He wore it well, his dark, plumed hat pulled low over his eyes, his

shoulders broad in the navy blue cavalry shirt, his legs long, his hips

trim. She had to walk past him. She swallowed hard and forced herself to

smile.

"If you'll excuse me, Lieutenant, I'm sure that you're anxious to ride

as quickly as possible." She started to walk. The closer she came to him

the harder her heart beat. She was almost past him.

Then his arm snaked out and he caught her elbow. Her heart slammed

against her chest as she looked into his smok~-gray eyes, s'zzzling into

hers beneath the sun. His eyes were still shadowed by the brim of his

hat.

"I am sorry, Miss. Stuart. I'm very sorry."

She wanted to speak. Her throat was dry. She felt his fingers upon her

as if they burned. She was acutely aware of the warmth and strength of

his body.

She stared at his hand upon her and pulled from his grasp. "Thank you,

Lieutenant," she managed to say, then she forgot her dignity and fled.

In an hour they were ready to start out. Lieutenant Slater ordered the

downed and useless wagons burned. He almost ordered her new printing

press burned, but Tess forgot all about a low-toned and well-modulated

voice and dignified behavior and came bursting from her wagon to demand

that the press be carried into something that was still capable of

rolling.

"What in hell is it?" the lieutenant demanded impatiently.

"A press! A printing press! I need it for the Wiltshire Sun!"

"Your uncle's newspaper? But he's--dead, Miss. Stuart."

"The Wiltshire Sun is not dead, Lieutenant, nor do I intend to let it

die.

I will not take a step without that printing press."

A spark of silver touched his eyes as they narrowed upon her.

"Don't threaten me, Miss. Stuart."

"I'm not threatening! I'm telling you what will and will not happen."

He took a step toward her and spoke very quietly.

"Miss. Stuart, you will move when I say so, ma'am, because I'll set you

upon your pretty little--er--rump within the wagon, and one of my men

will drive."

"You wouldn't dare! I'll tell your superiors" -- "You tell them anything

you want. Want to test me?"

She gritted her teeth and stared into his eyes.

"I need that press, Lieutenant."

He stood still, hard, cold, immobile. "Lieutenant, please! I need that

printing press! It would only take your men a few minutes. Please!"

For a moment he continued to stare at her. Then he turned around,

calling to Sergeant Monahan. The men were ordered to move the press into

one of the wagons that could still roll." Private Harper!" Slater

called.

"Hitch your horse to the rear and drive the extra wagon."

"Yes, sir!"

Tess exhaled slowly. Lieutenant Slater east her a hard glare, then

turned around. He strode away, calling for his men to see to the last of

the fires, then mount up. When he had gone, Tess realized that the

handsome Indian with the striking eyes was silently watching her. He

saluted with a smile, as if she had managed very well. Then he, too,

turned away.

Tess was certain it was a long day for the cavalry. The men were

accustomed. to moving quickly--now they were burdened down by the

wagons. The landscape was beautiful-- and monotonous. The land was a

constant pale, dusty brown, the little bit of color against it the dull

green of sage and cactus.

She was determined not to complain, but the dust soon covered her, and

after endless hours of driving the six mules that pulled her wagon, she

was exhausted. Her arms hurt in places where she hadn't realized she had

muscles. She could have said something, she was certain. The majority of

the young cavalry men were kind and solicitous, riding by her whenever

they could, asking her if she needed anything. But each time a man drove

by, she saw Lieutenant Slater in the distance beyond him, and so she

smiled sweetly and said that she was doing very well.

He had to stop. He had to stop sometime.

He finally called a halt when the sun began to fall into the horizon and

the whole world went pink again. He stayed away from her, but she knew

he was watching her. Was he judging her?

Trying to decide if she was crazy or if she was having female whimsies?

She had to keep a tight lid on her temper. No matter what he did or

said, she had to keep quiet. When she reached his fort she would speak

calmly and rationally with the commander, and she would make him

understand.

"Miss. Stuart!" Sergeant Monahah rode over to her, then dismounted from

his horse.

"Let me help me you down, miss. I'll see to your mules and the wagon."

"Thank you, Sergeant. I can really" -- She broke off, nearly falling as

he helped her from the wagon. He held her steady as her feet touched the

ground, and she smiled for him.

"Thank you again. I guess I do need some help."

"At your service."

She felt she was being watched. She looked over Monahan's shoulder and

there was Slater, still mounted on his huge horse, overseeing his men as

they broke their formation to make camp. He tipped his hat to her, and

she felt something run hot and liquid inside her. He was watching her in

Monahan's arms, and very likely acknowledging a feminine ability to draw

others to handle her own responsibilities.

Her temper started to soar.

Monahah stepped back, and his wide baby blue eyes were full of

gentleness and kindness and maybe just a bit of adoration.

He was a wonderful man, just like a great big shaggy bear. The devil to

Lieutenant Slater. If his men wanted to behave like gentlemen, she had

no intention of stopping them.

"Miss. Stuart, Lieutenant Slater rode this far because we know this

place. If you go just past that ridge yonder, there's the prettiest

little brook. It's mostly surrounded by dry rock, but the water runs

pure and clean. There's an area up there far from where we'll water the

horses. You can take a walk up there and find all the privacy you might

desire." "Thank you again, Sergeant," Tess said.

