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had saved her. Because she was so grateful to be away from Price. Because she had no control over what was about to come.
    Saying they were now friends didn't quite describe things, either. They'd always been close, but now there was a tension between them, an invisible wall that kept them aware of propriety at all times. While he still called her sweet names, it wasn't nearly as often, and never quite as lighthearted.
    He didn't look at her the way he used to, either. His gaze was more guarded; the muscles around his mouth looked more tense.
    Vanessa felt immeasurably guilty. She was completely, totally dependent on him, draining him dry. Taking, yet giving nothing in return. He must surely be resentful.
    And, though their relationship might not have been so equal when he was working for her father, and then for Price, she'd felt as if she could cheer him up on some days, sit with him quietly on others.
    Then, Clayton hadn't been responsible for every part of her being.
    Indeed, Clayton had given up everything for her. He'd made her life better, and she would be forever grateful to him, but she wanted to be able to give him something in return, anything to make what they had more equal, anything to help her feel a little more pride.
    But all she had was herself and what was left of her dignity.
    Abruptly, Clayton stopped. Vanessa reined in Coco and shifted her legs a bit, hoping to regain some sort of feeling in her thighs.
    "See that ridge?" he asked, pointing to a pale structure in the distance. "Ken's place is beyond it. We should be there in no time."
    A warm sense of expectation shined through in his tone, sounding welcome and familiar. Pleased—and anxious to end the stilted silence—she asked, "How do you know him, again?"
    "Ken was one of my men in the war."
    Clayton's voice was full of pride. Knowing the little bit about his past that she did, Vanessa said, "Is he older or younger than you?"
    "Older, but not by much."
    Recalling stories she'd overheard, Vanessa said, "Strange, isn't it, that you were an officer so young?"
    Eyes trained on the desolate horizon, he shrugged. "Not really. By the end of the war, men joked that you could be an officer if you survived the next battle." Somewhat bitterly, he murmured, "I somehow managed to survive them all."
    The things he went through broke her heart. "Oh, Clayton."
    "It's true." As if he was in no hurry to go, he leaned back in his saddle. "Ken is the best tracker I know. He saved us a time or two from starvation. More times than that, he rescued us from being killed outright. I owe him."
    "I'll look forward to meeting him." Vanessa loved to hear Clay speak of the war. Oh, not the pain, or how hungry and cold he'd been, or how dangerous the battles were. What she liked was hearing the stories of him and his men. Each one gave her insight into another facet of Clayton—one that didn't seem as tightly wound, as tightly contained, as wary and reserved.
    "You'll like Ken's wife Mary. She's quiet, but not when she's ordering him around. When she gets on her high horse, you'd better look out!"
    She grinned. "She sounds like a formidable woman. Do they have children?"
    "I know they have one. I'd be surprised if they didn't have a houseful by now."
    "I love children."
    Brown eyes blinked in surprise. "Do you? I didn't know that."
    "How could you? It's not like we had a chance to see many children at the Circle Z." Or if they would've spoken of such things if they had.
    They'd had a cordial relationship, but over the years their roles had become more sharply defined. Most recently, Clayton had always taken care to treat her with the utmost respect, and Vanessa had tried her best not to let on how fascinated she was with the foreman of their spread.
    The air stilled as her words sank in. Clayton seemed to notice the difference, too. "I reckon we've tarried long enough.Let's head on up," he said simply.
    Vanessa took care to let Clayton lead, learning by now that he liked a good