eyes the color of coffee lightened with fresh cream and flecked with crystals of sugar. She must have a figure under those baggy clothes. But she was only a means to an end, unimportant to him except as a guide to André.

Likely she didn’t know anything about the map or she would be a helluva lot more suspicious than she was. She didn’t have any idea why André would have gone into the Chiricahuas outfitted for prospecting. But if André had told her about the treasure, Sim would learn soon enough. Meanwhile, he would let her keep pretending as long as it served his purpose.

He nodded to her as she drew her mount alongside Diablo. A wisp of blond hair had escaped from under her hat, the strand no longer than a boy’s might be. She tucked it back with a gesture both artless and impatient. Her roan sidled, and Diablo snapped at the gelding’s flank.

“Your horse has an unpleasant disposition,” she remarked.

“Just like me,” he said. “You ready?”

“Lead on.”

He turned toward the east and broke Diablo into a gallop, racing down the slope of the dusty miners’ road pointing toward the Dragoons. Diablo had something to prove and lit full out, leaving Tal and her gelding to choke on his dust. But she was game for the contest. In a few minutes her roan was neck and neck with Diablo. What Sim glimpsed of Tal’s profile was grimly unamused. When Diablo had worked out a little of his spite, Sim reined him in and slowed to a steady lope.

Tal flashed him a smile edged with anger. “Trying to get rid of me already?” she said, breathing hard. “Or was that just a test?”

“That’s up to you.” He noticed that her hat had blown back a little ways. She caught his look and jammed it forward.

“Now tell me about your brother,” he said.

She blinked at his sudden change of subject. “What else do you need to know?”

“How familiar is he with the mountains?”

“Our ranch is in the foothills near the south end of the range, in Cold Creek Valley, between the Chiricahuas and the Liebres.”

Which meant she and her brother were squatters on land they hoped to claim once the southern Sulphur Spring Valley was surveyed and opened for homesteading under the U.S. land laws. Until they could claim it legally, they had to hold their spread against all comers, including the rustlers who swarmed over the Valley like lice in a miner’s beard. Sim’s respect for Tal increased.

“This is the first time your brother has shown any interest in looking for ore?” he asked.

“When we lived in Texas, he spoke of getting rich in Arizona Territory. I never—” She paused, darting Sim a wary glance. “I said he was a dreamer.”

“And apt to go off half-cocked.”

Her lips set in a straight line. “He’s young.”

“You ain’t?”

She shrugged.

“What was he doing in Tombstone?”

“I don’t know. He was supposed to be in the Valley, buying stock for the ranch.”

“Doesn’t sound like you should have trusted him.”

She shot him a cold look. “You’re not here to judge André, Mr. Kavanagh, only to find him.”

Sim scratched the day’s growth of new beard on his chin. Tal was defensive about her brother but still naive enough to lead a stranger right to him. She honestly didn’t believe André had anything worth stealing. She valued him more highly than he deserved, and Sim couldn’t figure out why.

“Your brother’s a drinking man,” he said.

“Isn’t everyone?”

The disdain in her voice almost gave her away. “You talk like an abstainer,” he said. “But I saw you take a drink in Hafford’s.”

“I think better when I’m sober.”

“So do I. But from what they say in Tombstone, your brother talks when he drinks. That ain’t a wise habit in this country. It’s a good thing he don’t have nothing to hide…except from you.”

“He was ashamed to come home without the money. That’s all.”

“You sure he planned to come back?”

“I’m sure.” But her voice had a little crack in it. She wasn’t nearly as sure about anything as she let on. She would ride her heart out to prove herself Sim’s equal, but under that tough skin was a weakness he intended to exploit.

He wondered how she would handle their first night together. They would have to make at least one camp between here and the Chiricahua foothills.

“What about this foreman of yours? He any good as a tracker?”

“Elijah was with the Tenth Cavalry, so he has the skill for it. He may very well still be looking in the Valley.”

“But you want me to concentrate on your brother.”

“Elijah can take care of himself.”

Which meant André couldn’t. That fit with everything Sim had heard so far.

Once they were well away from the overwhelming scents of Tombstone, Sim dismounted. “You got anything on you that belongs to your brother?” he asked.

She stared down at him, perplexed. “No. Why?”

“Never mind.” Sim knelt close to the earth. A hundred horses, mules, oxen and men on foot had passed this way. He located a pair of mules’ prints accompanied by the boot marks of a single man.

Sim gathered a pinch of dust and held it to his nostrils. The dirt was infused with a faint but distinct scent that linked this traveler with the woman riding beside him.

“What are you looking for?” Tal asked.

He didn’t bother giving her an answer she wouldn’t understand. “Your brother came this way,” he said, mounting again. “He probably passed through Turquoise. We’ll stop there next.”

He rode a little ahead of Tal to get her smell out of his nose. The ground began to rise, and the trail turned south to loop around the tail end of the Dragoons. Seventeen miles without shade on a road with so many twists, hills and dips was hardly a pleasant jaunt, especially in the growing heat of the day, but Tal didn’t complain. She drank sparingly from her canteen like an experienced desert traveler. Even Sim was glad to catch sight of the Chiricahuas when they finally reached Turquoise.

He knew that Indians had once dug the bright blue rock out of these mountains, but white men were far more interested in the lead, silver and copper they’d found a few years back. The hills were scarred with recent excavation and the discarded trash of human activity. The camp itself was no more than a series of tumbledown shacks, sufficient for the bachelor miners’ stark way of life.

One of the shacks was a makeshift saloon of sorts, indicated by the crudely drawn sketch of a bottle on the door. Sim tied his horse to the hitching post and went inside.

The proprietress was a blowsy woman of early middle age and probably the only female within a ten mile radius—possibly the wife of one of the miners, more likely a willing companion to any who could pay. Her establishment was empty of clients. Flies buzzed lazily near the warped tin ceiling. Sim dropped a coin on the long, poorly fashioned table that served as a bar.

“How’s business?” he asked.

The woman, whose rouged cheeks were the only bit of color in a face hard and gray as granite, looked him up and down. “Maybe better than it was,” she said. She put a shot glass of whiskey down in front of him. The door creaked behind Sim, and Tal walked in.

“You boys lookin’ to stake a claim? Ready Mary can help you get started, get you everything you need. Even a little fun.” She leered at Sim, and he shoved the whiskey back at her. She drank it herself. “No, you ain’t no miner. On your way to more important business, I’d say.” She winked at Tal over Sim’s shoulder. “Now he don’t look as if he’s done much riding at all. I’ll give you a good price, cowboy. And half of that for his turn in the saddle.” She laughed hoarsely until she realized that Sim wasn’t smiling.

Sim glanced back at Tal. It was difficult to tell if she was blushing under the dust and the tan, but he couldn’t mistake the pity in her eyes. Pity for this dried-up husk of a female, who was probably stuck out here because she couldn’t compete with the younger whores in Tombstone.

“We’re looking for someone,” Tal said before Sim could reply. “Maybe he passed this way.” She described her brother as she had before, but she wouldn’t meet the older woman’s avaricious gaze.

“Yeah, I saw someone fitting that description,” Ready Mary said, leaning forward to display the sagging bounty of her bosom.

“Did he say anything?” Sim asked, ignoring the view she offered.

“Well, that depends. He did a bit of drinking—not that he looked liked he’d gone thirsty too long.” She wiped out the glass with a dirty towel and hummed under her breath.

Sim plopped down another coin. “What did he say?”

Ready Mary batted her eyelashes. “Well, it was some days back, and my place was crowded—when the miners come down they need their entertainment….”

Sim slapped his palm on the table. The woman jumped and nearly dropped the glass. She glanced at Sim’s eyes. “Well, he…he wasn’t making much sense. He was talking about someplace called Castillo Canyon, on the west side of the Cherrycows. He was all outfitted up, but everyone knows there ain’t no mines there.”

“Castillo Canyon?” Sim repeated, holding her with his stare.

“Y-yes.” She swallowed, and the sagging flesh of her neck quivered. “What did he do to you, mister?”

“He’s my brother,” Tal said, grabbing Sim’s arm. “Come on, Kavanagh.”

Sim let himself be led more out of shock than cooperation. Once outside the saloon he pried her fingers from his arm and led his horse to the nearest trough, clearing away the scum with a sweep of his hand. Tal’s horse dipped his nose in the opposite end of the trough, wary of Diablo.

“Never do that again,” Sim said quietly.

“What?”

“Touch me like that. Drag me around.”

“You didn’t have to threaten that woman.”

“That whore? She would’ve robbed you blind if she could.” He pulled Diablo away from the water. “What made you think I was threatening her?”

Tal stroked her horse’s neck. “Not with words. But she was terrified of you.” Tal glanced at him sideways. “The way you looked at her… Do you dislike all women, or just a particular type?”

Sim snickered. “What d’you know about women, boy?”

Tal tightened the gelding’s cinch and mounted. “I had a mother,” she said softly. “I’ll ask you to behave with courtesy and decency as long as you’re in my employ. Even to whores.”

Sim swung up to Diablo’s back. So she expected decency, did she? Was the tough, capable shell a front as false as her male disguise? Let her put on some fancy frock and she’d probably want him to bow and scrape like some dandy from back East.

She would get quite a shock when she realized he saw right through her. He was looking forward to that moment.

“I thought you said you lived in Texas,” he said.

“Is that important?”

“Most Texans I know ain’t quite so delicate in their ways. But then, you had an education.”

She chose to disregard his mockery. “You were born in Texas yourself, weren’t you?”

“You wouldn’t know the town. Whereabouts did you live?”

Immediately she became guarded. “We had a place in Palo Duro country.”

She clearly didn’t want to continue on that subject. Sim whistled a few introductory notes and then began to sing.

“Well I come from Alabamy with my banjo on my knee, I’m goin’ to Lou’siana, my true love for to see.” He grinned at Tal’s dubious expression. “Lou’siana.”

“What?”

“That’s where you were born.”

She frowned. “You hear it in my speech.”

“Like I said, I’ve been all over.”

She considered that with a thoughtful tilt of her head. “You are too young to have fought in the war.”

“So’re you.”

“I saw what it did to people on both sides.”

“Is that why you left Texas?”

“My brother saw promise in this country,” she said. “He imagined what it could become.”

A dreamer, just like Caleb. Looking for something he couldn’t see with his eyes, never content with what he had right in front of him. Always wanting more.

And exactly how are you different from either one of them?

Sim spurred ahead. Tal caught up, and they left Turquoise and the Dragoons behind them. To the east rose the Chiricahuas, a range of peaks extending north to south across the horizon. The grassy expanse of Sulphur Spring Valley spread almost unbroken for over twenty miles, but Castillo Canyon was nearly another twenty miles north once they’d crossed the plain. Sim didn’t intend to push the horses too hard when they’d soon be facing much harsher terrain in the mountains.

