"I know. I can smell her." Florence knew Ryder was referring to Anna Leigh's expensive Paris fragrance, but the fact that he gave it no more due than smelling cattle droppings tickled her fancy. She laughed so hard tears gathered at the corners of her eyes. Ryder reached in his back pocket and extended his bandana. The older woman took it gratefully and dabbed at her eyes. She stuffed it back in his hand just as Anna Leigh came upon them.

"Help me down, Ryder," Florence said.

"I'll go back to the ball. Even in this desert, three's a crowd." She smiled serenely at Anna Leigh as she was gently set down. Her parting smile for Ryder was a shade more coquettish.

"Behave yourself." Not certain for whom the admonishment was meant, both Ryder and Anna Leigh watched her go. When Anna Leigh turned to Ryder he was already engaged in his inspection of the wagon.

"Doesn't the Army have people who do that sort of thing?" she asked.

"Yes," he said shortly.

"Me." Anna Leigh laughed lightly. It was a trilling sound, sweetly melodious. She couldn't know that it served to remind Ryder McKay of a heartier, healthier laugh.

"I thought I would see you this evening," she said. He didn't look at her, giving his full attention to his work.

"You are." She was more intrigued by his rudeness than offended by it.

She followed him as he walked around the wagon.

"My father thought you'd attend the ball. It's in his honor, you know."

"I know."

"You were invited, weren't you?"

"I was."

"Then why-"

"Personal." As far as Ryder was concerned the subject was closed. He had no need to explain his reasons to Anna Leigh Hamilton or her father for that matter. Anna Leigh's bow mouth was pulled in an attractive pout. It was a practiced expression, one that she had mastered in front of her vanity mirror. One hundred strokes to her silky, butter yellow hair, gave her ample time to rehearse the nuances of expression that ran the entire emotional gamut from melancholia to madness. She had a slender face with high cheekbones, a wide brow, and clear blue eyes that could be both winsome and worldly. Her complexion was creamy. The few freckles on the bridge of her slim nose were due to nightly applications of lemon juice and morning applications of rice powder. Among her other attributes she numbered an hourglass figure, slender well-turned ankles, dainty feet, and delicate bones. The attention that Anna Leigh Hamilton accepted as her right was due in no small measure to the fact that she was a beautiful young woman. Most of the time she was skillful enough to conceal the fact that she knew it.

"Don't you think it's a bit insulting?" she asked.

"Not to come inside?"

"You're not inside," he pointed out. She smiled now and wished he would turn in her direction to see it. When he didn't she made certain the smile could be heard in her voice.

"Touche'," she said. Anna Leigh ran her hand across the rough wooden edge of the wagon, following the path of Ryder's own fingers as he rounded another corner.

"What exactly is it that you're doing?" she asked, curiosity quelling her impatience.

"It's a wagon, isn't it? Four wheels? A solid bottom?" More or less a solid bottom, he thought.

"It's a wagon," he said.

"One of the ones you're escorting to the train station in the morning?"

At first he was surprised that she knew about it, then he reasoned she could have heard it anywhere. The trip was hardly a secret among the men.

Still, he didn't deny or confirm her suspicions or ask her what she knew about it.

"I'm going along," she told him. Ryder stopped his inspection and turned on her. The night air was dry and crisp.

The harsh lay of the land was no harsher than the taut features of Ryder's face.

"No, you're not." Anna Leigh warmed to the look, thrilled by his concern. At the same time, she wasn't used to being told no.

"Papa said I could."

"And I say you can't." Her light brows rose a fraction.

"I don't think this is your decision."

"We'll see." He wasn't going to barge into the ball now. His argument with the senator could wait until they could talk privately.

"Shouldn't you go back to the dancing?" he asked.

She shrugged. The movement raised the half moons of her breasts a little higher. Anna Leigh noticed the motion drew Ryder's attention but did not hold it.

"Is it because you're an Indian?"

she asked. His entire body was rigid. It was an effort to be polite.

"I'm not certain I follow."

"Is that why you aren't joining the party, because the other scouts aren't invited and you're an Apache just like them?"

"That's an interesting conjecture." Anna Leigh continued to stare at him expectantly.

She only came to his shoulder, but she knew the angle at which she had to look up showed her throat to its long, slender advantage.

"Who told you I was Apache?" Anna Leigh shook her head slightly as if she were protecting her source.

"It's true, isn't it?"

Ryder doubted that anyone had told her. More likely, it was her own assumption. She had seen him in comfortable conversation with the scouts, sharing a table with them in the mess hall, and had drawn her own conclusions. She was encouraged in her thinking by his physical appearance: the sun-beaten color of his skin, the thick mane of glossy black hair, his strongly carved features. She had ignored, as others had before her, that he stood six to eight inches taller than the other scouts and that his eyes were the color of early morning frost, or she had explained the anomalies away by further assuming his heritage was mixed. Ryder's smile was cold, his eyes penetrating. Anna Leigh didn't know enough to look away. She was mesmerized. Abruptly Ryder came to a decision. Taking her by the wrist he led the senator's daughter away from the row of wagons, away from the music and lights of the officers' hall, and toward the soldiers' barracks. He didn't take her inside, but skirted the adobe building until he had her at the rear. She made no move to resist him, not when he pulled her into the shadows behind the barracks and not when he pressed her against the rough mud wall. Her breathing was light, a little unsteady, but she was excited, not fearful.

"Is this why you came out here?" he asked lowly, the line of his jaw tense.

"Were you hoping to have the savages' hands on you this evening?" He pulled at the puffed sleeves of her satin gown so her bodice slipped lower. Anna Leigh looked down at herself. Even in the shadows her skin was still paler than the hands that were on it. The contrast was startling, and Anna Leigh was aroused by it.

"I've been watching you," she whispered huskily. From the beginning, she could have added. He was standing on the porch of the officers'

quarters when the entourage from Washington had arrived. One of his shoulders had been braced against a timber that supported the overhang, and it was his indifferent, casual posture that she had noticed first.

He didn't leap to attention or stiffen self-consciously as one about to come under inspection. Instead, he tugged on the brim of his hat to shade his eyes and disappeared just as the wagons were being unloaded.

His insolence did not go unnoticed by other members of their party, but rather than being insulted by it, Anna Leigh was intrigued.

"You're not like anyone else here," she told him. Ryder was not particularly flattered by her observation. Not only did it have the easy comfort of a prepared speech, but there were men at Fort Union he admired. Not being like anyone else wasn't always a compliment. A hoarse sound came from the back of his throat, part growl, part purr.

His hands slid across her bare shoulders to her neck. The rough pad of his thumb brushed the hollow of her throat. He saw her mouth part and felt the catch of her breath. He lowered his head.

"How sure are you of that?" he asked softly.