t nine o'clock Victoria excused herself and went up to her bedroom. She didn't know how soon he would follow, so she scurried like a madwoman to undress, wash, and cover herself decently in a nightgown. He had taken everything she had and she needed to regain part of herself, some small bit of modesty. She was only twenty-one and had twice been taken to wife, once for what she represented and now for what she owned, but not yet for love, for herself. She felt a need for whatever small defenses she could muster.

She was glad she hurried because the nightgown had barely settled into place around her feet when Jake opened the door and walked in. He eyed the nightgown. "That was fast."

She didn't answer, because it was obvious to him how she had hurried.

He stripped his shirt off over his head and dropped it on a chair, then bent down to untie the leather thongs from around his thighs. She watched as he removed his guns and realized that he hadn't worn them the night before. He had come to her unarmed, and she wondered if he had done so to prevent her from trying to grab one of his weapons and shoot him.

His powerful brown torso rippled with muscles as he poured fresh water in the washbasin and bent down to splash it on his face. Victoria watched him, feeling her body already beginning to throb and come alive for him, and he hadn't even touched her. Her gaze slid over him, loving the hard strength of his body. He had several scars, she noticed, some of them so old they were nothing more than white lines, some of them still new enough to be red. She ached to touch them, to feel his heated skin beneath her hands.

He toweled his face and shoulders dry, watching her as she watched him. "Go ahead and take your hair down," he instructed, and she lifted her arms to obey.

Her hair reached her hips in silky waves when it was down. When she had all of the pins out, she went to the dresser and pulled her hair over one shoulder to brush it. Jake sat down to remove his boots and socks, but didn't take his eyes off of her.

"Good," he said softly. "Now take the nightgown off."

She moistened her lips. "I always sleep in a nightgown."

"No. You used to sleep in a nightgown. You don't now." He stood and began unbuttoning his pants. She watched without blinking as he shed his clothes, her gaze locked on his loins. He was heavy and aroused. By the time he was naked, she still hadn't moved.

He kept his voice soft. "Victoria. The gown."

She shivered, looking up at the determination in his eyes. The gown would come off, one way or the other. Slowly she reached down for the hem and began lifting it, revealing first her ankles, then her calves, her knees, the smooth columns of her thighs. He was as mesmerized as she had been watching him. The rising hem lifted higher, revealing the triangular patch of light brown curls covering her mound, then the gentle curve of her belly, the small indentation of her navel, the dip of her waist.

She stopped, her hands visibly shaking as she stared at him.

"Do you want me to do it for you?" he whispered, and she gave a small, jerky nod. He went to her and put his hands on her hips, but didn't immediately remove the nightgown. Instead he pulled her to him, and took her mouth with his. The kiss was slow and drugging. She dropped the hem and put her hands on his shoulders, letting the fabric drape over his arms and hands as he stroked her buttocks.

She was totally pliant when he finally lifted the garment off and carried her to the bed. His naked body was hot as he lay over her and covered her body with kisses. He tasted and nipped and licked, bringing both of her nipples to tight wet peaks. He tasted the underside of her arm, the curve of her waist, her belly just above her pubic curls. He rolled her onto her stomach despite her choked protests, and kissed her calves, the backs of her knees, up the back of her thigh, then gently sank his teeth into one rounded buttock, not enough to cause pain but to let her feel a slight sting. Then he worked up her spine, licking and kissing, sucking her flesh up against his teeth, and by the time he returned his attention to her buttocks she was writhing on the sheets, moaning with pleasure. One soft, fragrant location drew him to another, and he lingered over her like a bee over nectar, trying to sate himself on the taste and feel and scent of her.

He turned her onto her back again, noting the glazed look in her eyes and the flush on her breasts, the way her thighs naturally fell apart to welcome him. He took advantage of the invitation to bend and kiss her, his tongue making a brief foray that had her arching off the bed, and he saw the shock that wiped the sensual daze off her face. Before she could do anything more than sputter incoherently, though, he mounted her and stopped the protests with his own mouth as he carefully entered her.

