His features remained hard. "Well, Tamsin, do you believe in ghosts?"

"No. And I doubt if you do either."

"I don't believe in much I can't see, hear, or touch."

"Except the law."

"You're sharp, I'll give you that."

"I'm innocent."

"Then you should welcome the opportunity to clear your name." He hunkered down with his back to a big spruce tree and laid the rifle across his knees. "You ought to thank me for catching you. You wouldn't have lasted long out here by yourself."

"That, Mr. Morgan, is a matter of opinion."

"No need to mister me. Ash will do. Get yourself some shut-eye. Dawn comes early on the trail."

She tugged her bedroll as close to the fire as she could get without scorching herself. "I'd appreciate it if you could take this handcuff off me."

"Cuffs on both wrists or the rope. Your choice."

"You're no gentleman."

"And you're obviously no lady or we wouldn't be here, would we?" He tied the end of the rope to a tree.

"What if I have to run from another cougar?"

He shook his head. "No need. Not with me standing guard."

She wanted to remind him that he hadn't been quite so vigilant when she'd spied on him and taken his supplies. Morgan stood between her and freedom, and she couldn't afford to antagonize him.

Instead, she lay down, her back to the fire. There would be little sleep for her that night. As weary and sore as she was, she couldn't forget the mountain lion's scream or those terrifying green eyes.

Sometime in the night, Dancer returned to camp. He sniffed Ash's gelding, snorted a warning, and trotted over to lean his head against Fancy's.

Overhead, glittering stars appeared one by one until the sky seemed strewn with diamonds. The temperature dropped and Tamsin curled tighter in her blanket. Every forest sound became ominous, and it took all of her willpower not to show how frightened she was.

Each time Tamsin opened her eyes, she saw Ash keeping watch. Occasionally, he stood and walked around the perimeter of the camp, then returned to his resting spot without making a sound.

The twittering of birds announced the day long before the darkness gave way to light. One after another, small creatures began to stir. First a squirrel scampered down the tree Ash was leaning on; then a mouse peered out of a heap of pine needles not three feet from where Tamsin lay.

She sat up and stretched. The insides of her eyelids were scratchy and her head ached. She had never done well without sleep, and the night that had just passed was no exception.

"Morning," Ash said. She hadn't heard him leave the camp, but the coffeepot he was propping on the coals was full of water. "I'd offer you bread and cheese," he said, "but someone stole my provisions." He reached down and unlocked her handcuff.

Rubbing her wrist, she got to her feet and tried to comb the twigs out of her hair with her fingers. "Is the cougar gone?"

He nodded. "Horses been quiet since about two o'clock."

"How can you tell the time? Do you have a watch?"

"Not on me. I broke the crystal in a little tussle. I left it in Sweetwater to be repaired."

"Then how do you know the time?"

"I swear, woman. You're the talkingest prisoner I've ever had." He grinned at her, and his smile was as bright as the sun breaking through a storm cloud. His teeth were white and even. Smiling made him look younger and not nearly so forbidding. "You can tell time by the stars if you spend enough time sleeping under them."

"I don't need constellations to tell me that I'm ready for breakfast," she replied. "I've fishing line in my pack. If you let me go to the creek for an hour, I'll catch us the main course."

He studied her for a minute, then smiled. "Don't suppose it will do any harm to let you try. I'll just walk along with you, so you don't get lost."

"So I don't run away, you mean." She shrugged. "That's fine, so long as you're gentleman enough to allow me…" She felt a flush rise up her throat. "I have personal needs."

"By rights I shouldn't give you any privacy after you got an eyeful of my assets."

"Oh, I…" Embarrassment made her speechless. How could he have known that she'd seen him in the altogether?

His obsidian eyes glittered with mischief. "Your tracks told the story, Tamsin. I was careless and let you sneak up on me. Had you been a rogue Cheyenne, my scalp would be waving from a tepee pole." He dusted his hands on his coat. "Hope you enjoyed the sight."

"It wasn't what you think," she protested.

"Hard to think anything but the worst," he drawled. "A lady hiding in the bushes, watching a man Adam-naked in his bath."

Tamsin was mortified. "I thought you were an Indian," she explained. "I was only trying to see-"

"Ladies in Tennessee make a habit of such?"

"No, they do not."

He cradled his rifle in the crook of his arm and stood. "Glad you did. If you'd have ridden past, I might have missed your tracks and not caught up with you for a week. As it was, a six-year-old Arapaho could have followed your trail here. You're a hell of a horsewoman, but not much of a scout."

"I'll keep your observations in mind," she said as she fumbled through her belongings for her fishing line.

Ash chuckled as he followed her downhill to the steep-banked stream. The watercourse wasn't more than three yards wide, but it was fast-moving and waist deep. Likely there were fish there. If she had the gear to catch a few, so much the better.

Had he been alone, he would have found himself a likely spot, lain on his belly, and tickled a fat trout or two. Catching fish with his bare hands was a trick his daddy had taught him when he was a child. It worked, but it took time. And he didn't trust Texas Jack Cannon's woman enough to allow her to stand behind him with all these rocks strewn around.

Maybe he should think about another line of work after he brought Cannon to justice. Ash had never intended bounty hunting to be a permanent occupation. Those who made their living with a gun usually ended up in boot hill before their hair turned gray.

For a few brief seconds he let his mind flash back to the spread he and Becky had carved out of empty prairie near Colorado City. She'd begged him to give up the job, but he hadn't listened. He worried about having enough money to see them through the winter, and he'd decided to go after one more road agent. The reward on Red Bucky's head would be enough to pay their bill at the feed store and buy a good bull.

It had been the worst argument they'd ever had, and he'd rode out and left her crying on the front porch. He hadn't even kissed her good-bye.

He'd been so sure that he knew what was right, but he hadn't counted on Cannon's committing a robbery in Colorado City or on his Becky being a witness to the crime.

He'd gotten his outlaw. He'd brought Red Bucky back, collected the bounty, and bought Becky a music box for her birthday. But when he got home and called her name, nobody answered.

In that one night, Ashton Jefferson Morgan had lost his wife, an unborn child, and everything he'd worked for. Something had died inside him. He'd given up caring about anything but the law and settling his score with Cannon, his brothers, and the rest of the gang.

Ahead of him, Tamsin was breaking off a tree branch to use as a fishing pole. She was a hand taller than his Becky, fox-haired instead of wheat-blond, and striking rather than pretty. Tamsin's sensual mouth was too bold and her chin too sharp for conventional beauty. But this Tennessee enigma had a glow about her that drew a man's eye.

He half suspected that Tamsin might be telling the truth about the horses belonging to her. But all the evidence pointed to her being the back shooter who'd killed Sam Steele. As he'd told her, deciding who was guilty and who was innocent wasn't up to him. All he had to do was serve the warrants and bring the suspects to justice.