"I would dearly love a bath.

I'll take you up on your suggestion." She hurried to the back of the

wagon and found clean clothing, a bar of soap and a towel. When she

emerged again, Sergeant Monahah was unharnessing the mules. He pointed

toward the ridge.

She could see that some of the soldiers were headed in the other

direction.

She smiled again and hurried toward the ridge. She was puffing slightly

when she walked over it, but then she gasped with delight.

The brook was surrounded by boulders and high rocks, but there were

little tufts of grass growing between the rocks, and a few wildflowers

had managed to eke out an existence there. The evening was pink and gold

and very beautiful, and she could hear the sound of the water as it ran.

It looked so cool and delicious after the dry dust of the day.

She clambered down the rocks to a broad ledge, dropped her towel and

soap and clothing and sat down, hurriedly untying her shoes. Staring at

the clean, fresh water, she pulled her blouse from her skirt and quickly

shed it, then her skirt and shift and pantalcts and hose. She stepped

down the rock, so entranced by the water that she never once realized

she wasn't alone.

Barefoot and bare-chested, his cavalry trousers rolled above his ankles,

Jamie Slater sat in the shadow of a rock, swearing softly. His own bath

had just gone straight downhill. And he didn't mean to be a voyeur, but

she had stripped so damned quickly, and he'd been so darned surprised

that he had just stayed there.

Watching.

She was like a nymph, an angel cast out from the evils of the heat and

the plain. Her skin was alabaster, her breasts perfect. Her waist was

very trim, her derriere rich and lush and flaring out from that narrow

waist, and her legs were so long and shapely that they suggested the

most decadent dreams, the most sensual imaginings. Angel . vixen . her

hair streamed around her like the sunset, thick and cascading, falling

over her bare shoulders, curling around her breasts, haunting, teasing,

evocative.

He fell back, groaning slightly.

Tess didn't see him. She plunged into the water, amazed that she could

still draw such simple pleasure when the pain of. Joe's loss was still

so strongly with her. But she was still alive, and the water was so cool

and clean after the dust and filth of the plains. It came just to her

ankles at first, and there were little rocks and pebbles beneath her

feet, so she had to be careful walking. Then the water became deeper,

and she sank into it, stretching out, soaking her hair, floating,

shivering, delighted. The sun was still warm, the water almost cold, and

together they were marvelous. She swam around in the shallows, careful

not to hit her arms and legs on the pebbles, then found a smooth shelf

to stand on and scrubbed herself thoroughly with the soap, rising to

form rich suds, sinking beneath the surface again to rinse them away.

She scrubbed her hair, fee ring wonderful as she removed the dirt and

grime from her scalp. Finally she rose from the water. She paused,

ringing out her hair, then hut- fled to where she had left her things.

She picked up her towel and studiously rubbed herself dry, then sat upon

the ledge to dry her hair before donning her clean clothing.

She stretched, elosing her eyes and leaning against the rock, which was

still warm from the sun. The last of the dying rays touched her body,

and she elosed her eyes for a moment.

When she opened them, she nearly screamed, Lieutenant Slater was

standing above her. His shirt hung open over his chest, and he was

barefoot and grim.

She opened her mouth to protest. She was stark naked, and he was staring

down at her without the least apology. But when she opened her mouth, he

suddenly drew his gun and fired off several shots.

She'd never seen a gun move so fast or heard anything like the way the

Colt spit and fired in fury.

She didn't gasp; she didn't scream. She thought he had lost his mind,

but when she twisted to grasp her towel, she paused, stunned, staring at

the carcass of the dead moccasin that had been barely a foot away from

her.

She looked up at the lieutenant, unable to speak, unable to move. He had

saved her life, she realized. She had been completely unaware of the

snake that she had so carelessly disturbed.

He didn't say anything, just looked at her, his gray eyes sliding over

her body, and everywhere they touched her, she felt fire coursing

through her.

She felt her nipples harden, and she was horrified that they did so, but

still she didn't manage to say a word.

He slid his Colt into his hip holster and spoke at last. "You need to be

more careful about the rocks you choose, Miss. Stuart," he said.

She heard running footsteps. He quickly reached for her towel and handed

it to her. She clutched it to her breasts as a young private suddenly

appeared.

"Lieutenant! I heard the shots!"

"It's all right, Hardy. It was me. A snake. Nothing that could shoot

back."

The private was ~taring at them, wide-eyed. "That's all, Hardy."

"Yes, sir, Lieutenant."

The private saluted. Slater saluted in return. Then he tipped his hat to

her and turned around. Tess reddened to a dark crimson and watched as he

picked his way upstream. She saw his socks and boots on a flat boulder,

and her breath seemed to catch in her throat. He had been there all the

time.

She leaped to her feet and hurried into her fresh clean clothing with

shaking fingers. She could barely tie her pink ribboned corset, and she

had to do the buttons on her blouse twice.

She pulled on clean hose and her shoes and looked at the rock.

He was waiting. Waiting for her to leave. He sat on the ledge, his toes