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one piece. If I don’t, I won’t get a measly cent of the money he’ll owe me for doing the job. When you get to Templeton, you can glue your gold to your face for every thief in the world to see, for all I care. But for now, give me that damned bag before someone slits your pretty little throat for it.” He yanked the pouch off her arm.
    “Mr. Montana! You—” She broke off; through her mind drifted words of wisdom that had served her well in the past. “Aequam servare mentem,” she murmured. “Yes. Aequam servare mentem.”
    Roman saw fire. Here he was doing his damnedest to see to her welfare, and she was spitting foreign curses at him!
    He decided they were French profanities; they sounded a bit like the love words a French saloon girl had once whispered to him. “I might not speak fluent French, Miss Worth, but I know an insult when I hear one,” he spat smugly. Giving her his back, he took a few coins from the bag, stalked out of the barn, and handed the money to Claff. “Thirty dollars, Claff. The horse and rig aren’t worth more than twenty-five, but I’m giving you a tip for having put up with Miss Worth.”
    Theodosia emerged from the stable as Roman began to load her belongings into the bed of the buck-board. Through the thin fabric of his beige shirt, she saw the muscles in his arms, shoulders, and back. They bulged, then coiled, then stretched in rhythm, as if he worked to the sound of some graceful melody.
    Only when he reached for her blue trunk did she lose her concentration. “Mr. Montana, that trunk is frightfully heavy. It took two men to deliver it from the train station. If you lift it alone, you might injure yourself.”
    Her concern caused him to spin in the dirt and face her. An unfamiliar warmth settled over him, a gentle heat far more comforting than the sunshine.
    Why should she care if he got hurt? he wondered. But maybe she really didn’t. He’d probably only imagined her worry. After all, he was nothing but an escort to her.
    God, he must have downed more whiskey than he realized. It wasn’t like him to fantasize over a woman’s feelings.
    “Perhaps your friend Mr. Claff will assist you,” Theodosia added.
    Friend? Roman thought, glancing at Claff. Oh, Claff was a good man, but Roman had never considered him a friend.
    Truth was, he’d never had a real friend; had never had the chance or time to make any.
    “Mr. Montana, did you hear what I said?” Theodosia asked. “Mr. Claff could—”
    The remainder of her suggestion faded into nothingness as she watched him lift the trunk from the ground. It might as well have been filled with feathers.
    “Did you buy all the supplies I told you to?” Roman asked after setting the trunk in the buckboard.
    Lifting her skirts, she walked to the wagon and climbed in. Never having taken to wearing the multitude of underwear most women wore, she had little trouble adjusting herself to the wooden seat. She picked up the reins, then pointed to a small pile of merchandise. “The supplies are there, Mr. Montana.”
    Roman loaded up the provisions. “Vamanos.” He smiled inwardly. She might know French, but he knew Spanish.
    “ Si,” she answered. “Ahora que estamos listos comencemos nuestro viaje.”
    “What’d she say, Roman?” Claff asked.
    “I said, Mr. Claff,” Theodosia replied, “that now that we are ready, let’s begin our journey. Oh, and Mr. Montana? Aequam servare mentem is Latin and means ‘to keep an unruffled mind.’ It is my intention to ponder the quote while you and I travel. I advise you to do the same.”
    Roman folded his arms across his chest. “Yeah? Well, let me tell you what you can do with your advice, Miss Worth.”
    “No, I don’t believe I shall.” Her fingers whitened around the reins as her poise began to waver. “Mr. Montana, I have always endeavored to maintain self-control in any given situation. However, after only a few hours in your company, I find myself not only exasperated but at a