Grass grew high where water collected in the draw down the center of the valley. A few hardy ranchers squatted on the richest land beside springs and creeks. Sim knew that the infamous McLaury gang had their own spread near Soldier’s Hole, but he and Tal had no cause to pass that way.

“We’ll make camp at Squaretop Hills,” he said, indicating the cluster of buttes rising up from the valley some fifteen miles to the northeast. “There should be water there for the horses.”

He watched Tal carefully, noting the slight stiffening of her shoulders and the jut of her chin. She didn’t suggest that they stop at one of the squatter’s holdings or the few more established ranches between here and the mountains.

“Do you know Castillo Canyon?” she asked.

“I know where it is,” he said. “It’s long and deep, cuts right into the high rocks. Hundreds of spires and pinnacles like towers on a castle. That’s what gave the canyon its name.”

Tal glanced at him with raised brows. “You have some poetry in you, Mr. Kavanagh.”

He almost gave in to the urge to spit. “The whore—the lady—in Turquoise was right. Ain’t no mining up there, at least not on the west slope. Anything else in the canyon that might interest your brother?”

“Not that I know of. I’ve heard there are settlers there—a family by the name of Bryson. I haven’t met them.”

“If your brother went that way, they might have seen him.”

She nodded, lost in her own thoughts. They left the dwindling trail and rode across washes and gullies, past occasional beeves grazing on the yellowing grama, threeawn and bunchgrass that thrived in the valley. The dry season was on Arizona Territory, but Sim sensed rain coming in the days ahead. With any luck, it wouldn’t fall until he had André Bernard right under his nose.

The shadows were growing long when they reached Squaretop Hills. Sim chose a campsite partially shielded by a thick growth of mesquite and unsaddled Diablo. Tal saw to her own horse while Sim sniffed out water running just under a dry creek bed.

He dug out a basin and let the horses drink. Once they’d been rubbed down and staked out for the night, Sim went hunting. He shot a brace of cottontails and brought them back to camp, where Tal had already gathered brush for a small fire. Once again he was grudgingly compelled to admire her practicality, no matter how schoolmarmish she could be when the notion struck her.

Damn all women. Most weren’t worth the confusion they inevitably brought with their presence. But as he began to skin the rabbits, he remembered why he’d looked forward to this night.

He tossed the bloodied animals to Tal. They flopped into the dirt beside the new-made fire, and she gave a little jump. Sim smothered a grin of satisfaction.

“I got our supper,” he said. “You cook ’em.”

She picked up one of the carcasses and examined it with a critical eye. “Not much, is it?” she said. “Well, I’m not very hungry, myself.”

Sim shot to his feet. “How many do you want?”

“I said I’m not hungry.” She drew a knife and set to work without the slightest sign of squeamishness.

He went to stand over her, hands on hips. “Never heard of any boy who wasn’t always hungry.”

She wrinkled her nose, sniffed and waved at the air as if she’d smelled something distasteful, and after a moment he realized that her broad gestures were aimed in his direction. “Some things can spoil even the healthiest appetite.”

“You ain’t exactly a nosegay yourself,” he snapped. “If you only knew how bad humans—” He broke off in consternation and quickly recovered. “Would you get your appetite back if I washed up, Bernard?” He yanked off his neckerchief, shed his buckskin jacket and unbuttoned his waistcoat. “I found a little water that ain’t too muddy. You scrub my back, and I’ll scrub yours.”

The anticipated blush turned her face pink under its layer of dust. “That won’t be necessary.” She focused her attention on the rabbits. “You can make yourself useful by rigging a spit—that is, of course, if you have an appetite.”

“A man on the trail takes what he can get—even if it ain’t the sort of meat he prefers.”

Her knife slipped, and he wondered if she’d guessed that he had seen through her masquerade. Sim rigged the spit as requested, letting her do the rest. He leaned back on his elbows a little way from the fire and studied her as night fell over the valley. The moon and stars had the peculiar effect of softening Tal’s features, breaching her disguise more effectively than the brightest sunlight.

She knew he was watching her, but she pretended to be oblivious. “Your supper is ready,” she said, stepping back from the fire. “I’ll be with the horses.”

“You prefer their company to mine?”

She braced her hands on her hips and stared him down. “I don’t have to explain myself to you, Kavanagh. Is that clear enough?”

Sim grinned, showing all his teeth. “Very clear, hombre.” He crouched by the fire and tore into the meat with gusto. When he’d finished one of the rabbits, he took a tin plate and seldom-used fork from his saddlebags, rinsed them in a freshly dug water hole, and sliced off steaming chunks of meat from the second carcass. He piled them on the plate and went in search of Tal.

She never heard him approach. She’d laid her bedding next to the mesquite where the horses were picketed and now sat cross-legged on the blankets, her hat beside her, raking her fingers through her mass of tangled flaxen hair. It wasn’t as short as Sim had imagined, for she wore it in tight braids that fit under the crown of her hat. She had a female’s natural vanity after all.

Sim crouched and breathed in the woman-smell of her body. He’d lied when he suggested that she needed a bath. There was nothing unpleasant about her scent. Damn near the opposite. She smelled like a natural female—real and warm, like Esperanza, but different….

The memory of Esperanza cleared his head in a hurry. He set down the plate where even a human would find it and retreated as silently as he’d come. He walked around to the side of the hill, shucked his clothes and Changed.

Even after so many times, he still marveled at the miraculous novelty of the transformation from man to wolf. It was good to run free—free in a way he’d never understood before he accepted his MacLean blood, free as no human could comprehend. Stronger than either man or ordinary wolf, containing the best of both in one agile and powerful body.

He shook his thick brown coat and twitched his large, mobile ears. He raced across the valley floor, rattling the dry grasses and leaping waxy-leaved creosote and saltbush. Wind sang in his fur. Mice scurried under his broad feet, and a startled cow with a young calf stoutly turned to face him as if she could drive him away with her lowered horns and snorts of alarm.

He left her alone. He wasn’t after prey this night, and when he hunted cattle it was for some gain other than the filling of his belly. Not that the wolf had ever brought him any profit but this…this shedding of human law, human conscience, human desire.

He opened his senses to their almost painful limits, heard the frantic heartbeats of quail in their nests and smelled the musk of an angry skunk. He sifted one scent from the next and found the place where André Bernard had made camp a few nights ago. The man’s trail joined the wagon road that ran parallel to the Chiricahua foothills.

Sim circled back to Squaretop Hills and resumed his human shape and coverings. He washed his face at the water hole and spread his blankets under the open sky.

He was still wide awake when Tal approached, heavy-footed like all humans but more graceful than most. He heard her crouch several feet away, felt her study him as he’d watched her before, with a bewilderment he sensed like a hum behind his eyes.

“You’re awake?” she asked.

He rolled over to face her, resting his chin on his folded arms. “I don’t sleep much.”

She nodded as if that fact were of little surprise to her. Her hat brim cast her face in shadow, but he could see the gleam of her eyes.

“You didn’t have to do it,” she said in a low voice. “The food, I mean. I can take care of myself.”

“Not if you’ll pass up a fresh meal on the trail,” he said. He sat up, scraping hair out of his face. “You ate it?”

“Yes.” She set his cleaned plate and fork in the grass, staying out of reach. “I just came…to thank you.”

Those words came hard to her, just about as hard as they did to him. He’d thanked maybe half a dozen people in his life, if that. Never for something so small.

“Go to bed,” he said. “I’ll watch.”

She retreated awkwardly. He heard her lie down and toss and turn on her blankets, trying to get comfortable. He didn’t think it was because she was too delicate for the unyielding ground. Something about her scent had changed, and he knew instinctively what it was.

Until now, she’d regarded him as a temporary employee and treated him like one. She’d been aware he was a man about the same way any female would be, sizing him up without even realizing it, cool and objective. But somewhere between his banter about the bathing and her accepting the food he brought, she’d started looking at him different. Not so objective. Not anywhere near so cool.

His body stirred in spite of itself, and he cursed softly. So what if she was interested? She would never admit it. She had some stake in playing the boy, and no reason whatsoever to act on her impulses, given that he was a stranger and she wanted to keep her respectability.

André Bernard had been something less than respectable in Texas. Tal must have known that their ranch in the Palo Duro was a haven for rustlers, but she didn’t seem the type to approve of such illegal activities. She made plenty of excuses for André Bernard, but she hadn’t been running the Texas spread.

Sim flung his hand over his eyes. Why was he making excuses for her? He didn’t give a damn one way or the other, and nothing would come of some fleeting attraction that was about as meaningful as a bull and heifer rutting in a field.

That was all it ever was to him—rutting. Drop your pants and thank you, ma’am. They were always whores, and he always hated himself when it was finished.

He’d only stop hating himself when he took Esperanza in proper marriage, touched that unsullied skin and knew she accepted him. Needed him. Loved him.

Tonight he would dream only of Esperanza. But as he slipped into that netherworld of shades and memories, he saw Esperanza dressed in a soiled dove’s garish plumage, turning from Sim with disgust in her eyes. It was Tal Bernard, in robes of virgin white, who held out her arms to welcome him home.

CHAPTER THREE

TALLY BRACED HERSELF on the saddle horn like a raw-faced tenderfoot, trying to stay awake. She’d slept miserably last night, and not because of the meal Kavanagh had foisted on her. It wasn’t the first time she’d eaten game roasted over an open fire, and once she’d decided to accept Kavanagh’s “gift,” she’d been glad for the hearty sustenance after a long day’s ride.

It would be more accurate to say that the man himself was the source of her sleeplessness. God knew she hadn’t expected him to go out of his way to feed her…and of course she’d wondered with every bite how much he’d seen when he’d left the plate at her bedside.

She sneaked a glance at him from under the brim of her hat. He hadn’t shown any new awareness last night or this morning. He still treated her with an offhand indifference that sometimes bordered on contempt, just as she would expect a man like him to behave toward someone he clearly regarded as an overeducated, untried boy.

She’d been careful to pin up every stray lock of hair and powder her face with a fresh coating of dust when they broke camp early that morning. Kavanagh, on the other hand, had washed his face and combed out his dark hair, almost as if he’d taken to heart her rude comments about unpleasant odors.

Ever since she’d met him, Tally had been on the defensive. He hadn’t threatened her in any way, but she felt the need to keep proving herself, striking before he struck. And that was absurd, especially when he scarcely bothered with conversation and seemed content to ignore her most of the time. He hadn’t spoken after breakfast except to confirm that André had followed the road running north from Turkey Creek to Castillo Canyon.

Yet she knew he was watching her. Maybe he’d guessed her secret and was only waiting for a chance to expose it. But if he could sneak up on her as easily as he had last night, why wait? Perhaps he was simply not interested in the truth, one way or the other.

Dieu du ciel, she should be down on her knees in gratitude that he was so indifferent.

