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    Three mornings later, a note arrived from Thomas Dunn announcing his intention of stopping around noon on his way toward Cheyenne.
    Shag had already ridden out, so he wouldn't be on hand as an ally. But Ruth had time to bake her special vinegar pie. Rachel changed from a split skirt into the riding skirt and bodice Ruth had remade from one of her mother's riding habits.
    She raised her chin at the mirror as she brushed her hair out of its braid in order to pin it up. So, her dress was outmoded. The sapphire-blue wool was good and the fit adequate, especially considering the adjustments required to accommodate the extra half a foot height she had over her mother.
    All in all, she looked quite presentable, Rachel told herself.
    Dunn declared her lovely when he accepted her invitation to take midday dinner. But, then, that was his way. Slender and not quite eye to eye with Rachel, he had a reputation for smooth manners and sharp business.
    The business purpose of this call—she'd figured there had to be one—was his interest in a two-year-old filly she had.
    "Matt Sprewell speaks quite highly of her,” Dunn said.
    Rachel didn't want to part with that filly, but if Dunn offered a good price, she'd be hard-pressed to say no.
    "There's a three-year-old filly, Fanny we call her, you might want to look at instead, Mr. Dunn. She's saddlebroke and she's training real nice."
    "I prefer to train my horses myself. I find your methods, Mrs. Terhune, produce a horse more suited to a pet than a tool. A lady-broke animal's not much use on the range."
    He gave her a smile she felt disinclined to return. Gentling instead of breaking horses improved disposition and still made fine cow ponies. But try to persuade old-timers.
    "And that being the case,” he went on, “it is the two-year-old I would care to see."
    So, after the meal—Ruth saw to it he wouldn't get anything finer tasting at the KD, for all those tins he imported from back East—Rachel had the sidesaddle put on Dandy and they began at a sedate, proper pace toward the north corral. Conversation focused on water, weather, dealing with hands, railroads and stock prices. Rachel was aware Dunn asked more than he told, but her answers didn't lay open the Circle T's situation. Though this astute man surely guessed, she wouldn't hand over the certainty.
    So intent was she on sidestepping any revealing answers that it was Dunn who pointed out the rider coming over a fold of hill toward them. Nick Dusaq.
    "Stranger to me,” commented Dunn.
    "One of our new hands."
    Dunn gave her a long look, but she said no more until they all met near the pole fence of the north corral. Nick could have ridden by with a word or gesture of greeting, but he stopped, his eyes going from her to the man beside her with an apparent lazy disinterest that she'd wager didn't miss a detail.
    She performed introductions and, to her surprise, Thomas Dunn offered a handshake. Nick returned it. Polite, but in no danger of being overly impressed. “Mr. Dunn owns the KD outfit east of here. You might've heard of it. It's the biggest in these parts."
    "But doesn't yet produce the sort of horseflesh the Circle T does,” Dunn said with an ambiguous smile. “I'm here to look over a two-year-old I've heard about."
    Nick slid a look at the sidesaddle rig on Dandy. Rachel was very much aware he'd seen her riding only astride before, and that he knew this bow to propriety was in Dunn's honor.
    She tensed, followed by a wave of irritation—at herself and at Nick. Considering how little the man talked, she spent considerable time worrying what he might say.
    "I'll get her,” was all he said now.
    He'd started Brujo toward the fence before Rachel realized he meant the filly, who along with two mares had found the humans and horses just outside their fence too fascinating to ignore.
    Rachel felt both grateful and irked that she had need to be grateful. What had she been thinking of, coming out so ill-prepared? She not only