Caleb put the glass down long enough to look at the worried face of the young woman who was standing so close to him that he could hear the slow drawing and exhalation of her breath. In the gloomy morning light, her eyes were almost silver, with only a few hints of the warm splinters of gold and brilliant blue-green he had come to expect. Her lips were a soft rose, the same shade of pink that wind had teased from her cheeks, and her braids were the color of the absent sun. He wondered how her hair would feel spilling over his naked skin.
With a silent curse at his unruly desires, Caleb collapsed the spyglass and urged his horse forward again. The route he chose took them through forest much of the time, skirting meadows and the gentle, parklike clearings that Willow found so unexpected in such a wild land. Around them, shrouded in clouds, the land rose more and more steeply with each mile. Creeks fell awaydownslope in a racing white froth.
After a time it began to rain in earnest. At first, Willow welcomed the downpour as a means of blurring their tracks, but soon realized that rain was making their passage much slower and more difficult. Riding through a storm in gently rolling countryside was one thing. Riding through a storm in asteepsided, stone-bottomed landscape was quite another.
The heavy wool jacket Willow wore repelled most of the water, but eventually it become as wet as her Levis. Water ran off the brim of her hat onto the saddle. Low-sweeping evergreen branches added their lot to the miserable going, shedding sheets of water at the lightest touch. From time to time the ghostly, slender trunks of aspen trees appeared among the dark evergreens. The aspen leaves were light green on top, silver underneath, and trembled at every touch of rain. In many cases, the trunks grew so close together that Caleb avoided the groves whenever he could, knowing the packhorse and mares would come to grief in the tight spaces between trees.
A cold wind came wailing down the slope, tearing apart the clouds. Willow barely noticed, for the trail had become very steep as they worked around the shoulder of a mountain. Way down below and to the left, there was a stream. It was invisible beneath the shroud of rain, but Willow was certain a stream had to be there. The sheets of water washing down off the mountain guaranteed it.
Without warning the clouds parted ahead. Sunlight streamed over the land, setting ablaze the countless drops of rain clinging to the forest.
Caleb glanced up, but had little heart for the beauty of the land. He knew what was coming next, and he knew Willow would fight it. But he had no choice. He had known this moment would come since she had refused to leave her horses in Denver and refused again to leave them the night he had seen WolfeLonetree.
Grimly, Caleb urged his horse forward to the edge of aparklike clearing in the forest. There were many such places in the Rockies, some so high that tundra rather than grass grew. Watching the land for movement, Caleb waited for Willow to come alongside. Across the park, deer watched in return. After a few minutes of alert scrutiny, the graceful animals resumed browsing along the opposite edge of the park.
Green, shimmering with raindrops, bright with a crystal ribbon of water winding through its lush center, the grassy basin was so beautiful that Willow made a sound of pleasure when she reined in next to Caleb. Then she looked up from the grass to the mountain tops finally free of clouds, and she froze.
The mountains were overwhelming. Lashed by snow, swept by wind, naked in their bleak granite heights, the peaks dominated sky and earth alike. She had never seen anything to equal them in her life.
«It’s like seeing the face of God,» she said in a shaking voice.
The emotion in Willow was echoed in Caleb’s eyes. He loved the mountains in a way he loved nothing else, a soul-deep feeling of belonging to them and they to him. But he understood the Rockies as deeply as he loved them. The mountains were special to man.
Man was not special to the mountains.
Caleb dismounted and systematically began tying the mares’ lead ropes around their necks, releasing them from the relentless tugging at their halters.
«Does Ishmael have a favorite mare?» he asked.
«Dove. The sorrel you’ve been leading.»
«Get down. I’ll saddle her for you, unless you think Ishmael won’t follow us at all unless he’s on a rope.»
«I don’t understand.»
«I know you don’t.» Caleb’s mouth flattened. He didn’t like what he was going to do, but that didn’t change anything. It had to be done. «Your Arabians are tough and quick and well-trained. Now we’re going to find out if they’re smart. If they are, they’ll follow without a lead rope, no matter how tired they get or how rough the trail. If they aren’t smart…» He shrugged. «So be it. I’m not getting us killed for any horseflesh, no matter how fancy.»
«Surely the storm washed out our tracks,» Willow said urgently. «We’ll be able to keep ahead of anyone following unless they know the area as well as you do.»
«I doubt if they do, but whether or not they know the high, little-used passes just doesn’t matter.»
«What?»
«It doesn’t matter,» Caleb repeated flatly. «We’re through leading horses. It’s too damned dangerous. From here on out the trail gets rough.»
«Getsrough?» Willow’s voice was faint, appalled.
«That’s right, southern lady.» He fixed her with a fierce, tawny glance. «What we’ve been over so far is a few lumps set in the middle of a lot of valleys and parks. Nothing special. A horse can lose its footing, go down, get scuffed up some, get up, and go on its way.» Caleb took off his hat, whipped his fingers through his hair, and yanked the hat back into place. «It’s different where we’re going. Up ahead it will be worth your life to lose your footing. There are places where you could scream for a long time before you hit bottom.»
Willow turned away and looked at her horses. The altitude and the days of hard riding had told on all of them. They were thinner, less alert, and they grazed hungrily on any grass within reach. The Arabians were strong and willing, but they were being ground down. So was she, even though she had done little more than hang on.