A meadowlark called from the grassland to the east. Tally cleared her throat. Kavanagh glanced at her and away again, turning his head toward the Chiricahua foothills. The mountains seemed an impenetrable wall from the valley, but Tally knew they were riddled with arroyos and streams that shrank to trickles in the spring, drawing abundant wildlife to the shallow pools left behind. Birds of brilliant plumage flashed like jewels in the darkness of the forest. Wolves and pumas roamed the highlands as once the Apaches had done. Miners might dig and scour the earth for precious metals, but the few settlers who’d made homes in the canyons had so far done little to alter the pristine world the Indians had been forced to abandon.

André wouldn’t notice the beauty of this land. The promise he saw lay only in the profit to be had.

“Petit fou,” she muttered.

“That’s French, ain’t it?”

Tally welcomed the rough sound of his voice even when it drowned the lark’s melodious song. “It is a common enough language in Louisiana.”

“I hear it’s useful for swearing.”

She laughed in spite of herself. He cast her an unreadable look. She wondered if her voice had gone too high and quickly stifled her incongruous amusement.

“Teach me,” he said.

“What?”

“We got another ten miles’ ride to Castillo Creek,” he said. “I figure that ought to be good for a few cuss words.”

“I can’t imagine that a man like you needs that kind of instruction.”

“And what kind of instruction do I need, boy?” He snickered at her silence and flicked the ends of his reins across his muscular thighs. “You know, when we met in Tombstone, I thought maybe you had more experience than your looks suggested. But Ready Mary…like most whores, she has an eye for easy prey. You’ve never been with a woman, have you?”

He didn’t know. Tally swallowed a sigh of relief. “What business is that of yours?”

He shrugged. “Let me give you a bit of advice, hombre. Stay out of saloons and whorehouses. When you find your brother, stick to that little rancho of yours and never trust anyone who offers you a free ride.”

“Is that a warning drawn from personal experience?”

An ominous hush fell about him, like a calm before the storm. “Everything costs. You don’t get nothin’ without paying for it.”

“What makes you dislike women so much, Mr. Kavanagh?”

“I only ever met one female who could be trusted as far as a man can spit, and…” His voice softened almost to a whisper. “She’s more angel than woman.”

“What is her name?”

“Esperanza.”

Tally’s throat tightened at the awe and tenderness in his words. “Is she the one you love?”

He jerked back on the reins, and his stallion snorted in protest. Kavanagh muttered an apology to the horse and glared at Tally. “I don’t talk about her.”

“You just did.”

“Ya basta.”

“As you wish.” She rode a little ahead and felt his stare burn into her back like a red-hot brand. She could hardly believe that a man like Kavanagh could love anyone. But there had been no mistaking the look in his eyes and the sound of his voice. She wondered what kind of paragon could win such devotion…and how an angel could love him in return.

Tally knew there were no angels on earth, male or female. In her two years of marriage to Nathan Meeker, she had met ambitious society ladies who aspired to perfection. They had all fallen prey to their very human weaknesses. No one understood such weaknesses better than Chantal Bernard.

She wondered how long it would take Kavanagh to realize that his angel had feet of clay instead of wings.

They rode on to the wide mouth of Castillo Canyon, where Castillo Creek had carved a wedge out of the hillside and opened up a lovely side valley dotted with oaks. Cattle lifted their heads to note the intruders and returned to their placid grazing. Grama grass gave way to sedges and rushes in the wet meadow near the creek bed and spring. Kavanagh made for the ciénaga, and the two horses picked up their feet in anticipation of sweet fresh water.

The welcome shade of sycamore, ash, walnut and cottonwood spilled over Tally’s shoulders like a balm. Brightly colored birds flitted from tree to tree. Dragonflies skimmed across pools in the rocky bed.

Kavanagh dismounted, filled the canteens with the water bubbling up from the spring and briefly closed his eyes as if he felt the healing spirit of the place as much as Tally did. “Two mules stopped here in the past few days,” he said.

“Then we can’t be too far behind André,” Tally said, joining Sim beside the spring. “The Brysons’ cabin should be a little farther up the canyon.”

Sim tossed Tally her canteen and drank from his own. He wiped his lips with the back of his hand. “We’ll camp here tonight.”

“We still have hours of daylight left.”

“Better to get a fresh start in the morning. It’s rough country up there, on horseback or afoot.”

Tally gazed up at the wooded peaks of the mountains. They were much more imposing at the northern end of the range than near Cold Creek. “If you’re worried about me, there is no need. I can keep up.”

“Maybe.” Kavanagh wet his neckerchief and scrubbed the sweat from his face. “You gonna take your bath now, or wait to see if these Brysons have a washtub?”

“Don’t worry, Mr. Kavanagh. I’ll be sure to stay downwind of you.”

Without any warning, he dipped his hand in the pool, scooped water in his palm and sent it flying at Tally. She fell back on her rump with a cry of surprise, runnels of cool liquid sliding down the back of her collar and making mud of the dust on her face.

“There’s a start,” he said.

She recovered in an instant, ready to return fire. But he moved quick as a fox, jumping up from the bank and putting the pale trunk of a sycamore between him and her watery missiles.

Tally was too astonished to continue. Kavanagh was playing. It simply wasn’t possible. He was laughing at her the way a boy would, treating her like a companion. A friend. And that didn’t fit in any way with the Kavanagh she had begun to know.

As abruptly as he’d begun, Kavanagh ended the game. He stepped out from behind the sycamore, caught Diablo and swung into the saddle just as if the strange interlude had never happened. Tally knew that if she made anything of it, he would stare her down with that icy gaze and act as if she were the crazy one.

They left the magical sanctuary and rode on deeper into the canyon. The grassland oaks were dropping their leaves as they did every spring, conserving life for the hot days ahead. Mesquite trees on the hillsides hung heavy with yellow catkins. Turkey vultures circled lazily in a bright blue sky, portending death.

Tally shivered. André was not dead. She broke Muérdago into a trot and led the way between steeper slopes clothed with pines at their tops. The meadow narrowed, and soon Tally caught sight of a fence through the trees.

The Bryson cabin was small, built of logs hewn from the forest instead of the adobe often seen on the plain or nearer the border. A corral held a few calves, while a shedlike barn stood ready for weary horses. Chickens scratched beside a lopsided coop.

The first sign of human life was a slender girl of fifteen or sixteen hanging laundry to dry on a line. She gave a little cry of surprise when she saw the approaching riders, smoothed her calico skirt and raced inside the cabin. A few moments later a much older woman, stout and plain, came out the front door. The girl followed her.

Tally dismounted and led Muérdago the rest of the way, touching the brim of her hat in greeting. “Good afternoon,” she said. “You would be Mrs. Bryson?”

“That I am.” The woman shaded her eyes and looked toward Kavanagh. “Welcome. This is my daughter, Beth. Mr. Bryson is up in the canyon, but if you boys would care to take some refreshment…”

“Thank you, ma’am. That’s most kind.” Tally heard the faint brush of Sim’s steps behind her and stood a little straighter. “My name is Bernard—Tal Bernard. This is Mr. Kavanagh. We’ve come from Tombstone, looking for my brother André. Have you by any chance seen a light-haired young man with two mules passing this way?”

“My goodness,” the woman said, gathering her apron between her hands. “We do see a few miners and lumbermen, though most are on the other side of the mountains. Tombstone, you say? We usually go to Willcox for supplies.”

“I saw him,” Beth said. “Mother was in the barn tending Daisy when he rode by. Father invited him to stay, but he was in a hurry, like someone was chasing him.” She regarded Tally and Sim with bright, curious blue eyes. “Why are you looking for him? Are you really his brother?”

“That’s enough of that,” Mrs. Bryson said. “Go inside, Beth, and make up a fresh pot of coffee. You boys will want to rest a bit and talk to Mr. Bryson. I expect him back any time now.”

Tally glanced at Kavanagh, whose face was devoid of expression. “We’re grateful, ma’am,” she said.

“Then see to your mounts and come on in. If you’ll excuse me, I have a pot on the stove.” She bobbed her head and bustled back through the door.

“It’s a good thing we ain’t outlaws,” Kavanagh muttered, passing Tally with Diablo in tow.

“Hospitality is the custom in the Territory,” Tally said. “Most people welcome visitors.”

“You better hope you don’t get more hospitality than you bargained for.”

He moved ahead before she could ask him what he meant. She followed him into the barn, empty of occupants save for a lone milk cow. Tally stripped Muérdago of his tack and treated him to a measure of oats from her saddlebags. Sim did the same with Diablo.

Beth arrived at the barn door, breathless and flushed. “Mother wanted me to tell you…supper’s almost ready. Father should be here any moment.” Her gaze darted from Tally to Kavanagh. “Mother also wanted…will you be…?” Her flush deepened. “We can heat water if you want to wash up.”

Kavanagh gave a bark of laughter. Tally imagined how nice it would be to have a mule’s hind leg for just long enough to give him a good swift kick in the posterior.

“That’s very generous of you, miss,” Tally said. “But we won’t impose. We’d planned to keep riding until—”

“Mother wouldn’t hear of it,” the girl said with some spirit. “Neither will Father. We have an extra room we keep for my brother, George. He’s in the army.” Her pretty face took on a wistful cast. “Will you tell me about Tombstone, Mr. Bernard?”

Tally’s stomach chose that moment to rumble like a steam engine. “Well, I…”

Beth turned toward the door and looked back expectantly.

Tally saw no way out. The Brysons clearly intended to make the most of their unexpected guests. They wouldn’t only insist on providing a meal and a clean bed, but they would also ask a hundred questions about the doings in Tombstone and throughout the Valley. Tally would have to maintain her disguise under the most trying of circumstances…and then there was the problem of Sim Kavanagh. Beth had mentioned only one extra room.

In her heart, Tally knew she couldn’t keep up the masquerade forever, nor could she continue to hide at Cold Creek, avoiding contact with the other homesteaders. Safety was an illusion. Sooner or later someone would discover that the younger Bernard brother was female. Maybe it was time to drop the pretense.

But not just yet. Not while she rode with Sim Kavanagh.

She followed Beth into the house, half listening for Kavanagh’s panther-soft tread. Her own boot heels clicked on the smooth puncheon floor. The scent of simmering meat and vegetables filled the cabin’s central room, which contained both the kitchen and a parlor with a fireplace. The parlor boasted an overstuffed sofa that must have been brought by train from the East, ruling grandly over the more humble homemade chairs and parlor table. A colorful quilt hung on one wall.

“I hope that venison stew suits you,” Mrs. Bryson said from the stove, pushing damp hair from her forehead with the back of her hand. “Please, sit down.”

Tally sat in one of the chairs at the dining table between the kitchen and parlor, admiring the braided rag rug that covered much of the floor. Kavanagh stalked in a slow circle like a beast in a cage.

