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leave of Oaklands could do no harm, he surmised, not with the obstacle of two horses between them.
    “Friday it will be then. I’ll choose you a stallion and I’ll accompany you as guide.”
    He nodded with a smile. “That would be most useful,” he said. It was the response he’d hoped for. He turned to Frieda, offered his arm, and the three walked in the direction of the house.
     
    * * *
     
    Eleanor was waiting for him at the foot of the stairs at the agreed time on Friday. As he joined her, he took in the look of her small waist clinched in the belt of her riding breeches. The men’s clothing only served to emphasize her womanliness. Her hair was hanging loose, spread over her shoulders and curling around the line of her breasts. The blackness of it was emphasized by the rich chestnut color of her shirt. She smiled up at him and looked sprightly and mischievous.
    “I want to show you something,” she said, when he greeted her, and walked off toward the library, indicating he should follow.
    He went after her, his curiosity alerted. He enjoyed the feeling he got as she looked over her shoulder at him. They walked through the long narrow library, passing between the shelves lined with leather bound books.
    “This is where I had my classes with my governess.”
    Rivers noticed the comfortable ambiance of the place. It was a well-used room, friendly. At the far end was what appeared to be her Father’s desk, scattered with papers and hefty, leather-covered ledgers. She walked to one side of it, where a small wooden door was set amongst the surrounding shelves. She opened the door and beckoned him in. He had to stoop to pass through the doorway and into the room beyond.
    “This is my study. Father presented it to me when I was twelve. At least, I was supposed to be studying,” she said, smiling as she walked over to the heavy, oak desk.
    He’d a fleeting image of her smoking an illicit cigar, reading some pioneer accounts with her feet up on the desk. He smiled.
    “I wanted to ask your opinion on this.” She indicated the desk, moving several dog-eared editions of a brown-covered journal entitled National Geographic from the surface, to reveal what lay underneath them.
    She’d drawn his attention to a map of America. It was old, and well worn. He suspected it was one of James’ own. There was a route marked out in ink, with small inscriptions and notes along its path.
    “I wanted you to know that father and I are quite serious about retracing the journey, it’s a challenge I want to achieve.” She looked down at the map.
    He noticed the soft feminine line of her fingers as they touched the parchment, the fall of her loose cotton shirt from her wrist to the page. She wanted to find an adventure – like a little bird eager to escape its captivity – unaware of the dangers outside the gilded cage.
    He moved closer, glancing at the map. He traced the line of the route, spreading the paper flat on the desk. “Was this where the railroad ended, back then? St Joseph?”
    He looked around the edge of the parchment for a date.
    “Yes, the journey through to the Sierra Nevada had to be done by stage, wagon or on horseback.” Her hair fell forward as she bent over the desk, casting her face in shadow.
    He noticed how heavy her eyelashes were and her eyes were dark with desire as she eyed him surreptitiously. She was attracted to him, he could see that, and he found he couldn’t deny he wanted her, too. Yes, he did. “Much has changed now. There are new towns and settlements, as well as the railroad.” 
    She looked at him steadily.
    Without thought he reached out instinctively and stroked her hair away from her face. It was like fine silk in his fingers. The tension in the atmosphere intensified and their eyes locked.
    She shook her head, as if to free herself from some torpor, smiled at him, turned away and opened a drawer. She brought out another folded sheet and as she opened it, he quickly noticed it was