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needing Divine assistance. When she added Logan Youngblood’s name to the silent litany, however, she felt that her prisoner needed a series of independently voiced prayers pronounced on behalf of his felonious soul, as well as his physical well-being.
    He had already hitched the oxen and loaded up the campsite, and was hunched over, reaching into the back of the wagon. When he emerged, two things registered. The first was that he’d found a blue military shirt to replace the tattered white one that had been falling off his powerfully sculpted shoulders. Thank goodness for that.
    Her sense of relief was short-lived, though, when she realized he held several of her treasured books in his broad hands.
    She raced forward. “What are you doing?”
    He looked up from the volumes, a narrow-lipped frown making his already pummeled features even more menacing. “I’m lightening the load so we can make better time.”
    Victoria recoiled. He couldn’t have hurt her more if he’d shot her. “You will return those books to where they belong.”
    “They belong in Boston.”
    She shook her head. “They are my possessions and will come with me.”
    “I think not, Miss Amory.”
    She straightened and leveled her most chiding glare at the obtuse man. “We’ve already established that I’m the one who gives the orders, and I say my precious cargo goes with me to Trinity Falls.”
    Not looking at all chastised, Youngblood’s good eye narrowed to pinpoint fury. “This is your precious cargo?”
    “That’s right, and I’ve no intention of leaving it.”
    “Lady, they’re not loved ones, they’re books,” he said flatly, tossing her beloved copy of The Last of the Mohicans into the dust. “And they’re certainly not worth dying for.”
    At his callous gesture, outrage filled Victoria. She bent instinctively to gather Cooper’s epic to her bosom.
    “How dare you!”
    He startled her by kneeling across from her. “Lady, there’s lots more copies of this book around. When we get to Trinity Falls, you can order another one—of it and all the others.”
    “This is a first edition!”
    With an absent flick of his wrist, he discarded Louisa May Alcott’s new volume, Little Women. Victoria’s indignation grew. She hadn’t even had a chance to read it yet!
    “The wagon master may have been willing to ride off without you, Miss Amory. He probably figured you’d come to your senses and lighten your load. He made a mistake I’m not willing to. The books stay. We go.”
    Victoria stared into Mr. Youngblood’s unwavering gaze and knew intuitively that he would not yield to any pleas to spare her beloved volumes. Yet a spark of defiance still burned within her.
    Inspiration struck. “It would take half the morning to unload the wagon. Don’t you think we should leave now?”
    She forced a determined smile onto her stiff lips. Oh, there was a rational part of her that knew it was foolish to risk her life over inanimate objects. But there was another part that was convinced she could keep both her scalp and the works of Cooper, Hardy and Bronte. After all, man did not live by bread alone.
    Youngblood rose to his full height. A look of frustrated resignation stamped his rugged features. Victoria held her breath as she silently counted off the passage of seconds. She truly had no idea what the barbaric man might do.
    Abruptly he turned his broad back to her.
    “Get into the wagon,” he ordered brusquely.
    She scooped Alcott’s book from the ground, shook the dust from it, then hurried up onto the wagon’s high bench seat. She supposed she shouldn’t have been surprised that her surly companion was there ahead of her, already taking his place behind the reins.
    She swallowed back her protest, counting herself fortunate that he’d agreed that there wasn’t time to unload all the volumes she’d spent days meticulously organizing and arranging in the corners and crannies of her wagon’s interior.
    Victoria had scarcely