Beth rushed into the room with a pitcher, spilling water on the kitchen floor. “Father’s home,” she announced. Kavanagh paused by the fireplace and lifted his head, nostrils flared.

“He always knows when supper’s ready,” Mrs. Bryson said with an indulgent laugh. She opened the stove’s heavy door and pulled out a pan of biscuits, perfectly browned. “Get the butter, Beth.”

The girl hurried to obey, and a few moments later a big man with salt-and-pepper hair strode into the cabin. His face was damp, and he wore much-patched but clean clothing, as if he’d made some effort to make himself presentable for his guests. Tally got to her feet and took his offered hand.

“Miles Bryson,” he said, nearly crushing her fingers. “Glad to have you, Mr. Bernard.” He looked over her shoulder. “Mr. Kavanagh.”

Sim nodded without moving from his place by the hearth. Tally smiled all the wider. “I hope we aren’t putting you to too much trouble, Mr. Bryson.”

“Not at all.” He released Tally’s aching hand, joined his wife by the stove and gave her a hug about the shoulders. “Mrs. Bryson loves to show off her cooking.”

“Now, Miles.” She feigned affront, but her eyes gleamed with pleasure. Beth arrived with the butter and began to set the table. The plates were china, chipped but lovingly preserved from some former, more genteel home. Soon the table was piled high with a crock of savory stew, a plate of biscuits and a steaming pot of coffee.

Kavanagh still hadn’t moved, and Tally was about to risk calling him when he sat down next to her. Bryson took the head of the table, and once Beth and Mrs. Bryson had finished their serving duties, they sat in two of the three remaining chairs.

Bryson bowed his head, and his family did the same. Sim stared at the ceiling. Tally lowered her eyes to the table’s painstakingly polished surface, reciting the prayer through stiff lips. If Mrs. Bryson had any notion of who was sitting next to her innocent daughter…

“Amen,” Bryson murmured. Without another word he dug into the food, passing bowlfuls of stew to Tally and Kavanagh before serving his family. Mrs. Bryson watched Tally expectantly until she took a bite and made the appropriate noises of satisfaction. Kavanagh ate with single-minded attention and never once looked up from his plate.

Tally found it hard to swallow, though the food was as good as anything Miriam made at home. Beth’s curious glances were more shrewd than those of her parents. Maybe she’d guessed something was not quite right about “Mr.” Bernard. But Kavanagh earned her most fascinated stares, and it was all Tally could do not to shout a warning.

Stay away from men like that, ma bonne fille. Wait and find a boy your own age. Don’t throw away what good fortune has given you….

She pushed her plate aside and patted her stomach. “Ma’am, I don’t think I’ve tasted anything quite so fine in years. If he were more of a talker, I’m sure Mr. Kavanagh would say the same.”

Kavanagh looked up from his cleaned plate. His pale eyes settled first on Tally, then quickly moved to Beth and Mr. Bryson. “Good,” he said.

“Your friend does talk, Mr. Bernard,” Bryson said with generous good humor.

“Tal,” Tally said. Bryson offered her and Kavanagh a pair of pipes, which both declined. The homesteader lit his own and settled in one of the rawhide chairs in the parlor. Tally took the other, while Kavanagh crouched on his boot heels beside the fireplace.

Bryson smiled through his full beard. “Beth has told me something of why you gentleman are in the canyon. I did meet a man fitting the description you gave, Tal, but he was in a hurry to be on his way.” He tamped the tobacco in his pipe. “You’ve been following him from Tombstone?”

Tally saw no harm in telling him at least part of the truth. “Our ranch is in Cold Creek Valley, in the southern Chiricahuas,” she said. “My brother left to buy cattle from some ranchers in the north Valley two weeks ago, but he disappeared, and we learned that he’d come up here…supposedly to look for ore.”

“You must be his younger brother, from the looks of you,” Bryson said. “I’m sorry your kin has given you trouble.”

“I’m worried that André…might have gotten lost up here. That’s why I hired Mr. Kavanagh to track him in the mountains.”

Kavanagh muttered something under his breath. Pans clanged in the kitchen. Bryson puffed on his pipe. “Have you been with the army, Mr. Kavanagh?” he asked.

Kavanagh glanced at Bryson without interest. “From time to time.” Bryson’s eyes crinkled in amusement. “Army scouts are notoriously taciturn men, Tal. The best of them hardly ever make a sound, let alone indulge in idle conversation.”

“So I’ve learned.” She felt Kavanagh’s stare and shifted in her seat. “Our foreman went looking for André a week ago,” she said. “He’s a former Buffalo Soldier with the Tenth Cavalry, very tall—”

“I’m afraid I didn’t see such a man. I’ve heard good things about the Tenth, though. Formidable fighters.”

They drifted onto the subjects of army movements, the Apaches and cattle prices. Tally let Bryson do most of the talking, while Kavanagh kept his thoughts to himself. Eventually Mrs. Bryson and Beth joined them, pulling chairs from the dining table.

“Will you tell us about Tombstone, Mr. Bernard?” Beth asked eagerly. “Is it as wicked as they say?”

“Now, Beth,” Mrs. Bryson reproved.

Mr. Bryson chuckled. “You’ll have to excuse our daughter, Tal. She’s heard too many fantastic stories.” He set down his pipe. “Willcox is wild enough for us. I’d like to hear more of your ranch, and how you find the south end of the Valley. There aren’t too many of us here, but more will be coming every day now that the Apaches have cleared out. If not for the rustlers—” He glanced at Beth and thought better of that subject.

Tally asked Mrs. Bryson about the quilt on the wall, which led to an innocuous conversation about fabric and sewing. Tally listened with the polite incomprehension of any typical male. After Beth and Mrs. Bryson retired, Bryson asked Tally for general news of the Valley and its residents.

Tally had little to tell him. She’d spent most of her days deliberately sequestered at Cold Creek, working the cattle and letting André deal with the outside world. If Bryson found her ignorance strange, he didn’t let on. He showed Tally and Kavanagh the plain, neat room they would share for the night.

“You’ve done Ida a heap of good by praising her cooking,” Bryson said. “She gets a little lonely in the canyon with only Beth for company.” He lit a kerosene lamp and set it on a table near the door. “You men are welcome here any time.”

“As you are at Cold Creek,” Tally said, glad that Bryson would have no cause for such a visit. She thanked him again and closed the door to the room, her heart beating unpleasantly fast in the heavy silence.

Kavanagh was sitting on the wood-frame bed, pulling off his boots and stockings. The moment of truth was at hand.

Tally turned and leaned against the door, folding her arms across her chest. “Can I ask you a question?”

Kavanagh arched his back in a bone-popping stretch. “When did you ever need my permission?”

“Why were you so rude to the Brysons? Is it because two of them are female?”

He looked at her with an expression of genuine surprise. “You still expecting pretty manners from me, boy? I thought you’d been disabused of such notions.”

“I hired you to do a job, and I’m prepared to pay the price. The Brysons don’t know us, but they’ve been generous hosts. The least they deserve is the respect due decent people.”

He got up from the bed and strolled toward her with a lazy air of tolerant amusement. “You gonna fire me because I was disrespectful to them decent, proper folk out there?”

She edged away from the door. “Fortunately, I don’t think they’ll hold it against you. They trust instead of judge, and I admire them for it.”

Kavanagh stopped in the middle of the room and cocked his head. “Took a liking to that little filly Beth, did you, boy?”

“Not the way you mean.”

“She’s wild for a little freedom, ain’t she? How well d’you think she’d make out in Tombstone?”

Tally balled her fists. “Her parents take care of her. They love each other. You never had that kind of family, did you, Kavanagh? A sister, a brother to look after, or who looked after you.”

“No.” The denial cracked like a thick oak branch snapped in a storm. “I never had a family like that.”

She met his stony gaze, swallowing the knot in her throat. She could see the pain he tried not to show, pain she saw only because she had become so accustomed to discerning the motives of men.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s none of my business.”

He seemed not to hear. “I had a mother and a father and half brothers. We never lived together.”

Mon Dieu. Was he implying that he was a bastard? In the West that was not so terrible a thing as in the cultured East, but it would have marked him. She felt the compulsion to match his confession with one of her own…. Madness, just like the fact that they were here together, alone in this room.

“My father left my family when I was young,” she said.

His gaze returned to hers. “That’s a damned shame, boy,” he said, only half-mocking. “Your ma raise you and André?”

“She worked hard.” Tally stared longingly at the washstand, with its fresh water and clean towels. She was desperate to scrub the dirt from her face, remove her hat and let down her hair. That wouldn’t happen tonight. “You go ahead and get some sleep, Kavanagh. I’m going to check on the horses.”

She started for the door. Kavanagh was there first. “You’re a lousy liar,” he said conversationally. “Why are you so afraid of being in this room with me?”

“I’m not afraid.” He was barely four inches away, nearly touching her chest to chest. “I just like my privacy.”

He leaned closer. His breath stirred the fine hairs at her temples. “I’ll just bet you do.” His gaze dropped to her lips. “You ever been with a man, Tally-boy?”

She jumped straight up and scrambled sideways, clumsy with shock. It wasn’t possible. She would have known. She’d met men like that before—the New Orleans brothels catered to every taste, no matter how eccentric. But Kavanagh had spoken of his angel Esperanza. He had known women. Yet there were all those comments about baths. Perhaps he was equally partial to both….

She didn’t have time to think. She snatched the hat from her hair and pulled at the braids. Her hair tumbled loose about her shoulders.

“I’m not a boy, cochon, so keep your hands to yourself.”

CHAPTER FOUR

KAVANAGH LAUGHED. He laughed so loud and hard that Tally was afraid he would wake the whole house. She charged, pushed him to the far wall beside the bed and pressed her hand over his mouth.

“Taisez-vous, dérangé!” she hissed.

He gripped her wrists and pried her hands from his face. His mouth came down on hers, lips barely open, as if he meant to bruise instead of caress. Just as suddenly, he released her. She scrubbed at her mouth while he withdrew to the bed and stretched out full-length, head pillowed on his wrists, bare feet crossed at the ankles.

“Now that’s done,” he said. “Unless you want more of the same.”

Tally stared at him without comprehension. Good God, she had utterly failed with him in nearly every respect. And he was laughing at her. He was laughing.

She leaned on the wall and caught her breath, lungs straining against the bindings that held her breasts flat. “How long have you known?” she demanded.

“Since we met.” He yawned and snapped his teeth like an animal. “I knew it’d have to come out sooner or later. Just a question of when.”

She thought quickly back over every encounter she’d had with the folk in Tombstone, the woman in Turquoise and the Brysons. “How is it that you guessed when no one else has?”

“I see things that are hidden,” he said. “I’m very good at it.”

“So you’ve been playing with me.” She smiled, picked up her hat and laid it on the table. “I’m sure it’s been most amusing.”