It was a bit easier than before, but Victoria still flinched from the stretching as he squeezed inward. She couldn't decide if it was painful or so pleasurable that it bordered on pain. It didn't matter; her body was already so vibrant with yearning that it lifted, without conscious thought on her part, to his possession. He stroked her hair back from her face and kissed her, holding her until he had completed the penetration.

Victoria clung to him, wondering wildly if it would always be like this when he touched her. He did things to her that she had never heard of or imagined, and wouldn't have believed if anyone had told her. She was out of control, the gentility that was so much a part of her was forgotten in the tide of sensuality.

"God, sweetheart, you're so tight." He moved slightly and groaned aloud at the sensation. "Like a glove. Feel how tight you are around me."

She was panting, and her groan echoed his as he moved again. She dug her nails into his shoulders, her hips rotating as she asked, begged, for the relief she knew he could give her.

It was going too fast, but Jake couldn't slow it down. Her response drove him mad. He began thrusting into her in a hammering rhythm, rougher than he meant to be, but her hips thrust back at him with every motion in a frenzy that matched his. It happened fast, and hard, convulsing her in his arms and emptying him of both seed and strength. The satisfaction was shattering. Again.

Her body felt heavy and lifeless, so supremely sated that she didn't want to move. When Jake slowly withdrew from her she gave a wordless murmur of protest, but he rolled onto his side and pulled her into his arms, cradling her head on his shoulder. She opened her heavy eyelids for a moment; the lamp was still burning, but she was too tired to care.

He smoothed his hand down her body, slowly stroking her from shoulder to hip, reveling in her skin texture, in her graceful curves, everything about her. She drifted into a dream world brought on by exhaustion and pleasure, trying not to think, wanting not to think, even as the words escaped her lips: "If I hadn't married you, would I be dead by now?"

He went still. Desperately Victoria wished the words unsaid, because if it were true she didn't want to know it. He had married her, and even if it was to gain ownership of the ranch, she was still his wife. He had made love to her with care for her own pleasure. She hadn't intended to stir up the ashes and make trouble, yet now she had.

He heaved himself up so that he stared down at her. "I'll tell you this just once, then I never want it brought up again. I don't intend to have that thrown in my face whenever you start pouting over something. You were never in any danger from me. Understood?"

She was surprised by the anger she felt. "I'm not supposed to question your motives?" she snapped, trying to bolt upright. He tightened his arms around her to prevent the movement. "You lied to me from the beginning, you went off and left me to deal with Garnet on my own—"

"I told Emma—ah, shit!" he snarled, falling back on the bed in disgust as he realized what had happened. Garnet had interrupted him while he'd been talking to Emma, and he'd never finished his explanation. Victoria had thought he had simply deserted her. No wonder she'd taken the other two and fled! "Garnet interrupted me before I could tell Emma when I'd be back. I didn't abandon you, I had to go meet Ben. I'm sorry for that, but it can't be helped." He paused and gave her another hard look. "Now, did you understand what I said? I don't want to hear anything else about killing."

"I heard Ben say—" she began raggedly, and he held up a warning hand to stop her.

So he hadn't planned to kill her. That was nice to know, but what she really needed to hear was that he had married her because he loved her, not because it was the only way he could get the ranch. Her throat hurt with the strain of holding back the words, but she wouldn't beg. "Yes, I understand," she finally said. "You planned this from the beginning?" She swept her hand in a gesture that meant everything: the ranch, McLain… herself… everything he had done, even making love to her the night before. Had he thought that she would go more docilely to the wedding if he had already taken her to bed? If so, he had perhaps been right. She didn't want to believe that his passion had been calculated, but she couldn't deny that she felt irrevocably bound to him.

"Pretty much." He saw no reason not to tell her. "I was thirteen and Ben was eleven when McLain killed our parents and took the ranch. He thought he'd killed us, but we hid, and somehow lived. Ben was shot up worse than I was, and I thought he was going to die, too. We planned this for twenty years, working, saving money, practicing for hours and days and years with guns so we'd be good enough to take it back. Nothing was going to stand in our way."

"And nothing did." She added softly, "I do understand. The ranch is more important to you than anything else."

