Since that made sense, Laura turned to look and saw a black cloud, which she could only assume was dust, rising toward the moon. "What is it then?"

"Damned if I know." A faint mewling sound filtered toward them. Upon hearing it, he started to laugh. "Jesus Christ, it's cows! The damned fools is runnin' from a herd of cows."

Laura giggled, albeit a little hysterically. Behind her, she could hear the townspeople still trying to muster a defense. Men were being called to volunteer, women shrieked, someone yelled, "Rifles! This way for rifles!"

The stampeding herd of cattle lost its momentum at the edge of town, and only a few lead runners spilled onto the street. The bawling noise grew increasingly louder. It took several minutes before Laura heard its origin acknowledged by the men who had taken up positions along the boardwalk.

"It's cows, Horton!"

"Cows?" was the incredulous response. "You kidding?"

"Hell, no, I'm not kidding. Can't you hear them?"

"All this over cows? Where's the damned fool who raised the alarm?"

Deke's white-toothed grin seemed iridescent in the darkness. Weak with relief, Laura clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle her giggles. His gaze dropped to hers, and his smile broadened. Retrieving his hat, he put it back on and chuckled. The warm sound was Laura's undoing, and her laughter escaped.

"You think it's funny, you Indian-loving bastard?" The angry, masculine voice made Laura whirl. A man carrying a rifle came striding up the street. Though she felt certain it wasn't his intention, Deke stepped sideways as if to shield her when he turned to confront the stranger. His shoulder partially obstructed her view.

"No offense meant. I ain't laughin' at you, mister, but with you."

"Who the hell do you hear laughing? Women and children terrorized! Running for their lives! You have a twisted sense of humor." The man spotted Laura. "And you! Picking mighty shady companions, aren't you, ma'am?"

"That's the Cheney woman," another man called as he emerged from shadows. "Her kid got snatched. She's hiring Sheridan to find her baby."

The first man snorted upon hearing that, his gaze never leaving Laura. "You leave town with him, ma'am, and you're crazy."

Laura felt Deke stiffen.

"He may he white on the outside, but he's Cheyenne in every way that counts! A murdering, raping bastard, just like the rest of them." He shot a look at Deke. "Tell her, Sheridan. Tell her the truth, or I will."

"Sounds to me like you're the one all warmed up." Laura no longer found anything about this humorous. "He lived with them," the man cried. "Lived with them, ate with them, slept with them, made love with them. And while he was one of them, the bastard murdered with them. Ask him if he didn't!"

Laura couldn't have spoken if she tried. She glanced up at the stony profile of Deke's face.

"Go on, deny it if you will!" The man shifted his grip on his rifle, the new angle of the butt threatening. "Tell her you never lifted any scalps! That you never had your turn on a white woman who was pleading for mercy from animals that didn't know the meaning of the word. Tell her!"

Deke stood there in rigid silence.

The man stepped closer, his body atremble with suppressed rage. "He did it, Mrs. Cheney. He'll turn on you, just the same. If you leave with him, you'll mark my words, don't think you won't."

Laura felt the muscles at the backs of her legs quivering.

The man spat in the dirt at Deke's feet. "I realize you got a baby to find, but going off with him isn't the way. Stay here, where you're safe. Give us a few days. We'll help you. I promise you that."

A few days? Laura thought of Jonathan out there somewhere in the possession of that Mexican. Her breasts ached, a reminder of the life-giving link between mother and child. Within a few days, her baby might perish for lack of nourishment. She had to go now. Tonight.

Never taking his gaze off the raging man, Deke said, "Boston?"

The question that laced the word needed no explanation. Laura stared up at him. The feather in his hatband peaked over the crown of his Stetson, a testimony etched in silhouette against the dim light coming from the saloon.

"You goin' or stayin'? Make up your mind."

"Going," she whispered.

"Louder," he shot back. "Say it so the man can hear you."

Laura swallowed to get her voice. Even so, it came out with a tremulous ring of indecision. "I shall go with Mr. Sheridan."

"You're a fool then!"

Laura couldn't argue that. The way she saw it, Sheridan would have denied those horrible accusations if there hadn't been some truth to them.