“You were playing games, not me,” he said. “Are you afraid of men, or is it just that you wish you had a little more between your legs?”

Tally pronounced her most elegant curse. “I wouldn’t be one of your sex for anything in the world. And as for being afraid…” She leaned over the foot of the bed. “I’ve known how to protect myself since I was fifteen.”

He propped himself up on his elbows and stared pointedly at her chest. “Maybe it ain’t fear. The devil knows what you’re like under that getup. Maybe you’re just scared no man would want you.”

How she longed in that moment to prove just how much men had wanted her—still wanted her, whenever they saw her as she was, as she could be. But he was still playing like a cat with a mouse. He was testing her for weakness. Men did not make her weak.

“Maybe,” she said, “I don’t want them.”

He wet his lips, and she shivered at the memory of his mouth on hers. Cochon. She should have hit him. And there was the .44 at her hip….

“How old are you—Tal?” he asked, interrupting her fantasies. “What’s your real name?”

“A lady never reveals her age,” she said. “And Tal is good enough for me. I don’t need fancy things. Only my freedom.”

“Freedom to ride around wild without any of the proper folk knowing about it?”

Heat rushed into her cheeks. “It harms no one. I work the ranch like my brother, like our hands Bart and Federico. I have no children and no husband to tend.”

He leaped up from the bed and crossed to the washstand, wetting one of the towels. Tally guessed his intent but refused to run. He bathed her face with surprising gentleness, wiping away the accumulated grime. He whistled softly.

“You clean up real nice,” he said. “My guess is that ugliness ain’t your problem.”

She took the towel from his hand and returned to the washstand. Her own face, framed by golden hair, stared back at her from the oval mirror. “I have no problem,” she said, “as long as people leave me alone.”

Kavanagh’s reflection joined hers. Solemn, not mocking, not cruel. “Why?” he asked. “You thought if I knew what you were, I’d hurt you. Did a man hurt you, Tal?”

The caressing note in his voice set her swaying like a willow in a high-desert wind. Oh, yes, he was very good at finding things that were hidden. But he had said she was a lousy liar, and that meant he, too, could make mistakes. She had become very good at lying with absolute sincerity.

“I’ve seen what men can do to women,” she said, meeting his eyes in the mirror. “I prefer to keep myself unentangled.”

He lifted a strand of her hair in his calloused fingers. “We’re two of a kind, ain’t we, Tal? I’ve got no use for women.”

“Except Esperanza.”

His eyes narrowed in anger and relaxed again. “You never loved a man?”

“Never.”

“You were always safe from me.”

“I couldn’t be certain of that. If I dress as a man, it means I expect to live in a man’s world. No special favors.” No being lusted after because of how I look. No lying under some smelly, sweating pig who can’t or won’t be true to a woman of his own. No more hypocrisy.

“You told me never to touch you the way I did in Turquoise,” she said. “Now I’m telling you the same thing. Never touch me again.”

To her secret amazement, he backed away, hands raised as if to ward off attack. His mouth curled in a smile. “I don’t plan to,” he said. “That was just to prove that there ain’t nothing between us but business.”

Because he’d kissed her and felt nothing. He was a wonder, a marvel—true to his dream of one woman and not even tempted by such intimacy with another. Her opinion of him kept changing, and she wanted no more than to flee this house and breathe the sweet night air until her head was clear of this constant spinning.

“I believe you,” she said slowly. “God knows why.”

“You’re a religious one, are you, Tally-girl?” he asked, heading for the door. “Say a few prayers for me.”

“I doubt my prayers would do you any good.”

“Maybe not.” He pointed his chin toward the washstand. “Clean up. I’ll be back in an hour, Tally-girl.”

“Kavanagh! Don’t call me Tally-gi—”

He walked out of the room and closed the door behind him. Tally felt her way to the bed and sat down with a thump. Perspiration prickled along the back of her neck, and she realized what she had denied every moment of the past ten minutes.

She’d been terrified. Only part of that fear had been of Kavanagh himself. The rest had come from her utter lack of control, her mistake in underestimating a man she should have known was more dangerous than she could imagine.

Moving with short, sharp jerks, she unbuttoned her waistcoat, unbelted her gun, pulled off her shirt and unwound the bandages underneath. Her breasts ached. She slipped off the men’s britches and the suspenders that held them up around her waist. Layer by layer, she stripped down to her skin and stood naked before the washstand. She used two of the towels to bathe her body, combed out her hair until it was free of snarls and tangles, and unpacked her spare shirt from her saddlebags. She counted every minute she spent in the room.

When she was dressed again, she took the basin and refilled it from the pump between the cabin and the barn. Laundry flapped in the night breeze, but she caught no sight of Kavanagh.

She met him at the door of the bedroom. His hair was damp and his face clean. He looked her over and gave a short nod. “Good. I’ll sleep in the barn tonight.”

“No special favors, Kavanagh.”

“Be a damned waste if that bed don’t get some use.”

Not a hint of innuendo shaded his words. Tally relaxed. “All right. You take it for three hours, and I’ll take it after that.”

“After I dirty up the sheets? I wouldn’t wish that on anyone. You go first.”

“You’re a stubborn tête de mule, Kavanagh.”

“Whatever that is, I’ll take it as a compliment.” He touched the brim of his hat and turned to go. She made a move to stop him. He froze.

“Why?” she asked. “You don’t like women. You don’t trust them. Now that you know what I am—”

He turned around, towering over her, though she wasn’t small or in the least bit delicate—except in the minds of the men who’d wanted her to be so. “If you was a regular woman,” he said, “I’d leave you here and forget about your brother.”

“I suppose I should take that as a compliment.”

“Take it how you like,” he said. “You keep up with me the way you been doin’, and we won’t have no dustups between us.”

She watched him stalk down the hall and out the front door. The bedroom seemed strangely empty. She took off everything but her shirt and lay down, stiffly at first, trying to catch Sim’s scent on the sheets. It was almost too faint to be noticeable. She concentrated on the sounds of crickets and a whip-poor-will in the nearby meadow until exhaustion claimed her. Once she woke, briefly, to the sound of a distant wolf’s howl.

Dawn sifted through the thin muslin curtains. Tally swung her legs over the side of the bed and pulled on her pants. Kavanagh’s saddlebags were gone.

She finished dressing in haste, torn between annoyance with Sim and delight at the rich scent of frying bacon. There would be fresh eggs, perhaps flapjacks, as well, and she found herself ravenous.

With her saddlebags over her shoulders, she left the bedroom and entered the living area. Mrs. Bryson had the table set for breakfast. Beth brought a pail of fresh milk from the barn. She smiled at Tally.

“If you’re looking for your friend, he’s outside with my father,” she said. She flushed a little, glancing aside at her mother.

“I hope you slept well,” Mrs. Bryson said. She carried a frying pan of eggs to the table and slid them onto a platter.

“Wonderfully,” Tally said. “Thank you, ma’am.”

“Mr. Kavanagh said he wanted to let you rest up for the day ahead. He must have been out with the horses well before dawn; he’s already helped Mr. Bryson repair the corral fence.” She bustled back to the stove. “For a man who doesn’t talk much, he can certainly make himself useful.”

Indeed, Tally thought. “I’m afraid I haven’t been.”

“Never mind that. The men should be in shortly.” As she’d predicted, Bryson and Kavanagh arrived a few moments later, sharing the silent camaraderie of men who’ve labored together. Kavanagh hardly glanced in Tally’s direction. Bryson invited his guests to sit, said grace and served the meal.

Tally watched Kavanagh out of the corner of her eye. He hadn’t spent any part of the night in the bedroom, but the Brysons didn’t realize it. Her secret was safe. When breakfast was finished, Bryson saw her and Kavanagh out to the barn. The horses stood saddled and ready.

“You be careful up there,” Bryson said, passing Kavanagh a bundle that Tally guessed must contain fresh food. “No Apaches as far as I know, but still plenty of places to get into trouble. I’ve been hearing wolves lately.”

Kavanagh seemed to take the warning in the spirit it was intended. He swung into the saddle. “We’ll get by.”

Bryson gazed up at the sky. “I’d swear it’s going to rain. Not that I’m complaining, mind you—rain in the dry season is always welcome. But I hope it doesn’t interfere with your search.”

Tally followed his gaze. She hadn’t considered bad weather to be a factor in finding André, but Bryson was right. Clouds had gathered sometime in the night, and the look of them boded a rare late-spring rain.

She concealed her worry and gripped Bryson’s hand. “Please thank your wife and daughter for their hospitality.”

“That I will. You’re welcome any time. Good luck.”

She tipped her hat and mounted Muérdago. With a last wave, she reined east along the canyon that curved deeper into the mountains. She let the gelding pick his path, since there was really only one way to go and her thoughts were otherwise occupied. Kavanagh rode beside her, easy in posture and expression.

What had he said last night, after he’d kissed her? Now that’s done. A chore to be gotten out of the way, an irritating distraction vanquished. Certainly nothing bad had come of it, except a little wounding of her pride.

So why couldn’t she let it go, as he did? Was it anger she felt, that a man had bested her…or something else entirely?

“How did you sleep?” she asked casually.

“About as well as you.”

“You left the bed to me all night. You’re in danger of being mistaken for a gentleman, Kavanagh.”

He cast her a grim, searching look. “I’m no gentleman, and you’re no lady. That’s the bargain.”

She knew that he meant he had no expectations of her except that she do her part to find André. Kavanagh didn’t know what a precious gift he’d given her—the gift of equality and respect.

She wondered if he would accord his Esperanza such a privilege.

Morning light cast long shadows in the canyon. The gain in elevation along the watercourse brought more pines interspersed with oaks. The forest closed in on either side of the path; red fox squirrels flashed bushy tails in warning. Clouds continued to gather in the southwest, thicker and darker than before.

The first notched pinnacles appeared just as the horses rounded a sharp bend in the arroyo. Red columns, many joined in wall-like ramparts, others standing alone, towered above the trees. Some were shaped like strange animals or birds or gesturing men. Deep joints, like miniature slot canyons, ran between them.

“We’ll see a lot more of those,” Kavanagh remarked, deftly guiding his stallion over a bulging mass of rocks. “This broken terrain was what made the Chiricahuas so good for the Apaches trying to escape the army. Wasn’t easy for men to pursue on horseback.” He glanced at the lowering sky. “Don’t worry. I’ll find him.”

Kavanagh remained in the saddle for the next mile. Often he bent low over Diablo’s barrel, supple as a cat, to examine the ground. When the main trail branched, Kavanagh chose the fainter course. But soon the way became rough and uneven, pushing between ocher turrets and thick stands of pine.

