«Matt isn’t a fancy man any more than you are.»
«Oh, yes. I forgot. He’s your…husband.»
The flick of contempt with which Caleb emphasized the last word made Willow blush. Futilely, she wished she could keep from blushing every time she was forced to confront her lie about being married. Yet Matt’s letter had been quite clear about thenecessity: Don’tlet Willy sweet talk her way into coming with you, boys. I know she always had a yen to wander, but out here an unmarried woman is considered fair game for every man’s attentions. We’ve got better things to do than stand guard over our pretty little sister.
With a rather grim pleasure Caleb noted the telltale red stain on Willow’s cheeks. Wondering if now was the time to press her, he hooked his long index finger into the watch pocket of his pants. It wasn’t a watch he touched. It was the locket Rebecca had given him when he had finally badgered her into telling him the truth about the identity of the man who had planted a child within her and then abandoned her to bear his bastard.
And to die of childbed fever hours before the baby’s own death.
All that remained of Rebecca’s life was a name — Matthew «Reno» Moran — and the locket with pictures of Reno’s dead parents inside. If Willow was Reno’s wife, surely she would recognize his parents. But if she had lied, she wouldn’t recognize the photos.
«Been married long?» Caleb asked, his voice neutral.
Frantically, Willow tried to decide if it would be better to have been married a long time or a short one.
«Er…» She bit her lip. «No.»
«Then I guess you don’t know your husband’s parents.»
Willow brightened, more sure of her ground. «Of course I know them. I’ve known them for years.»
«Neighbors, huh?»
She hesitated, then decided to keep the lies as close as possible to the truth. «Not really. Matt’s folks, ah, took me in when I was young. They’re the only parents I remember.»
Caleb smiled sourly. Willow wasn’t much of an actress, which helped him. He supposed most men just looked at her full breasts and narrow waist and didn’t notice the tide of guilt that climbed her cheeks with each lie. Men could be real fools when presented with a sweet smile and a woman’s curving body.
«It’s a good thing, knowing your husband’s parents,» Caleb said. «Makes for an easier marriage all around.»
Willow made a neutral sound and raised the soot-covered coffeepot to her lips, preferring the bitter flavor of the medicinal tea to the taste of any more lies.
Thunder cracked, chasing after lightning made invisible by the brightness of day. Shuddering, Willow lowered the coffeepot.
«There’s more,» Caleb said without looking up from the fire.
«How do you know?»
«There’s always more bitter medicine than a fancy lady is willing to swallow.»
If it hadn’t been for her recent lies, Willow would have objected to Caleb’s comment. As it was, she just raised the pot to her mouth and drank until nothing was left. He watched her from the corner of his eye while he added a few more twigs to the fire. When they caught, he added more fuel until the flames were steady and hot, yet the fire was still no bigger than his hat.
They cooked and ate breakfast in silence. Gradually, Willow realized that the unpleasant tea had worked. She was still stiff, but she no longer had to bite back sounds of pain when she bent her right leg. All too soon breakfast was over, the camp was packed up, and Caleb was saddling his horse. This time Deuce acted as pack animal and Trey bore Caleb’s greater weight.
«Will that stud of yours resent being tied behind a gelding?» Caleb asked.
«I don’t think so.»
He grunted. «We’ll find out quick enough. Which one of the mares is strongest?»
«Either of the sorrels. They’re Ishmael’s daughters. Saddle Dove, the one with only one white sock.»
Caleb saddled Dove and boosted Willow aboard. Though she said nothing, her face visibly tightened as she settled into the sidesaddle once more. Caleb knew that the tea had helped, but no medicine was going to take the discomfort from Willow today, unless maybe it was a shot of Taos lightning.
«Want some whiskey?» Caleb asked.
Willow blinked. «I beg your pardon?»
«Whiskey. It’s a good pain killer.»
«I’ll keep it in mind,» Willow said dryly, amused despite the aching of her body and the burning of her inner thighs each time her damp clothes rubbed against flesh that was already abraded. «For now, I think I’d better stick to willow-bark tea.»
«Suit yourself.»
Thunder crackled again as the clouds overhead joined to shut out the sun. Rain began to fall as Caleb swung onto Trey and took the lead. Deuce trotted off obediently, leading four Arabians. Ishmael snorted and jigged unhappily for the first few miles, then settled down to the indignity of being led by a gelding through a driving rain.
Except for the watery light of late afternoon, the ride was a repeat of the previous night’s endurance contest. Trot, canter, walk, trot, and then trot some more for good measure. Willow barely noticed when the gray of day merged with the black of night. On Caleb’s command she ate cold bacon and biscuits, drank cold coffee, dismounted and walked to spare the mare and restore her own circulation, then mounted and resumed the torment once more.
As the hours wore on, fatigue battled with pain for control of Willow’s body. She thought she could become no more uncomfortable when a cold wind sprang up and she began to shiver. The ice-tipped wind howled down from the slopes of mountains she had glimpsed only once, from Denver, their peaks swathed in storms and their flanks rising like fortresses flung across the western sky. But even those ramparts were invisible now, concealed within the frigid night and storm.
Shivering, Willow hunched down over the saddle horn and hung on, bending her head beneath the icy wind. She was so dazed by cold and fatigue that she didn’t realize the horses had stopped until she felt herself being lifted from the mare’s back. Her wet, heavy skirts slapped across Caleb’s face.
«Caleb?» she asked hoarsely. «Is it dawn?»
«Not by a long shot, but I’ve had enough of this goddamned foolishness,» he said roughly.
Willow didn’t answer, for his words didn’t make sense to her.
The ravine Caleb had chosen for camp was deep enough to baffle the wind. Part of the bank had an overhang that offered shelter from the fitful storm. A huge cottonwood log reflected back the heat of the fire that leaped and burned beneath the overhang, making the earth steam. Transfixed, Willow stared at the unexpected warmth and beauty of the flames.
«Lift up your arms,» Caleb said curtly.
She did, and felt the wet weight of his poncho being peeled from her body. That puzzled her, for at first she didn’t remember putting on the poncho. She forgot her puzzlement when she realized that Caleb was unbuttoning the bodice of her wet riding habit. Automatically she pushed at his hands. It was futile. She might as well have pushed at the invisible mountains.
«What d-do you think you’re d-doing?» she demanded through chattering teeth.
«Keeping you from a dose of lung fever,» he said grimly, yanking off the riding habit without regard for laces or buttons. «My poncho can’t keep you warm in this kind of storm, not when you start out with wet clothes that are too thick and too heavy to get dry from the heat of your body alone. You’re such a little thing.»
Willow looked at thefirelit face of the man who was peeling off her clothes as impersonally as he would have peeled bark from a log. His face was wet, dark with beard stubble, and set in grim lines. His wool shirt and leather vest were black with rain.
«You m-must be f-freezing, too,» she said.