Less than an hour into the ride, Laura's senses were bombarded on every side by one form of discomfort or another. Her body was bruised from the nasty fall she had taken that day. Her head ached from the blow to her temple. The lower half of her torso, still tender from childbirth, panged with the constant and jarring rhythm of her horse's gait. And she was exhausted. She slumped, hoping that the change of posture would give her relief. She curled a leg around the saddle horn with the same aim in mind. Nothing helped.

It seemed that it was taking much longer to reach the mountains than it should. They rode and rode, but it didn't appear that the Rockies were any closer. Sheridan wanted to see the horse tracks around her cabin for himself. From there, he hoped to pick up the kidnappers' trail. The plan made sense to Laura. But how long was it going to take to get back there? Two more hours, maybe three? She already felt as though they had been riding forever.

When Deke drew his black to a stop, Laura finally noted his absence beside her, twisted in the saddle to glance back, and nearly lost her seat. He nudged up the brim of his hat to regard her. "You okay?"

"I'm fine."

He studied her for a tense moment that made her wonder what he had in mind. A chill ran up her spine as she looked behind him. The dim glow of Denver's lights had vanished. She was completely alone with him now.

"Wh-Why are you stopping?"

He fixed his attention on the horizon. "You're gettin' weary. In case you start noddin' off, it might be best if I take the lead from here."

At his words, another kind of dread filled Laura, for she had known this moment was inevitable. She turned to peer at the looming mountains and tried to pick out peaks that looked familiar, her reason being that she felt certain she could find the cabin if she aimed for landmarks she saw every day.

She indicated a blob of misshapen black on the horizon. "That way."

He drew his stallion abreast of her gelding. "That way? Can you name me a direction?"

Tension mounting, she surveyed the line of mountains again. "Westish?"

"Westish," he repeated blankly.

"Sort of west," she clarified.

"We can't go sort of, Boston. Sort of could take us to hell and gone the wrong way."

She nibbled her bottom lip. "It worked fine coming."

"What worked coming?"

The impatience in his voice made her horribly uneasy. When Tristan had used that tone, a cuffing hadn't been long in coming. "The sort of method," she explained in what she hoped was a confident tone. "I picked out where I thought Denver was and went that way. Sort of northeast, I think. If it was good enough to get me there, it should work to get me home again."

Even by the dim light of the moon, the stunned expression that crossed his dark face was visible. Laura shifted sideways in the saddle to put a bit more distance between them.

"Let me get this straight. Are you sayin' you don't know which direction your cabin is?"

"II have a fair idea."

"Then would you mind tellin' me with no ish stuck on the end? West, southwest, which is it?"

She regarded the mountains again. "Well, you see, Mr. Sheridan, it's not quite that simple. I don't know specifically which direction I'm going." She jabbed a finger. "Just that I believe it's that way."

"You believe?" A long silence elapsed. Then he said, "Jesus Christ," his tone making it inapparent whether he was cursing or praying. Laura wrapped the reins she held around one hand, drawing them tighter and tighter. "Are you sayin' that I'm ridin' around out here at night, takin' my lead from a woman who ain't got no idea in hell where we are?"

Laura thought that summed it up pretty well, but the look on his face made her afraid to say so. Evidently her silence was answer enough. He swore again and jerked off his hat.

"I found Denver, didn't I?" she hastened to remind him.

"How? I'm surprised you ain't still wanderin' around out there. Westish? Jesus Christ. Tell me I ain't hearin' this."

Despite her fear that he might cuff her, one of Laura's biggest failings had always been her mouth, and she couldn't stifle the words that sprang to her tongue. "You ain't hearing this."

Returning his hat to his head, he gave her a look that spoke volumes. Already regretting her comeback, she braced herself for a blow, which had always been Tristan's reaction to her sassy mouth. Laura truly had tried to overcome that flawgetting cuffed was no fun, after allbut she had never quite cured herself of the habit. Long on nerve and short on reticence, that was her, and always at the worst possible moments.

Hoping to defuse the situation, she drew up her shoulders. "In my own defense, Mr. Sheridan, I must say that I think going westish will work just fine if you'll give it half a chance."

He pinched the bridge of his nose. After a moment, he lowered his hand and blinked as if he thought the scenery might change.

"How lost can I possibly get? That's the question to ask yourself."

"Pretty damned lost."