“We walk,” he finally said. Tally dismounted and took Muérdago’s lead. The air was rarer here than at Cold Creek, cooler and sharper. She saw traces of snow on the highest mountains. At noon they briefly stopped for Mrs. Bryson’s sandwiches, made of that morning’s fresh bread and leftover bacon. Kavanagh checked the horses’ hooves for stones, and then continued along the track. He sifted dust between his fingers and paused to contemplate the very rocks as if they spoke to him.

“Your brother came this way,” he said in answer to Tally’s questioning look. “He moved slowly. One of his mules was lame.” He gazed at the steep slope ahead. It was almost impossible to pick out any sort of trail amid the rubble, low shrubs and pinnacles. “I’m going on alone, on foot. The horses can’t travel quick enough in this country. You’ll have to stay here and watch them.”

“I agree, Mr. Kavanagh,” she said. “I’ll make camp.”

He blinked, as if he’d still expected her to argue in the way of a “normal” female. And then he smiled. The expression transformed him—for an instant, no more, just long enough for Tally to glimpse that playful boy who’d splashed her in Castillo Creek.

She smiled back at that boy like the thirteen-year-old girl from Prairie d’Or, the child who’d grown up with farm dirt between her toes and all the wild places as her sanctuaries. The girl who was so good at pretending.

Before she could regret what her own smile revealed, Kavanagh thrust Diablo’s lead into her hand, sat on the nearest boulder and removed his boots and stockings. He sprang to his feet and sprinted lightly up the trail. Fast as he was, his bare feet didn’t dislodge as much as a pebble. He rounded a curve out of Tally’s sight.

Tally led the horses to the shade of a cliff. The strong afternoon sunlight hid behind heavy cloud cover, and she thought she smelled rain. The horses were restless, sensing both the change of weather and her unease.

She sat with her back to the cliff and closed her eyes, forcing her thoughts away from André. She wondered if Sim had learned his tracking from the Indians. She’d never heard of a white man running barefoot in the mountains. She’d never heard of anyone quite like Kavanagh.

A light rain began to fall within the first hour. Soon it became a downpour, and Tally moved Muérdago and Diablo to the shelter of a stand of pines. She paced restless circles around the horses, water dripping from the brim of her hat. Dusk fell quickly. Kavanagh returned just as the storm came to an abrupt end.

“I found André,” he said.

TAL DIDN’T SWAY or swoon. Her gaze held Sim’s as she waited for the worst.

“Dead?” she whispered.

“Alive. Barely.” He took her arm and made her sit, though she flinched at the contact. He let her go as soon as he was sure she wouldn’t fall. “He’s only about a mile from here, but he was hidden in an arroyo. I didn’t see any sign of the mules.”

“Did he speak?”

Sim knew he couldn’t give her anything but the truth, at least about her brother’s condition. “There’s not too much blood or deep wounds that I could see, but he’s unconscious. Looks like he fell and hit his head. Could have been lying there a couple of days.”

“Oh, God.”

“He’s in one piece. Nothing got at him.”

Tally scraped her palms across her face. “You left him alone.”

He bristled, as if her accusation had the power to wound him. She couldn’t know that he’d tracked most of the way as a wolf, hiding his clothes in a crevice until he was ready to return. The rain had made his hunt much more difficult. Even in wolf form, he’d been lucky to find André at all.

“I didn’t want to risk carrying him,” Sim said gruffly, “so I came for Diablo.” He sniffed the air. “It won’t rain anymore tonight. There’s a pool on the other side of that low ridge. Find some dry wood, if you can, and get a fire going.”

Her dazed eyes looked through him. “André needs me.”

“You can help him best when I bring him back.” He pulled a large empty can from one saddlebag and pressed it into her hands. “You can use this to heat some water.”

She took the can and stood. “Go. I’ll have everything ready.”

He untied Diablo and left at once. The stallion was sure-footed and willing to follow where Sim led. Full night had fallen by the time man and beast stood on the ledge overlooking the deep but narrow gorge where André lay.

Sim scrambled down the rocky face to the bottom and crouched beside the fallen man. André hadn’t moved since Sim left; he still breathed, and his heartbeat was steady, but his sandy hair was caked with dirt and blood, and one of his arms was broken inside.

The other hand grasped a torn fragment of paper, nearly disintegrated by the rain. Enough of it remained for Sim to recognize what he’d been searching for. Someone had been here with André—someone who’d taken the rest of the map and had made a clean getaway with the mules and gear.

Sim’s first thought was that Caleb had done it, but Caleb was behind bars in Amarillo. That was why he’d sent Sim. All telltale tracks of the intruder and the mules had been washed away in the storm. André’s clothing was too saturated to hold any scent but his own. Not even a wolf had much hope of hunting down the thief.

Sim crouched beside André and scooped the soggy scrap of paper out of the young man’s hand. If it weren’t for Tal, he would be off looking for the map no matter what his chances of finding it. But she was waiting, and he’d promised to find her brother.

“I found you,” he said in disgust. “Not that you were worth the trouble. I’d as soon leave you here for the buzzards.”

André didn’t answer. The rise and fall of his chest was the only outward sign that he was alive. There was some risk in moving him, but André’s odds of survival were nonexistent if he didn’t get out of the mountains.

With a scowl, Sim gathered the young man’s sprawled limbs and lifted him, trying not to move the broken arm more than necessary. He shifted André over his shoulder, made sure of his balance, and climbed back up the cliff face.

Diablo snorted and flared his nostrils, snuffling at André with frank disapproval. Sim quieted the horse, lifted André onto his back and secured the unwelcome burden with rope from the saddlebags. André was as limp as a sack of grain.

Darkness made for a treacherous descent, but Sim’s keen vision picked out the easiest path. Firelight marked his destination for the last quarter mile. When they arrived, Tally ran up to Diablo and stopped to stare at her brother’s pale face. She murmured French words in a voice broken with horror.

Sim fought the urge to dump André on his head and end his troublemaking ways for good. “Your brother’s still alive, and at least he ain’t bleeding,” he said as he untied the ropes. Tally helped Sim ease André to the ground, cradling the injured man’s head in her hands. She’d made a bed of blankets and laid out scraps of cloth to bind any wounds, but Sim was pretty sure that the worst of André’s injuries were inside, where she couldn’t reach them.

Tal cut away her brother’s shredded clothes, covered him with blankets and continued to speak to him in her melodious French, alternately scolding and pleading. The scolding was all an act to hold the tears at bay, but it seemed to work.

Sim gathered sturdy sticks to make a splint for André’s arm, while Tally cleaned André’s cuts and bathed his face and hairline with warm water, revealing the huge raised bump and ugly gash where he’d hit his head in the fall. Tal sucked in her breath and closed her eyes.

“He could have bled to death,” Sim said awkwardly. “Head wounds are like that. He was lucky.”

“Lucky.” She shivered. “How did this happen?”

“Looks like he missed his footing,” Sim said, which wasn’t really a lie. “Easy to do up here.”

“Mon pauvre.” She rinsed the cloth in the can of hot water and dabbed at the wound. “You never saw the mules?”

“The rain washed away their tracks. They must have escaped when André fell. Could be on the other side of the mountains by now, if a panther didn’t get them.”

“No sign of Elijah?”

“He probably never picked up your brother’s trail.”

“He may even be back at the ranch by now.” She brushed at the damp tangles of André’s hair. “The important thing is that we saved André. He’ll explain what happened when he…” She bit hard on her lower lip. “You don’t have to tell me. Men who hit their heads and don’t wake up—”

She was still fighting tears, and Sim couldn’t bear it.

“Some recover,” he said.

“Some,” she echoed. She bent to kiss André’s brow. “There isn’t much more I can do for him here, but the Brysons must have a wagon we can borrow to carry him home.”

“You should leave him with them until you can get a doctor.”

“No. I want him home, where I—” She shook her head. “It will take days to a get a doctor, no matter where we are.” She rose and searched her saddlebags. Coins jingled in a small leather pouch. She picked out three silver dollars and offered them on her open palm. “You’ve more than earned your fee, Mr. Kavanagh. I’ll pay you the same again if you’ll ride to Tombstone and send a doctor to Cold Creek.”

Sim stared at the coins with sudden and overwhelming distaste. “What about getting your brother home?”

“It’s less than forty miles from the mouth of Castillo Canyon. I can manage with a wagon.”

Anger tightened Sim’s chest until he could barely breathe. “Why should I bother to earn the money when I could take it from you right now?”

She closed her fist around the coins. “You could have done so at any time, Mr. Kavanagh.”

“Don’t call me that.” Sim got up and stalked out of the firelight, turned on his heel and faced her again. “No one ever calls me mister.”

“What do you want to be called?”

“Sim. Just Sim.”

“I usually go by Tally at home.”

“When you’re not a boy.”

She nodded, staring into the fire. “I was christened Chantal.”

Sim felt the anger evaporate as quickly as it had come. “Simeon,” he muttered.

“It’s a nice name.”

“There’s nothing nice about me. But I’ll ride to Tombstone, and you don’t need to pay me a cent.”

“I thought you needed the money.”

“I’ll take two dollars.”

Solemnly she passed him the coins, and he shoved them in his pocket. “Now you get some sleep,” he ordered. “I’ll watch.”

“No more arguments? You permit me to trust you after all?”

He pointed toward her bedroll. “Sleep. I’ll ride for Tombstone soon’s we get a wagon from the Brysons and you’re on your way home.”

She smiled at him warmly, and he was afraid she was about to say something stupid and sentimental. But she went to her blankets and lay down on her side, gazing at her brother’s expressionless face.

Sim sank to his heels by the fire and waited her out. Eventually the long day took its toll, and Tally slept. He tested the air for the scent of two-or four-legged intruders. Nothing stirred. He tossed pebbles into the fire until it burned down to ashes, considering how best to proceed with his plan.

The map was gone, and there was no telling how close André had been to his goal when he met with his “accident.” Sim wasn’t likely to find the treasure with a random search of every arroyo, mining camp and settlement in the Chiricahuas. But it was a sure bet that the thief would be looking for it. Sim had to stay in the area if he wanted to catch his prey.

There was only one other way to learn the contents of the map, and that was to wait and see if André recovered enough to talk.

Either possibility presented the same challenge. Sim had to find a legitimate excuse to remain in the Valley, close to Cold Creek. And he had an idea how to manage it, even though it would make his life a thousand times more complicated. Even though he would have to keep lying to Tally for as long as it took.

The problem was that he liked her. Hell and damnation, he liked and respected a female who hadn’t enough sense to see him for what he was.

Esperanza knew. She’d seen into his deepest soul. Without her…

A wolf’s howl echoed among the pinnacles. Tally woke with a start.

“Sim?”

“Here.”

She rubbed her eyes and tossed her blankets aside. “I heard wolves.”

“They won’t do us any harm.”

The howling came again. Tally crawled to André and touched his cheek. “Could they have attacked André and caused him to fall?”

“Ain’t likely. Wolves are more afraid of men than men are of them.”

