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smelly idiots have anything else to do than stand there and leer at me? Go water the horses or shoot yourselves in the foot or... something!” Her gaze seared them with contemptuous loathing.
    They just grinned, shrugged their shoulders, and Zeke set the trunk down before he and Ray lumbered off.
    Clutching her two bags, Melora started toward the trees. Pain shot through her thighs and calves with every step, but she resolutely ignored the stiffness and hurried forward until Cal’s sharp voice stopped her in her tracks.
    “Where do you think you’re going?” Just as he had last night, he sprinted to her side and stepped in front of her, blocking her path.
    “I have need of a few moments of privacy. You don’t expect me to get dressed or to—to perform my toilette here, do you?”
    His thumbs were hooked in his pockets. He was studying her suspiciously, his hat pushed back on his head. He’d changed to fresh clothes, but he hadn’t bothered to shave, she noticed, and the rough stubble on his jaw and chin was darker and thicker than it had looked last night in the moonlight, giving him an even harsher aspect. But his words were surprisingly mild.
    “There’s a stream just past those cottonwoods. Be my guest.”
    “Thank you!”she bit out. But as she started to brush past him, his hand shot out and gripped her arm.
    “Not so fast. There’s something I want first.”
    Something he wanted? Melora tried to yank her arm away and failed. What could he possibly want?
    As she usually did when she was uncertain or angry, she attacked. “There’s something I want as well. To understand who the hell you are and why you’ve done this to me. Just what are you after?”
    “There’s no need for you to know that now. But I do need something from you.”
    Her heartbeat quickened as his eyes dropped from her face and flickered briefly down to the pulse throbbing in her throat.
    “And what might that be?” she asked in a low, dangerous tone.
    “The cameo,” he said grimly.
    Surprise twitched through her. “What about it?”
    “Give it to me.”
    She dropped both the carpetbag and the trunk, and her hands flew to her throat, cupping the ivory cameo protectively.
    “Never. You can’t have my cameo!”
    Suddenly he looked even more dangerous than he had the night before, when he’d first taken off her blindfold.
    “Can’t I?” he asked so ominously that a distinctly unpleasant shiver needled down her spine.
    Melora fought her fear. “You—you... Why, you’re nothing but a low-down thief! You ought to be ashamed of yourself.” She began backing away. “My fiancé gave me this cameo. It’s precious to me. Isn’t it bad enough you’ve ruined my wedding day? If you think I’m going to give you this—”
    Cal advanced on her and seized both her hands. He pulled them ruthlessly downward. He did not let them go but held them immobile at her sides. The quiet warning in his eyes alarmed her—she’d already sensed he was not a man to be lightly dismissed—and now, as she stared into those icy, determined green depths, her own eyes widened and she gazed at him in apprehensive silence.
    “If you don’t give it to me, Miss Deane, I’ll take it. Is that what you want?”
    1 hate you, hate you, hate you. Melora raged silently, engulfed by drowning frustration. This tall, hard-eyed man had the inflexibility of an oak. He had stolen her from Wyatt and from Jinx and from everything she held dear. He had manhandled her and forced her to ride gagged, trussed, and blindfolded until she was more saddle sore than she’d ever been in her life. He had ruined her wedding day, he was taking her God knew where for no known reason, and now, now he wanted to steal the cameo Wyatt had given her with such love and tenderness.
    Hatred and fury seared straight through to her heart. But just as Melora was about to burst out with a fiery reply, she remembered the words her father had frequently spoken to her when she was close to losing