"You can only ride so far without running into mountains," she retorted, "and when that happens, I shall know we've gone too far."

"Jesus Christ."

The increased sharpness of his tone made her all the more wary. She edged her gelding away from his black. The dog plopped down on the dirt between their horses, content to gnaw on its deer leg while they conversed. Judging from the set of Sheridan's shoulders, Laura feared his irritation might soon erupt in anger. Growing more frightened by the moment, she searched for something to say that might calm him. "It's not as bad as it sounds. I did the same thing going to Denver. When I ran into the telegraph lines, I realized I had gone too far and turned back. It was rather elementary, actually. I simply followed the poles straight into town."

"Jesus Christ."

Her nerves snapped. "I do wish you'd stop saying that!"

"What would you like me to say?"

"Anything but taking our Lord's name in vain."

He narrowed an eye at her. "Shit."

In for a penny, in for a pound. Meekness never had been her forte. She raised her chin a notch and let fly. "I must say that you're not being very tolerant, Mr. Sheridan. It's certainly nothing to swear over. I shall find the cabin. Just give me a chance."

"You can't hardly stay in the saddle now," he came back. "I can't go draggin' you all over the goddamned country tryin' to find where you live."

"It seems to me you're the one who's becoming frazzled." She rubbed at a streak of flaking mud on her cheek. "I'm sure I look far worse than I feel. Out of necessity, most women are quite adept at preserving their resources."

"Is that so?"

"Absolutely. You might be well served to follow my example."

He fixed her with a smoldering gaze. "Is that right?"

Gathering courage, Laura nodded. "You shall not see me expending unnecessary energy on temper, I assure you."

He curled his hands around the saddle horn and pushed forward in the stirrups. As he resumed his seat, he took a deep breath and muttered something unintelligible.

Laura moistened her lips. "I realize it must be slightly disconcerting to you that I don't know my directions."

He muttered again.

"But I was raised in a city, you know. There were street signs if I needed to find my way, which wasn't a frequent occurrence. I usually rode in the carriage, and the driver took me where I wanted to go. West, north, south, it's really not a question that crops up in Boston."

"Jesus Christ."

"You are being unnecessarily ugly. I'm doing the best I can."

He nudged his hat back to gape at her. "You got any idea how far we could ride to hit them mountains?"

Laura stared at the peaks. "They don't appear to be much farther than a hop, skip, and jump."

"That's because the air in this country fools the eye, sorta like a magnifyin' glass does. Somethin' can look like it's right over yonder, and you can ride for hours to reach it."

She recalled her earlier impression that it was taking an uncommonly long time to make any progress. "Oh, my."

"Oh, my? Honey, that don't say it by half. If you miss your place and we ride clear to them mountains, what're we gonna follow once we hit 'em? There ain't no telegraph lines this far west. You plannin' to sniff your way back and forth until we trip over our noses into your yard?"

His voice was bordering on a yell, and every word made Laura start. When he finally grew quiet, she said in a thin voice, "There's the creek. It runs past the cabin. Once we find it, we shall simply follow its course."

"Your crick got a sign on it or somethin' that says it's your crick? There's a hell of a lot of cricks in this country."

Tears sprang to her eyes. Furious with herself, she blinked them away. Unfortunately, it wasn't quite so easy to control the quaver in her voice. "I'll find it, I said. It's my son out there, remember?"

At that, he fell silent. After a long moment, he said, "I reckon we all got our ignorances. For me, it's talkin'. For you, it's goin'." He took another deep breath in a visible attempt to calm down. "Okay. You say it's westish." He studied the horizon. "How about the crick? It got a name?"

Laura felt more tears welling. "Tristan never mentioned one."

"It don't sound like your husband did much that was useful."

Laura seconded that, but it seemed wrong to speak ill of the dead. Gazing out across the miles of open country, she began to feel panicky. She threw Sheridan a frantic look. "If you're right, and I'm unable to find the cabin" Her voice cracked with the intensity of her emotion. "What on earth shall we do if I can't take you to it?"

For the first time since discovering how inept she actually was at finding her way, he didn't look quite so angry. For a moment, she even thought she detected a glimmer of sympathy in his eyes. But then she decided it must he moonlight. "I'll find it, Boston."

"Do you truly believe you can? I thought you said we were lost."