“Most people would consider them dangerous.”

“Most people don’t know them.”

She sighed, stroking André’s hair. “All the wild creatures are leaving the mountains,” she said with an aching, almost tangible sadness. “The Apaches lost their country, and soon the wolves will be gone.”

“A few will survive.”

“The strongest. The most ruthless.”

“Do you blame them?”

“No. I don’t blame anything for trying to stay alive.”

“Then go back to sleep. I’ll be here.”

She tugged André’s blankets higher around his shoulders and lay down again. “Bonne nuit, Simeon. Good night.”

The wolves answered for him.

CHAPTER FIVE

“SHE’S BACK,” Miriam said, pausing breathlessly in the doorway of the barn where Elijah was shoeing Federico’s dun mare. “Miss Tally’s back!”

Eli set down the mare’s hoof and straightened to wipe the sweat from his forehead. His heart thumped several times like a blacksmith’s hammer and then settled into its regular rhythm. “How does she look?”

“I can’t tell yet. Pablito saw her coming down the road in a wagon. God grant she’s found Mr. André.”

Eli closed his eyes. “I’ll ride out to meet her.”

“How’s that leg?”

“Fine. I told you it was nothing.”

“You’d say that if it was cut off at the knee. You take care while you ride. I’m getting that poor child something to eat.” She rushed off, full of purpose, as she always was when she had someone to care for. Especially Tally. They had a long history together, sisters in all but the color of their skins.

When he’d first met Tally and Miriam, Eli had envied that unique female intimacy. Miriam had been born into slavery, and Tally Bernard had endured her own brand of servitude, but she’d been free enough to make her own choices. Just as Eli had.

He led the dun mare out to the corral and saddled his own favorite, a big-boned grullo gelding he called Hierro for his iron coloring. Pablo, Federico’s ten-year-old son, was in the yard, excitedly repeating his news to his little sister Dolores. Bart and Federico were combing the range for cows with newborn calves, but they would be back in time for supper.

Elijah rode out of the yard, past the outbuildings and the main house to the rutted dirt road that ran alongside Cold Creek. Road and creek emerged from a bosque of sycamores, ash and cottonwoods into a spare land of broken hills dotted with oak and piñon pine. On every side rose mountains— Liebres to the west, Chiricahuas to the northeast and Pedregosas to the south. A few cattle—pitifully few—stood out against the dried grasses like fat ticks on a yellow dog’s hide.

A plume of dust marked the wagon’s position, and Elijah spurred Hierro to meet it. He could just make out the bundled human shape in the bed of the wagon.

André. He wasn’t moving, but Tally hadn’t covered his face. His head was bound in heavy bandages, and his right arm had been splinted and strapped to his chest. Tally’s features were strained and weary, yet she still summoned a smile for one of the few men she trusted.

“Elijah,” she called as he pulled up beside the wagon. “Thank God you’re here.”

Eli touched the brim of his hat. “I’m sorry I gave you cause for worry, Miss Tally. I just got back last night. I rode over half the Valley looking for word of Mr. André, but—” He choked on his excuses and shook his head. “You found him.”

“Two days ago, up in Castillo Canyon.” She glanced over her shoulder at her brother, and Eli saw the fear she so seldom revealed. “He’s alive, but badly hurt.”

Eli stared into the wagon bed. André didn’t look alive. Any man might mistake him for just the opposite. “When Miriam told me you’d gone on from Tombstone…”

“Don’t blame yourself, Eli,” Tally said. “I know you did what you could.” She frowned. “What happened to your leg?”

He rubbed the stiff limb. “Hierro caught a prairie-dog hole and threw me. It’s just a little sore.”

“I’m glad you’re all right.”

His health was the last thing he wanted to discuss. “Miriam said you’d hired a tracker. She’s been sick with worry herself.”

“I know.” Tally clucked to her footsore team. The horses had already smelled the water from the spring and increased their pace, ears pricked toward the green swath of trees. “The tracker rode straight for Tombstone to bring the doctor. I expect both of them any time.”

“Miriam knows you’re coming, Miss Tally. I’ll tell her about Mr. André.” Eli wheeled Hierro about and rode back to the house, grateful to escape the horrible sight of André’s pale, staring face. Miriam came out as soon as he dismounted at the garden fence.

“She’s found André,” Eli said. “He’s hurt bad, but a doctor’s coming.”

“Then we’ll need an extra bed made up,” Miriam said. “Miss Tally?”

“As well as you’d expect. Bone-weary and downhearted.”

“Alone?”

“Someone patched André up, but she’s by herself now. That tracker she hired is getting the doctor in Tombstone.”

Miriam pursed her lips. “I didn’t know back then if Miss Tally did the right thing in hiring him, but I was wrong to doubt her judgment.” She peered up at Eli’s face. “And why the sorrowful looks, Sergeant Patterson? The Lord’s blessed us this day.”

Eli pretended to adjust Hierro’s bridle. Miriam always knew what he felt inside, even when he didn’t show it. “I failed Miss Tally, Miriam.”

She gripped his forearm with a strong, slender hand. “It was Mr. André who failed her first. Now go help Miss Tally and let me get back to my work.”

She rushed inside, leaving the faint comforting scent of flour behind her. Pablito dashed up to Eli and tugged at his sleeve. “Can I ride Hierro, Eli?”

Now you hide behind a child, Eli thought as he scooped the boy up onto the saddle. But he was glad for Pablito’s incessant chatter, especially when Tally made the last turn away from the creek and past the outermost corral. Eli met the wagon, letting Pablito stay on Hierro’s back while he carried André into the house.

Miriam gave Tally a firm hug in the doorway and spoke softly to her friend. Tally answered, but Eli didn’t hear her words. André felt like skin and bones in his arms. He didn’t stir even when Eli laid him down on his bed.

“Thank you, Eli,” Tally said. She touched his arm and knelt at her brother’s bedside.

“Do you know how this happened?” Eli asked, sick in his belly.

“Don’t you be bothering her with questions,” Miriam said. She put a basin of steaming water on the side table. “You’re just getting in the way, Elijah Patterson.”

He knew she was right, but he lingered for a few moments, watching André’s face for some sign of awareness. “I’m sorry, Miss Tally.”

But she was lost in her own worries, and Miriam had no time for him. He left the room and the house, swung Pablito down from Hierro’s back, and rode for a certain hill where a man could see most of the valley and the road along Cold Creek. At dusk he glimpsed a funnel of dust and then two riders approaching at a steady lope.

He met them half a mile from the homestead and quickly took stock of the newcomers. The older man bowed low over his horse in exhaustion, but the younger sat erect in the saddle, and his stare was that of a born predator. This was the tracker Miriam had spoken of with such wariness.

Eli turned to the other man. “Doctor?”

“Johansen,” the man coughed. “I hope the patient is still alive after…all this way.”

“He’s alive. Please follow me.”

The doctor sighed and kicked his mount’s sweat-streaked barrel. The tracker reined his seal-brown stallion alongside Hierro.

“I guess Tally made it back all right,” he said.

Tally. Eli bristled at the informality but took care not to show his annoyance. “Mr. Bernard arrived with his brother a few hours ago,” he said.

The tracker laughed. “You keep your secret from the doc, but don’t bother with me. I already know the lady pretty well.”

Eli clenched his fists on Hierro’s reins. “I doubt that, Mr. Kavanagh.”

“Tally talked about me.”

“She mentioned hiring a tracker in Tombstone.”

Kavanagh clucked his tongue. “Don’t hardly do justice to what we’ve been through together. And who’re you?”

“Elijah Patterson, range boss of Cold Creek.”

Kavanagh’s pale eyes glittered with the last of the day’s light. “The man who disappeared looking for André. Tally said you’d probably be here.”

Eli held his emotions in check. Neither Tally nor Kavanagh could know anything of what was in his heart unless he let them see. “I was looking in the Valley. Miss Bernard found her brother in the mountains.”

“Good thing I was in Tombstone to help out,” Kavanagh said, “or Mr. Bernard would be panther meat about now.”

“I’m sure you lent your assistance with no thought of gain for yourself, Mr. Kavanagh.”

Kavanagh laughed. “I reckon you’re the one who runs off any varmints that trouble the Bernards.”

“I have that privilege.”

“And I look to you like one of them varmints.” Kavanagh made no display or open threat, but Eli knew a man of his nature would pack at least one gun and probably a selection of knives for good measure.

“Miss Bernard hired you. I don’t usually question her judgment.”

“That’s right loyal of you, Patterson.”

“Are you of the opinion that Miss Bernard doesn’t deserve loyalty, Mr. Kavanagh?”

The tracker scowled. “Tally asked me to deliver the doc to her door, and that’s just what I’m doing.”

“Then your services are no longer needed. You’ll be paid what you’re owed and put up for the night. I advise you not to bother Miss Bernard. Am I clear, Mr. Kavanagh?”

“I understood Tally’s fancy talk, and I understand yours.”

“Then we have no quarrel. I’ll see you at the bunkhouse.” He fell back to join Johansen, who was nearly falling off his horse. Eli guided the doctor toward the lanterns Miriam had put around the yard to light the travelers’ way. Bart and Federico had come in from the range; they looked after the horses, while Pablo proudly carried the doctor’s saddlebags into the house. Miriam took the doctor in custody a moment later.

Kavanagh was almost to the door before Eli could stop him. Eli blocked the threshold and folded his arms across his chest. “You’ve got no business in the house,” he said. “You’ll bunk and eat with me and the men.”

The tracker stood a few inches shorter than Eli, but his stare was as potent as a punch to the gut. “I don’t take orders from you,” he said.

“You take them or get on your horse and ride out now.”

“No, Eli. It’s all right.”

Tally brushed past him from the doorway. She’d kept on her hat and dusty clothes so she could introduce herself to Johansen as André’s brother, but it was obvious to Eli that she was desperately in need of rest.

“Mr. Kavanagh,” she said, stepping between the two men, “thank you for your quick return with the doctor.”

Kavanagh nodded brusquely. “You all right?”

“I’m fine. The doctor…he needs some time to examine André. There’s not much more any of us can do but wait.”

“I was telling him that he can get his grub with the men tonight,” Eli said. “I’ll pay him off, Miss Tally. No need for you to trouble yourself.”

“It’s no trouble, Eli. We’ll all eat in the bunkhouse so that André can rest undisturbed.” She turned to Kavanagh. “Is there anything else you need, Mr. Kavanagh?”

Eli looked with bemusement from Tally to the tracker. Kavanagh had scarcely moved since Tally had appeared, but his hard face bore the addled expression of an outlaw bronc who’d been saddled and ridden around the corral before he could even think of putting up a fight. Tally had done that to him with a few quiet words.

“I can see you’re done in,” Kavanagh said after a long hesitation. He fiddled with the brim of his hat and pulled it low over his brow. “I’ll go see to Diablo.”