She waited, hoping he would deny it, that he would kiss her in that quick, fierce way of his and tell her that she was more important to him than any ranch. But he didn't, and she closed her eyes. It was a moment before she trusted her voice enough to speak again. "What would you have done if I hadn't agreed to marry you?"

He shrugged. "It didn't happen. No need to worry about it."

A cold wave swept over her, making her shiver. He misinterpreted the cause and pulled her closer, stroking his hand up her side.

"Cold?"

"No." Not on the outside. Inside, she felt frostbitten, but the words she needed still remained unsaid.

"I'll get you warm."

She heard the heat in his deep voice and her heart immediately began beating faster. Her body, it seemed, had already learned to anticipate the pleasure of his possession. She tilted her head back against his shoulder and gave him a pleading look.

"Jake…"

He didn't answer. He caught her thigh and pulled her leg over his hips, then angled inward. This time he entered easily, but her breath still caught in her lungs at the shock of penetration. The muscles in her entire lower body tightened and clamped down in eager anticipation, holding him, shaping themselves around him. She had no power to do anything else but cling to him.

Later, content, he lay on his stomach and went to sleep. Victoria stared up at the ceiling, the ashes of her very personal defeat bitter in her mouth.

The next day Luis entered the barn and caught sight of a bit of cloth as someone darted into an empty stall. He paused, waiting until his eyesight had completely adjusted to the relative dimness of the barn. Whoever it was had been near the stallion, Rubio, who was a fine-looking horse but also one of the meanest ones Luis had ever seen. Jake had big plans for that horse; he wouldn't take it kindly if anyone was foolin' with it.

Luis bent down and stuck a length of straw into each of his spurs to keep them from jingling. He silently pulled iron and eased down the center of the barn, cat-light on the balls of his feet.

He heard a sound, only the slightest of rustles, and moved toward it. His thumb eased the hammer back. He looked between the slats of the gate and stopped, puzzled. What was that patch of material? It looked like a skirt.

With a sigh he returned pistol to holster and walked forward to prop his arms on the top of the gate.

"Miss Waverly," he said politely. "Do you need help with something?"

The girl had been holding herself painfully still; he could see it in the taut lines of her body. Some game she was playing? But she jumped when he spoke, and the face she turned toward him was stark with fear.

"No," she said, scrambling to her feet. Bits of hay clung to her skirt. She stood in the middle of the stall, and the fear didn't leave her face. She was like a cornered fawn poised for flight.

Luis, though only twenty-two, had been earning his way with his gun for a long time. He was as lethal as a diamondback rattler, as too many men had found out to their cost. He couldn't remember, ever, any softness or love in his life, but in his early childhood there must have been a loving mother, one who had cradled her infant to her breast and crooned sweet songs to him, because Luis loved women. He loved the way they looked, smelled, tasted, walked, sounded, felt. Young or old, whore or spinster, slim or plump, from giggly schoolgirls to bawdy saloon girls to starchy matrons, he reserved for them, one and all, his sweetest smile and most liquid voice. He was used to all of them responding to him, even if it was only an involuntary softening of the eyes.

So why was this incredibly beautiful young girl staring at him in terror?

It piqued him. It hurt his ego. It softened his heart, because he didn't want her to be frightened of anyone or anything. Women, to Luis, were put on earth to be enjoyed and cherished. He wanted to put his arms around the girl and swear to her that everything would be all right, that he, Luis, would protect her with his life.

Instead he smiled, exerting his considerable charm, and held himself very still. "Were you looking at the horse, chica? He's beautiful, isn't he?"

Her eyes were dark blue, like the deep depths of the ocean. Luis had been to California and had seen that wonderful color. His entire body tingled in reaction to her beauty. But still she stared blankly at him, not responding to the warm reassurance in his voice and smile.

Luis moved back a step, giving her more room. "My name is Luis. Luis Fronteras." He had no idea what his real last name was, but had chosen, when he was still a child, the name of the village where he lived in the streets.

Her eyes flickered a little.

"It was very brave of you to try to escape across such land," he continued soothingly. "Three women alone, and at night! I admired you very much. I wished to tell you that you were safe now, that we wanted only to protect you, not harm you."

