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sweetly knowing hands in his hair, on his body, and to hear her pleased laughter at his response.
    Damnation , he swore silently. What’s wrong with me? I keep thinking like that and it’s going to be a long, uncomfortable ride .
    â€œNeed any help getting on?” he asked curtly.
    â€œHe’s your horse. Do I?”
    Case moved so quickly that Sarah never knew what happened. One moment she was petting Cricket. The next instant she was in the saddle with the memory of Case lifting her as though she weighed no more than moonlight.
    Before she could adjust to the change, he made another lightning move. Suddenly he was behind her, surrounding her.
    She went rigid as old terror exploded in her.
    Cricket sensed her fear and shied wildly.
    â€œEasy,” Case said in a soft voice. Then, less gently, “I thought you said you could ride.”
    â€œI can,” she said through her teeth.
    â€œThen take the ramrod out of your spine. You’re making Cricket nervous.”
    Sarah let out a long breath as she realized that he had been reaching for the reins, not for her.
    â€œYou’re a sudden sort of man,” she muttered.
    â€œSo I’m told.”
    He reined the stallion around and headed out of the ravine.
    Slowly she relaxed. Cricket’s walk was an easy, swinging sort of gait that covered a lot of ground without any fuss at all.
    â€œGood horse,” she said after a time. “Really good.”
    â€œHe and Bugle Boy are the last of them.”
    â€œOf what?”
    â€œThe horses my brother and I bred. War and raiders got the rest, including my brother’s family.”
    His voice was calm, emotionless, as though he were describing something that had happened to a stranger.
    â€œAt least you had something left,” Sarah said. “All I had was a ragged dress, a young brother, and enough hunger to eat grass.”
    â€œWar?”
    â€œHurricane. Six years ago.”
    Subtly Case shifted position, trying to get more comfortable. The fragrance and warmth and closeness of Sarah Kennedy were giving his body pure hell.
    â€œLouisiana?” he asked, forcing himself to speak normally.
    â€œEast Texas.”
    He took a breath. The scent of female warmth and roses made him wish he hadn’t.
    â€œSix years?” he said. “You must have been a kid.”
    â€œThirteen going on fourteen. Old enough.”
    â€œFor what?”
    â€œMarriage.”
    The tone of her voice didn’t encourage any more questions.
    That was all right with Case. The faintly husky, wholly feminine sound of her voice was doing nothing to settle the heavy running of his blood.
    Cricket’s big strides ate up the few miles to Sarah’s home. She never gave directions. Case never asked.
    He knew exactly where to go.
    The realization sank into her as slowly and completely as the scent of apples, horse, and leather. Yet instead of being frightened that a stranger knew the precise location of her isolated home, she was intrigued.
    Wonder what he’s doing here? she asked herself.
    She didn’t voice her curiosity aloud. Even if she had been rude enough to ask Case what he was doing in the wilderness, she wasn’t a fool. Only outlaws, Indians, prospectors, cowboys, and crazy artists came to the remote stone desert that was her home.
    She doubted that he was a cowhand. Cricket certainly wasn’t an ordinary cow pony. Nor was there any sign of prospecting gear tied on behind the saddle.
    From what she could see of him, he didn’t look Indian. That left outlaw or crazy artist.
    Whatever else Case was, he wasn’t crazy.
    He reined in at the head of the steep trail that led down to Lost River Canyon’s wide, cottonwood-lined valley. Because the moon shone brilliantly between the flying clouds, he was careful to stay in shadows.
    A few hundred feet below the lip of the plateau, a lantern shone through the cracks of an awkwardly built cabin. A pole corral with