LITMIR.BIZ

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didn’t she? Why should he concern himself with her comfort? Yet he knew the toll such frigid nights could take on a person. Before other arguments occurred to him, he carried the buffalo robe to where she lay nestled on the pine boughs. Kneeling beside her, he gently spread it over her, struck once again by how small and vulnerable she seemed, especially for one so fiercely determined to make her way in inhospitable country.

      Back under the wagon, wrapped in his own bedding, he chastised himself. He could not assume responsibility for Miss Montgomery after this trip ended. He had enough to worry about managing his ranching and mining affairs and, of course, caring for his boys. That having been decided, he rolled over on his side, freed from concern. Until just before he drifted off. Until he was honest with himself. Tate Lockwood would never turn his back on a woman in need.

      * * *

      Sophie awoke with a jolt, trying to work out in her mind why she was so cozy, covered in a heavy layer of warmth. Then, smelling coffee, her mind focused. The trail. She was on the trail. Sitting up, she noted it was still dark, but flames illuminated the immediate vicinity. Tate Lockwood and the others sat around the fire. Carefully she stood up, leaning back to unkink her spine.

      “Breakfast,” Tate said, pointing to the cast-iron skillet. The others looked up, studying her.

      “I’m starving,” she said, advancing toward them. Sam handed her a cup of coffee, and Pancho folded a piece of ham in a flapjack and brought it to her. Finding a stone, she sat down, aware only now of a faint lightening in the eastern sky. Yet here in the canyon darkness lingered. The chill morning air, though invigorating, made her long once again to be cocooned under the blankets. No one spoke while they ate, and she certainly wasn’t going to intrude upon their silence to ask how much farther they had to travel or what time they might arrive at the valley. She trembled with excitement—at last the day had come! The prospect of locating her cabin and exploring new possibilities elated her.

      “Can’t delay,” Lockwood said, rising to his feet. “Let’s pack up and move out.”

      Sophie gobbled the last bite of her flapjack, washed it down with a swig of hot coffee and moved to her sleeping place to gather her things. Once there, she stopped in her tracks. No wonder she’d been so warm. Atop her makeshift bed lay a thick buffalo robe, certainly not hers. She turned around to see who might have provided her with such comfort. Holding up the robe, she caught Mr. Lockwood’s eye. He shrugged, then turned away. She didn’t know whether to be irked by his presumption that she didn’t have adequate blankets or pleased that he had a protective side. She smiled to herself. Maybe his bark was worse than his bite. No matter, she had slept well. Then she remembered. A man had come to her, covered her with warmth and then lingered by her side. At the time she’d thought she was dreaming of Charlie.

      She folded the robe and walked over to return it. “Thank you, Mr. Lockwood. I slept very well.”

      “Courtesy of the West, miss.” He took the robe and nodded. “Didn’t figure you’d counted on quite how cold it can be up here.”

      She bit back the retort on her lips. Despite all her planning, he was right—she’d underestimated the temperatures. “I trust my other preparations will be more effective.”

      “You’d best hope so. It’s a long ways between houses in the valley. You’ll be fending for yourself.”

      She understood both the rebuke and warning in his words. “I will, of course, do everything I can not to be bothersome to others. That having been said, may I count on your friendship and goodwill?”

      He looked at her, as if assessing her mettle. “Friendship and goodwill? No gentleman would turn his back on a woman in distress.”

      Hardly the heartiest of endorsements. She voiced what he had left unsaid. “Nevertheless, I’m sure it is your hope I will not pose such inconveniences for you.”

      “I have my own concerns, Miss Montgomery. They must come first.”

      “Understood.”

      Once on the trail, the rugged terrain again took a toll on the horses. Often she had to dismount and lead Ranger around barriers. The higher they went, the more she gloried in the various trees along the way, especially the beautiful spruce. And she thought no Parisian perfume could surpass the fragrance of the pines. It was as if inch by inch, foot by foot, mile by mile, she was being exposed to a wonderland of sights and sensations. Even though her lungs ached and her muscles protested, she pushed on, eager to arrive at her destination.

      At one point when the trail leveled out a bit, Lockwood rode alongside her. “Has anyone told you about the travelers and tourists?”

      “I know that in summertime the population of the valley grows. Hikers, fishermen, mountain climbers, those who seek the altitude for health reasons.”

      “Yes, and although there is a hotel or two, they don’t all stay there. Care to venture a guess about where else they find lodging?”

      “In private homes?”

      “Exactly. Most travelers are harmless, but some might enjoy, er, finding shelter with a lone woman.”

      “Are you trying to frighten me, Mr. Lockwood?”

      He looked over at her, eyebrows raised in question. “Am I succeeding?”

      She stared forward, resolute. “I’m by no means defenseless, sir. I have brought along weapons, primarily for hunting, but if necessary, I can hold my own against someone threatening my life.” She glanced over at him, reading skepticism in his expression. “I am an accomplished and accurate markswoman.” Then with gleeful malice, she added, “Would you care to test that boast?”

      “No, ma’am. But then, I’m not the type of man to be in such a position.” An edge came into his voice. “I’m simply trying to educate you.”

      “Protect me, more like,” she snapped before he shook his head sadly and trotted off. Great! She’d done it again—assaulted his pride in the effort to prove her independence. Yet deep down, if she was honest with herself, she knew she would undoubtedly need Tate Lockwood in some future capacity. Where else would she have to turn? It was ticklish business when he so clearly wanted nothing more than to deposit her at her cabin and be rid of her.

      * * *

      If he lived to be a hundred, Tate knew he would never forget the look on Sophie Montgomery’s face when they came up out of the canyon and reached the point where the entire Estes Valley spread out in front of them, rimmed by the timeless snowcapped peaks. Her gasp was audible, and her cheeks flushed with excitement. He turned in his saddle to study her more carefully as she took in the spectacle before her. It was as if he were in communion with her, experiencing the splendor of the mountains for the first time. For long moments she didn’t speak, and the silence of the space below them seemed almost sacred. That is, if he believed anything at all could be sacred.

      Finally, with eyes awash with emotion, she looked at him. “I had no idea,” she whispered breathlessly. “The beauty and scope are beyond description. Books and illustrations can’t begin to do this scenery justice.”

      He took off his hat and scanned the horizon. “It’s impressive, all right. No place on earth is quite like it.”

      “Which is Longs Peak?”

      He pointed toward the southwest. “There.”

      “The front of it looks as if some giant hand took a meat cleaver and sliced the mountain in two.”

      “That’s the famous east face. The drop from the top of it into the lake below is hundreds of feet.”

      She fixed her gaze on the famous peak. “I’m going to climb it one day.”

      Was there no stopping this woman? For all her slight size, she made up for it in sheer nerve. “I wouldn’t count on it.”

      “You wouldn’t, Mr. Lockwood, but I do count on it. It’s merely a matter of time.”

      “Hardly

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