“I’ll ask Pablo to give him and the doctor’s horse an extra ration of oats. Good night.” She smiled at Kavanagh and returned to the house. Kavanagh didn’t try to follow.

“Do you think you can find your way to the barn?” Eli asked pointedly.

“I found Tally’s brother,” Kavanagh said. “Don’t you ever get yourself lost, Patterson.”

“I won’t, Mr. Kavanagh.” Eli waited until Kavanagh turned on his boot heel and strode toward the barn. Miriam came to stand beside Eli, following his stare into the darkness.

“He did what he promised,” she said.

“That may be. But he’s no good, Miriam. When I was in the army…we hunted men like him. I know a killer when I see one.”

“Then why didn’t he hurt Tally when he had the chance?”

Hurt. Miriam had been “hurt” more than once, and no one had less reason to forgive than she did.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t know why Tally trusted him in the first place. But that man is not in this for a few dollars. He’s got too much interest in Miss Tally. Or something else at Cold Creek.”

Miriam rested her cheek against Eli’s arm, and his heart gave a painful thump. “You don’t have enough faith, Elijah. There’s good in every man. And there’s a reason this one was sent to Miss Tally.”

Eli covered her hand with his. He couldn’t deny Miriam the comfort of her faith. He, too, believed in certain supernatural powers that could neither be seen nor touched. “I’ll be watching him until he leaves Cold Creek.”

“Don’t you ever stop being a soldier?”

“A man doesn’t have to be a soldier to protect the folk he cares about.”

They were silent for a time. Coyotes yipped in the hills, and voices whispered in the back of the house.

“Come and help me get supper to the bunkhouse,” Miriam said at last. “I’ve got to make Miss Tally take some food and get a good rest tonight, or she’ll fall apart.”

“She won’t leave André’s side.”

“I’ll sit up with Mr. André so she can sleep.”

Eli bowed to Miriam’s superior will and helped her fill several plates with chicken and biscuits, a special meal she hoped would tempt Tally to eat before the long night was over. He spoke to Federico and Bart about what had happened, left them to their meals and took a lantern to the barn to look in on Kavanagh.

The tracker had laid out his bedroll in the box stall with his stallion, apparently unconcerned that the high-strung animal might trample him in his sleep. His eyes reflected red in the lantern light like those of a night-hunting animal.

“Are you comfortable, Mr. Kavanagh?” Eli asked.

“Very comfortable.” Kavanagh stretched, cracking the joints of his knuckles. “Sweet dreams, Mr. Foreman.”

He knew as well as Eli that no one at Cold Creek was likely to get much sleep. And that Eli’s nights would be troubled for a long time to come.

SIM COULD HAVE GONE to Tally any time he chose. No one would hear him slip in the door to the main house or crawl through a window—no, not even Elijah Patterson, with his soldier’s air and suspicious eyes.

But he had no reason to see her until morning. This peculiar need was like a small cholla spine lodged in the palm of his hand, barely more than annoying for one used to frequent discomfort. Yet he’d been gone only two days, and during those two days Tally had been a constant presence in his thoughts no matter how much he tried to be rid of her.

“Miss Tally.” The way the black man spoke of her, a stranger might think she was some kind of princess from the other side of the world instead of a plainspoken, relatively sensible female who wore men’s britches and a battered slouch hat.

“Ha,” Sim muttered, and rolled a cigarette. He didn’t smoke them anymore, but he still liked to roll them. The habit was hard to break, and it gave his fingers something to do. The taste of tobacco hadn’t set well with him ever since he started Changing and running as a wolf.

Diablo dropped his head and nibbled at Sim’s hair. Sim gently pushed the big head away. “You’re a little frisky after such a long ride,” Sim said. “You smell mare, do you?”

Diablo blew sharply through his nose.

“I knew I should have had you gelded,” Sim said. Diablo shook his head. “You think I should be, too? It don’t work that way, pard.” He kicked off his boots and lay back on his bedroll, the unlit cigarette clenched between his teeth. “The only cure I need is for André to wake up and talk about the treas—”

The faint crunch of feet on gravel silenced him instantly, and he sat up with his hand on his gun before he recognized the tread. He let go of the ivory grip and stood up to meet her.

Tally entered the barn slowly, as if she were afraid she might be intruding. Sim struck a match and held it near his face.

“I’m awake,” he said.

“Elijah told me you refused his offer of a bunk with the other men,” she said.

He blew out the match, leaving the barn in darkness. Sim didn’t need the extra light. He saw her well enough, and what he saw made his voice rough with surprise.

“What else did Elijah tell you?” he asked.

Tally hopped up on the partition of the stall and sat there, perfectly balanced. “He told me he didn’t trust you…but I think you know that already.”

“He’s quick to decide what he doesn’t like.”

“So am I. But when it comes to Cold Creek, I follow my own judgment.”

Sim stared at her bare feet braced on the partition—strong feet, not in the least delicate but strangely fascinating. She still wore britches, but a woman’s unbound breasts pushed against the cloth of her plain farmer’s shirt. And she’d done something to her hair. He’d seen it loose before, as she wore it now, yet he hadn’t imagined it could look so clean and shining, like a field of ripe wheat rippling in the wind. And her face… He didn’t know what she’d changed, but no man in his right mind would ever mistake her for a boy.

Sim bit down so hard on the cigarette that he got a mouthful of tobacco. He spat it out and jammed a piece of straw in his mouth instead. “How’s your brother?”

“The doctor examined him and put on fresh bandages, but there wasn’t much more he could do. André…may or may not recover. He needs rest and quiet…and time.”

Her matter-of-fact tone was meant to hide the grief she must be feeling, just as Sim disguised his own disappointment. Disappointment, hell—this was disaster, if the doc’s worst prediction was right.

“I’m sorry,” he said, amazed at how sincere the words sounded in the mouth of a man who’d seldom had occasion to use them.

“I believe you are.”

He knelt and pretended to examine Diablo’s near foreleg. “You’ll be running the ranch yourself now,” he said. “You’ll be short-handed.”

“Elijah’s a very good range boss—not that we’ve ever had enough men to need one. We’re not a big outfit. Not yet.” Tally brushed her hair out of her face with a casually graceful gesture that pushed Sim’s heart into his throat. “What are your plans after this, Sim? Where are you going? To Esperanza?”

The mention of the name hit Sim like a clenched fist. He hadn’t forgotten about Esperanza. Not for a second. But she seemed very far away in that little town in Sonora, not even knowing he would be coming for her.

When? When are you finally going to do it?

He’d learned long ago that it was better to tell part of the truth than a packful of lies. “I ain’t exactly a rich man,” he said. “I planned on going to Esperanza when I had a little more money saved up, so we could get married.”

“That’s quite understandable. Where is she?”

“Mexico.”

Sim watched Tally out of the corner of his eye, engrossed by the way she bit her lower lip. He remembered the feel of those lips under his. He’d kissed Esperanza only twice, and he had difficulty picturing those distant moments in his mind.

Kissing Tally was supposed to be a cure, an end to the temptation of straying from his dream. Tally must have seen it for what it was. Of course she had.

“I have a proposal for you, Sim,” she said.

Sim snapped the straw in two. “And what would that be?”

“I’d like you to stay here and work for me. Considering the trouble we had with rustlers last winter, I can use a man to take André’s place until he’s well again. I can’t promise you good pay—you could get better almost anywhere else—”

“This time of year?” Sim leaned against the opposite wall of the stall and chose a fresh bit of straw. “Even the big spreads lay off men in summer.”

“That may be, but we scrape by at the best of times. Elijah’s here by choice. So is Miriam. Federico lost his wife two years ago, and Miriam looks after his little girl while he’s riding. Bart has a crippled hand that makes it more difficult for him to find work where the owners and foremen can afford to be more fussy about who they hire.”

“And you can’t.”

“I’ve been very lucky.”

“What makes you think an army tracker would make a tolerable cowhand?”

“You’re good with horses. My guess is that you’ve worked cattle in your day, and done just about everything else that’s required on a small place like ours.”

“Just about everything else” was right. He’d even tried a few excruciating stretches of legitimate labor, but blacksmithing and bronc-busting hadn’t panned out when he’d needed real money to begin a straight life with Esperanza. The kind of cattle working Sim knew best wouldn’t meet with Tally’s approval.

But here she was, offering him a way to stay near André and keep looking for the thief who’d taken the map. If her brother hadn’t recovered by the end of the summer, he probably never would. A steady job at Cold Creek would give Sim food and shelter and time to think through what he would do if the map…or, worst case, the treasure…was gone for good.

He’d seen enough of Cold Creek to know that Tally wasn’t being modest about either its size or prosperity. The land itself was promising, with a spring and a creek that flowed the better part of the year, but she couldn’t lay legal claim to any of it until this part of Arizona was officially surveyed. The main adobe house was serviceable, as were the barn and the few other outbuildings, but they weren’t the work of someone with lofty ambitions for wealth and status. Tally had admitted she’d lost cattle to rustlers, and she probably hadn’t owned many to begin with.

Those very disadvantages made her stubborn courage all the more remarkable. She knew what she had and planned to make the best of it, no matter the odds against her. There was no doubt in Sim’s mind that she’d always been the boss at Cold Creek.

Ay, muy loco. He was crazy to seriously consider staying anywhere near a woman who interested him the way Tally did. No good telling himself that he could look at Tally and not feel…not feel something that even Esperanza, with all her purity and goodness…

Damnation. Tally and Esperanza weren’t alike. Not anything alike. As long as he remembered that, he was safe. As long as he remembered that he had to earn Esperanza the way a man earns his way into heaven.

If he began to feel trapped, the wolf gave him a way out.

“Patterson won’t like it,” he said.

“He’ll accept my decision.” Tally slid down from the partition. “Do you want the job?”

“I’ll take it, at least through the summer.”

She hesitated, then offered her hand. He took it, feeling the calluses on her palms and the steadfast strength of her grip.

“There’s only one other thing,” she said, holding his gaze as firmly as his hand. “Everyone at Cold Creek keeps my secret away from the ranch or around outsiders like the doctor. I’m Tal, André’s brother. That’s the way I started out here, and how I intend to continue.”

He released her hand, flexing his fingers to relieve the tingle in them. “Call yourself whatever you choose. I’ve got no reason to care one way or another.”

“I didn’t think so.” She smiled at him the same way she smiled at Elijah and Miriam and probably at everyone who worked for her. “I’ll inform Elijah. Tomorrow night you can sleep in a bunk.”

Sim nodded and stepped back out of range of her scent and her touch. “Are you going to get some sleep now, boss?”

“Yes,” she said quietly. “I think I will.”

She walked out of the barn. Sim leaned against Diablo and breathed in the familiar smell of horseflesh until the stallion’s head drooped and Sim gave himself up to the merciless reckoning of dreams.

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