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I’m guessing that worry is for that little horse thief.”
    “She’s on the run—and I did shoot her, after all,” Trace confessed. “And now that pack of riders has her and my horse.”
    “And you plan on going up against five or six men alone?” Pappy took sand and rubbed the tin plates to clean them. After a moment he added, “She must be something. A man can always wrangle another horse, so I’m thinking you’re more concerned about that gal.”
    Irritation pulsed through Trace. “I spent five years of my life stalking that stallion, tracking him from canyon to canyon and finally cutting him out of a herd single-handed. Snapped a bone in my wrist breaking him.”
    “You might be proud of the stallion, but it’s concern over that gal eating away at your insides. And most likely your conceit is scorpion-bit by her stealing your pride and joy, twice. Bad mix of emotions riding you, renegade. You best be careful. When a woman gets under a man’s skin, he loses that edge you were talking about.”
    Trace’s jaw flexed. “She ain’t ‘under my skin.’ I just want my horse back.”
    Pappy laughed. “Then them mules ain’t the only thing stubborn around here.” He paused before suggesting, “Since we’re both heading in the same general direction, maybe I’ll throw in with you for a spell.”
    Trace shook his head. “I travel alone, old-timer. Then I only have to worry about myself.”
    “Seems to me you could use a hand, seein’ as your head’s been turned by a female.”
    Trace settled back against his saddle, stared into the fire. “I don’t want you underfoot. Not that I don’t appreciate the offer, but I can’t afford distractions. And that’s what you’d be. I don’t want to bury you, either.”
    “Might be one way to look at it,” Pappy mused. “But from where I’m sitting, maybe it was your lucky day when I stumbled upon your camp, maybe it happened for a reason. Maybe having me watch your back would be good—might save your life. You might be glad you brung me. See, no pretty female has me all hepped up like a stallion scenting a mare. A thing like that is mighty distracting. When you throw down against a pack of varmints, another gun protecting your back might make all the difference. Ever think of that?”
    Trace ran his hand through his hair and breathed an exasperated nasal sigh. This was not how things were supposed to be. He’d had everything planned before a horse thief smelling of wild clover, with hair like sunset gold and eyes like a doe, crashed into his life. His loins responded to the memories of Mae’s soft skin, her full white breasts. Pulling a blanket over his legs, he shifted uneasily.
    The old man sniggered, not fooled. “Thinking, are you?”
    “I’m going after my horse,” Trace responded.
    “I figured. The woman has nothing to do it.” Pappy began fixing his bedroll. “And that’s another thing—I’m a damn fine tracker, nearly as good as an Injun. Might come in handy tomorrow trying to pick up their trail.”
    “Is there anything you aren’t good at, old man?” Trace asked.
    “Jack-of-all-trades, master of few,” came the reply. “Unless you say otherwise, I’m assuming I’ll be heading out with you at first light.”
    “Even if I said no, I have a feeling you’d just trail along anyways.” Trace slid down against his saddle, fighting a yawn. It had been a hard day. He needed to get some sleep.
    “Maybe you ain’t half as stupid as that damn burro of yours. Been kind of lonely out here. Our paths crossing seems fated, so I reckon I’ll be tagging along.”
    “Just one thing,” said Trace, stretching out. “If you’re going to tag along, stay out of my way, and when I tell you something, I expect you to listen. I don’t want to be repeating myself. A man’s life depends on quick thought and even quicker action.”
    Not waiting for an answer, he rolled over to get some much-needed rest. His feet were sore from the stones and