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loss as to how to regain my composure.”
    “The little genius mind’s getting a little ruffled, huh?”
    She stared into his snapping blue eyes for a long while. “How utterly convenient it is that you already understand that the definition of roinous is nasty and contemptible. I suspect I shall be using the word frequently during the next three days, and your knowledge of it will save me the task of having to explain it to you.”
    Her intellectual sarcasm snapped the last shred of patience Roman possessed. To hell with the money he’d receive from Dr. Wallaby for taking the woman to Templeton! There was money to be made right here in Oates’ Junction making parlors bigger! “And your going to Templeton alone, Miss Worth, will save me the bother of having to take you.” He tossed her bag of gold into her lap and a sardonic grin into her eyes.
    “But I don’t know where—”
    “No? I thought you knew everything. Well, you can always ask a Comanche for directions. You’ll probably meet up with a few along the way. Or maybe the Blanco y Negro Gang can help. I hear they’ve broken out of jail and are back at their usual work of robbing, murdering, and ravishing anything wearing a skirt. You’ll recognize them right away, Miss Worth. They all ride white horses, and they all wear black.”
    Theodosia refused to show the rogue one more hint of her shock. Surely she could find Templeton on her own. “Fine. When I arrive in Templeton, shall I inform Dr. Wallaby that you are no longer working for him?”
    “You don’t think he shall figure that out by himself, when I don’t show up?”
    “Good-bye, Mr. Montana. And the very best of luck with—with whatever it is you do.” Theodosia slipped the strings of her velvet bag around her wrist and set the horse into a brisk trot, leaving Roman and Claff in a cloud of dust.
    “She’s headin’ north,” Claff drawled, still chewing on the piece of straw.
    Roman grinned. “I know.”
    “Templeton’s nigh on a hunnerd miles south o’ here.”
    “I know.”
    “She’s got right much book learnin’, but she sure don’t got much sense.”
    “I know.” Still grinning, Roman turned and started to head for the saloon. But one glance at the feed store erased his grin and brought him to an abrupt halt. He’d forgotten about the three outlaws.
    They’d vanished.
    And every instinct Roman possessed told him they’d left to follow the scent of gold.
     
    H e found her buckboard fifteen minutes out of town, stopped beside a persimmon thicket. Her trunk of gold was still in it.
    But Theodosia wasn’t.
    “Here I am again, Secret,” he muttered to his stallion. “Right back where I started, taking care of women. Which means I’m as stupid now as I was then. Damn that asinine Worth woman to hell and back!”
    But even as he spat the curse, his apprehension rose.
    He dismounted swiftly and secured Secret to the back of the wagon. Both Colts drawn, he followed the trail of footprints that led into the grove of trees and soon came upon a scrap of lace-edged white silk on the ground. Crumpled beside a rotting log, it was spotted with what could only be blood.
    He stuffed it into the waistband of his breeches and proceeded deeper into the woods. The sun-dappled persimmons gave way to dense patches of willow and cottonwood, which grew near slushy areas of stagnant water. The musty smell of plant rot filled his nostrils, somehow intensifying his anxiety. He quickened his pace, soon exiting the thicket and coming to a leaf-strewn slope.
    At the bottom lay Theodosia, face down.
    In his haste to get to her, he slipped in the thick layers of leaves and made the downward trip on his belly. When he finally stopped, he found himself nose to nose with a wide-eyed Theodosia.
    She’d taken off her bonnet. Her golden hair poured over her shoulders like streams of melted butter and looked just as soft. He almost reached up to touch it, but the impulse passed when he remembered why he’d