"I wasn't brave," Celia finally said in a thin little voice. "I was terrified. Victoria is the brave one."

Ah, the older sister, Jake's new wife. She was indeed formidable, with her haughty chin and cool blue eyes.

"Yes, she is very brave," he said with real admiration. "Where were you going?"

"We wanted to go south toward Santa Fe, but we knew riders were coming in from the south so we couldn't. Victoria said that there are Indians to the east, so we went west and were going to turn south in the morning, when we were well away from the ranch."

A plan, Luis thought, that could well have worked if they had been more used to the land. He nodded his head and reached out to open the stall door, sweeping it wide and standing back to give her plenty of room. "And the other pretty lady, the one with the beautiful brown eyes—she is your cousin?"

He knew well enough she was, but he wanted to keep her talking.

Celia nodded, taking a couple of steps toward the open gate but halting before she got too close to him. "Emma. She came to live with us in Augusta several years ago, during the war. Uncle Rufus and Aunt Helen had died, and Emma's fiancé was killed in the war, and she had nowhere to go. Emma is brave, too."

"All three of you are very brave."

She shook her head. "I'm not brave at all. I was so scared and all I wanted to do was hide. Victoria and Emma said we must leave, so that Garnet and the Major couldn't… couldn't hurt me."

The blind look was back in her eyes and with a spurt of anger Luis understood. It was inevitable, really. She was so beautiful, how could any man look at her and not want her? Like everyone else in the territory, Luis had known McLain and Garnet by reputation, and he could guess what they must have put this beautiful child through.

Luis left his post by the gate, carefully walking off and showing her that he didn't intend to corner her. He paused in front of Rubio's stall, and the big stallion's ears went back as he watched the man. Luis was too smart to lean on the gate within reach of the stallion's teeth and hooves, but he couldn't help admiring the animal. "You magnificent bastard," he crooned in liquid Spanish, "you're not good for anything but the mares, eh? You're too mean to ride, but what a life you have! Nothing to do but eating, sleeping, and romancing the ladies."

Celia crept out of the empty stall and stood watching him, still half-poised for flight. Luis gave her a flashing smile. "I have never before seen a horse as beautiful as this one."

She nodded and at last her own smile broke out.

Luis caught his breath, struck dumb. She looked like an angel.

"He's wonderful," she breathed. "I bring him things to eat, and now he lets me pat him on the neck."

He was alarmed that she would get so close to the animal, but he didn't scold her. Any hint of anger would send her flying.

"My name is Celia," she offered.

He already knew that, but he nodded as if she had given him a gift.

"I have a mare, Gypsy. Jake helped me choose her. She's really smart, but when ya'll were chasing us, Victoria made me swap horses with her because her horse is faster than mine and she wanted Emma and me to get away."

"Yes, a very brave lady, your sister."

"I'm glad that she married Jake. I like him, but he really should have told us his real name."

"He had his reasons, chica."

"I know." She sighed, and the bright light faded out of her face. "The Major was a horrible man. He killed their mother and father, did you know?"

"Yes, I know."

"Before I knew Jake was really Jake Sarratt, I used to pray that the Sarratts would come back and kill the Major. I know it's a sin," she whispered, "but I hated him."

"It's not a sin to hate evil."

"I hope not. I have to go," she said, suddenly taking fright again. With a swish of skirts she ran away. Luis watched her disappear out the front of the barn, her slender figure briefly silhouetted against the bright opening before she was gone from view. She was sweet and fey, and he wanted her.

The days after Victoria's wedding passed slowly. They had lived on edge for so long that the abrupt calm made them all feel as if the bright summer days dawdled along. Time didn't tick, it oozed. They were all relieved.

Celia began to giggle again, and the musical sound made them all smile. She dogged Jake's boot heels whenever he left the house, and although she was still shy with Ben, someone began playing practical jokes on him. Victoria strongly suspected Celia, because her sister had always had a penchant for that type of thing, but Ben knew it was Celia. He had seen her sneaking out of his room once, but he continued to pretend ignorance. She got such joy of it that he often exaggerated his mishaps, just to watch her try to act innocent while she was struggling with laughter.

