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with loathing.
    Cal didn’t bother to answer. His glance dropped to the cameo glowing at her throat. He’d been too distracted by everything else to notice it earlier, but now the sight of it narrowed his eyes. It took every ounce of self-control he possessed to fight the deadly rage that swept through him.
    She can keep it until tomorrow, he told himself, turning on his heel and stalking to the edge of the clearing before he was tempted to snatch the cameo from her throat. But no longer. First thing in the morning she hands it over.
    Pure hatred poured through Melora as she watched him stride away. Wyatt, I’m counting on you, she thought frantically, her heart twisting. I’m counting on you to find me and bring me back home, to kill this outlaw Cal and his partners for what they’ve done to me. And if not, I’ll find a way to do it myself. All of it. By God, I will.
    She cocooned herself in the bedroll, clutching the blanket up to her chin. The darkness around her loomed heavy as coal. She had never felt more alone.
    By the flickers of the fire she could see Zeke and Ray, already settled down to sleep, but Cal sat nonchalantly in the shadows, his back against a tree trunk, smoking a cigarette.
    Tomorrow I’ll make him sorry he ever started this—whatever this is. Tomorrow he’ll find out he’s made a huge mistake.
    Sleep claimed Melora almost instantly, blotting out the image of Cal’s tall, strong form, his ruthless calm, and his ice green eyes, plunging her deeply, thankfully into the safety of sweet black oblivion.
    She never stirred until the morning.

Chapter 3
    Morning arrived all too soon for Melora.
    She heard the scrape of boots on rock, the low rumbling of men’s voices, the shuffling sounds of horses being led about and saddled. And at once the memory of last night’s ordeal flooded back.
    She didn’t open her eyes at first. She waited, motionless in her thick, warm bedroll, pretending to be still asleep while Cal talked quietly with Ray and Zeke.
    “I’m not taking any chances; we have to wipe out every trace of our camp,” she heard him say in a low tone. A gust of damp wind drowned out his next words, but when it died down, she strained to pick up the rest. “... even though with luck the rain’ll hit soon and wash away our tracks, we’ve got to make sure no one can pick up our trail.”
    “Don’t you worry, Cal, there ain’t no one going to have a notion where to start looking for that little lady. Not until you give ‘em one, that is.” It was Zeke’s voice. Melora recognized its scratchy timbre at once.
    “When we going to split up, Cal?” she heard Ray ask, over the clatter of what sounded like pots and pans. Was it her imagination or did she smell fresh-brewed coffee and frying meat and biscuits?
    Then Cal spoke again. “We’ll split up at Thunder Pass. If we ride hard, I reckon we ought to reach it before sunset.”
    As they moved off, too far away for her to make out their words, Melora thought of home, of Jinx at the breakfast table, asking Aggie where she was, of Aggie going upstairs to her room and finding her gone, her bed not slept in, of Wyatt learning that his bride had disappeared...
    Don’t think about it, or you’ll start to cry. Think about escaping, about finding your way back. You can outsmart Cal what’s-his-name and those two idiots he’s got working for him. You’re not some namby-pamby who doesn’t know how to shift for herself. You’re Craig Deane’s daughter and don’t forget it.
    Taking a deep breath, Melora opened her eyes and surreptitiously looked around.
    The men were clustered near the horses, not looking her way. She lifted her head a moment, glancing swiftly about to get her bearings. This morning the clearing looked different from last night: larger, grassier, yet more secluded against the wall of the mountain. The sky was overcast, the air damp and chill.
    In every direction were plains, vast rolling plains, rising gradually in the far