Saying nothing, Willow looked back to the park and to the magnificent, uncaring peaks blocking out the sky wherever she turned.
«Is there really a way through them?» she whispered.
«Yes. It isn’t obvious from where we are, but it’s there just the same. Finding the route isn’t a problem. Getting to it before we’re overtaken by those two gunnies is.»
Wide hazel eyes searched Caleb’s face. «Don’t you think the rain washed out our tracks?»
«Maybe. Maybe not. Depends on how good at tracking they are. It’s not something I want to bet your life on.»
Willow closed her eyes, trying not to show how much her composure was costing her. She would have argued with Caleb, but she knew there was no point. She had refused to leave her horses behind. Now she had to live with the result of her refusal.
At least there was an abundance of natural food around. Even if the Arabians wouldn’t follow without being led, they wouldn’t starve. She and Matt could come back for them.
Willow clung to that thought as she dismounted. «I’ll get Dove.»
Caleb watched from beneath hishatbrim while Willow moved among her mares, touching first one and then another, talking to them in a low voice, stroking their warm, sleek hides. He had expected Willow to pitch a fit over his order, but she hadn’t. She had looked at the peaks, looked at him with eyes that made him ache, and then she had climbed down from her stallion and gone about doing what must be done.
It took only a moment for Caleb to switch the saddle to Dove’s back. Despite the altitude and hard trail, the mare had enough energy left to lip playfully at Caleb’s coat sleeve. He smiled and pushed the soft muzzle out of the way, only to have it return again. While he cinched the saddle snugly in place, Dove snuffled over the thick, wooly pelt that lined hisshearling coat.
«You’re like your mistress,» he said, rubbing the mare’s velvety muzzle. «Small but game.»
«I’m not small,» Willow said behind Caleb’s back.
He turned and caught her chin in the palm of his hand, tilting her face up gently toward him. «If Ishmael won’t follow, do you want to ride him instead of Dove?»
Willow knew what Caleb was asking without actually putting it into words: If the horses wouldn’t follow, which one did she want to save?
She closed her eyes. For a moment her long lashes quivered against her cheeks as she fought for control of the tears that burned behind her eyes.
«I — yes,» Willow said huskily, turning away without meeting Caleb’s eyes. «Ishmael.»
«It would be better that way,» Caleb agreed. «There are wild horses around. The mares won’t be alone for long. Some stud will drive his herd up here for summer grazing. He’ll take care of your mares. Ishmael would try, but he’s paddock raised. He doesn’t know about high-country snow and mountain lions.»
Willow nodded but said nothing.
Caleb held out his hands, making them into a stirrup. «Time to go.»
She wanted to tell him that she could mount without his help, but the words would have taken too much effort. She put her foot in his hands and swiftly found herself in the saddle.
The park was well behind them before Caleb reined in at a small creek and looked back to see how well the Arabians were following. His mouth flattened when he saw that Willow was riding sixth in line, keeping the loose mares between her and the pack horse, leaving Ishmael to bring up the rear.
Silently, Caleb admitted that the mares were following well enough, but that didn’t make him like Willow’s position far down the line any better. His concern was somewhat eased by Ishmael’s transformation. Being taken off the lead rope had agreed with the stallion. He was walking like a horse on springs, ranging from side to side when the trail permitted, scenting every breeze, and generally acting for all the world like a wild stud overseeing his herd. Any thought a mare might have had of dragging her feet vanished when Ishmael laid back his ears and offered to nip the laggard’s rump.
As the mares caught up with Caleb, they ranged alongside his horse, drinking thirstily. He fished a handful of jerky from his saddlebag and handed it over to Willow.
«When we leave here, ride right behind me,» Caleb said. «The men trailing us could catch up any time between now and sunset.»
Biting her lip, Willow looked at her mares.
«Don’t worry,» Caleb said. «That red stud of yours will keep the mares in line. That’s one hell of a horse. Any other flat country horse would be dragging his tail by now. Not that one. He’s still got lightning in his eyes and thunder in his hooves. Be interesting to breed him to one of my Montana mares and see what we get.»
Willow looked at Deuce and Trey. A small smile played around her lips. «Uh, I don’t know how to tell you this, Caleb, but your Montana horses are geldings, not mares.»
Caleb shot her a look of disbelief, then laughed out loud. The flash of humor in her was as unexpected as the resilient spirit in the Arabians. He leaned forward and tugged gently at one of her golden braids.
«How do you know the difference?» Caleb asked, grinning. «Do tell, honey.»
Willow laughed and blushed at the same time. The sound of her soft laughter blended with the murmuring creek and the sighing wind, becoming part of the beauty of the wild land. Something twisted within Caleb, something very close to the emotion he had felt the first time he had seen the distant peaks of the Rockies and known that he had been born to live among them.
Slowly, Caleb released the golden rope of Willow’s braid, letting it slide between his fingers, wishing he had taken off his riding gloves so that he could feel the silky texture of her hair. When he spoke his voice was deep, almost rough.
«If you fall behind trying to keep your mares following me, I’m going to come back and get you. Then there will be blazing red hell to pay.»
Before Willow could answer, Caleb touched his big horse with spurs and headed across the meadow at a canter.
The land rose steeply again at the far side of the park, forcing the horses to climb until Willow was certain that her head would brush the clouds. The pace slowed to a walk. Willow found herself looking uneasily over her shoulder, half expecting to see riders on dark horses.
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