But with Emma, Ben was held at a distance by a careful silence. She pretended he didn't exist, and he allowed her to do so. It wasn't easy, since they lived in the same house, but Emma's self-possession was such that it was possible. He wasn't sure how, but she could speak to him and still treat him as if he weren't there. It made him angry but he accepted it, because he knew the reason for it.

The days were busy. Despite their expectations of the worst, there hadn't been any trouble with the men who had been out with the herds. Some left with quick looks over their shoulders, some stayed. Jake and his men worked long, hard hours getting an accurate count of the herd and altering the brands on cattle and horses alike. Jake and Ben were often out of the house from dawn until long after dark. They would return tired and caked with grime, smelling of horses and sweat. To make it easier for them to wash they rigged up a contraption behind the bunkhouse: a small enclosure with two buckets of water balanced overhead and a rope tied to each bucket. Most of the men got in the habit of stripping, tipping some of the water over their heads, then soaping up and using the remainder of the water to rinse. Whoever used the water had to refill the buckets. At the end of each long hot day, there was always a line waiting to use the contraption, though a lot of the men still used the river if they were inclined to bathe. For some of them, that wasn't very often.

For Victoria, the slow summer days were filled with a deep sense of unreality. During the day she did what wives had always done; she mended, she made certain the meals were on time, and took care of the myriad and endless details of making a home. That was the way she had always expected her life to go, and the routine was as familiar to her as her own face.

At night, however, things changed. When Jake came up the stairs each night and entered her bedroom—their bedroom now—and closed the door behind him, nothing was as she had ever imagined her life to be. She spent the hours in a sensual daze, locked in his arms. She lost her privacy to dress or undress alone and had to accustom herself to his tall body in her bed. He touched her however and whenever he liked, and he liked it often. There wasn't an inch of her skin left unexplored. She drowned in the sensuality of the nights, her mind overwhelmed by the demands of the flesh, both his and her own. Sometimes when she awoke in the bright morning sunlight she was appalled at the carnal excesses of the night before and would swear that she would never let herself behave so mindlessly again. But her intentions never lasted past his first kiss, the first touch of his hard body against hers.

The more influence he exerted over her at night, the harder she tried to shore up her defenses during the day. If he had ever said those simple words, I love you, she would have abandoned herself totally to him, but the words he whispered to her were of lust. So every morning she tried desperately to isolate her heart from him, to wall up part of herself where he couldn't find her. It was pure self-defense, the need to keep a kernel of her being whole and untouched, a foundation on which she could rely if the rest of her life fell apart.

"A kitten!"

Celia's face was bright with joy as she scooped the tiny animal out of Luis's lean brown hands. She cuddled the ball of fluff to her cheek and the kitten gave a squeaky meow. "Oh, Luis, where did you find it?"

"In the tack room. Its mother must have died."

"Will it be all right?" she asked anxiously. "Is it old enough to eat on its own?"

He shrugged. "There's only one way to find out."

Together they trooped up to the house, where Celia begged Lola for a saucer of warm milk, which she placed on the sun-warmed flagstones of the courtyard. The kitten sniffed daintily before lowering its pink nose and beginning to lap.

Celia smiled. "It's old enough."

"It seems so." Luis watched her crouched there on the flagstones, her face intent on the kitten. She was so full of delight he wanted to snatch her to her feet and kiss her.

She looked up at him. "Where are you going to keep it? What have you named it?"

"I'm not keeping it anywhere. I brought it to you."

"You mean it's mine?" she breathed.

"If you want it."

"Of course I want it! I've never had a pet before." She lightly rubbed the kitten behind the ears and it arched up to her hand, but didn't lift its head from the milk.

"Lola said you'd found a kitten," Victoria said, stepping out into the courtyard. To Luis's surprise, she crouched down in a position identical to Celia's and stroked the kitten. "It's so pretty and soft."

"Luis found it. He said I can have it."

Victoria smiled. "What will you name it?"

"I don't know, I've never had a kitten before. What are some cat names?"

"Tiger?" Victoria suggested, then looked doubtfully at the kitten. She and Celia laughed together.

"What would you name it, Luis?" Celia asked.

He shrugged and sank down on his haunches to join the women. "I've never had a pet, either."

Victoria smiled at the slim young man, wondering if he felt a kinship with the little animal since he was so catlike himself. She liked him, even though she could look at him and see danger clinging to his broad shoulders like a cloak. But Luis's smile was always warm and gentle; he was never coarse around Celia, and he seemed to have appointed himself sort of a bodyguard for the girl. Victoria was glad and hoped Celia might lose some of her fearfulness around men. In general the men around her now teased her and watched over her, but never threatened her or gave her sidelong glances.

"First, is it a male or a female?" Victoria asked practically.

Again Luis shrugged, which piqued Celia's interest. "How do you tell?"

"You pick it up and look," Luis replied.

She did, holding the kitten on its back. The three of them solemnly studied its belly.

After a moment Celia said, "What are we looking at?"

"I don't know," Victoria admitted, laughter brimming in her eyes.

"Luis?"

He put his hand over his mouth and pretended to be considering the matter, but at last he was forced to admit, "It looks like a furry belly."

"That's what I thought, too," Victoria said.

Celia began to giggle, then they were all laughing. At the sound of booted steps, they looked up. Celia lifted the kitten. "Luis has given me a kitten," she explained to Jake. "We want to name it, but we can't tell if it's a boy or a girl."

Jake's face relaxed into a grin, and Victoria felt her heart turn over. He leaned down and took the kitten, his big, lean hand gentle as he held it up and looked. "It's a torn," he said, and put it down in Celia's lap.

"How can you tell?"

He wasn't about to get into one of those discussions with her, so he tousled her hair and said, "Practice. There were always a lot of cats around when Ben and I were young."

"Show me how to tell."

Victoria was watching with glee, waiting to see how he got out of that. Luis had turned his head to hide his grin.

"You'd need a male and a female side by side, so I could show you the difference."

"I suppose." She sighed with disappointment. "At least now we know to name it a male name."

"Call it Tom," he suggested. "That's a name, and it's a tomcat, so it fits."

"Tom." After a minute's deliberation she nodded, and returned the kitten to its saucer of milk.

Jake held out his hand, and Victoria placed hers in it for him to draw her to her feet. He guided her inside with his hand on the small of her back.

When they were out of earshot, she asked, "Can we trust Luis with Celia?"

"As much as anyone. She's too beautiful to expect the young bucks not to notice her, but he won't force himself on her, if that's what you're asking."

"It is, I suppose. It's just that she's so innocent. I don't want something awful to happen to her."

His green eyes gleamed. "Awful?" he asked in a deep voice.

Victoria blinked at him, realizing abruptly that he was escorting her up the stairs. She blushed hotly. "What are you doing?" she demanded in a fierce whisper.

"Taking you to bed."

"Jake, it's the middle of the day!"

"I know. What about it?"

"Everyone will know what we're doing."

"Do you think they don't know what we're doing when we go to bed every night?"

"People go to sleep at night. It's obvious we wouldn't be sleeping if we went to bed now!"

The pressure of his hand was inexorable. "We're married. It's legal." He was determined to break through her defenses, one way or another. He didn't know why, but she kept building barriers between them. When he came back to the ranch house every night, he always found an invisible wall between them, locking him out of her thoughts. Every night he would smash it down, but she would busily rebuild it during the day. He had come back to the house specifically to make love to her now, to see if he could destroy the barrier once and for all. He wanted all of her, every little bit of her, with the greediness of someone dying of thirst; he felt as if he'd been given a glass of water but told he could drink only half of it.

He locked them in the bedroom and stripped both her and himself. As he placed her on the bed, he saw the despair in her eyes. Despair filled his own heart. Why did she feel she had to resist him? Then she closed her eyes and twined her arms around his neck. For him, as well as for her, the why ceased to matter.

They came together in a rush of heated flesh, straining toward each other, already desperate with passion. The rest of the world was shut out during their lovemaking, but afterward, when she was trying to sort out her clothes, he saw the reserve in her eyes and knew he had failed.