Cassie

Royce snickered. "Davis, don't you think you're a little old for her? You and Fritz are both old enough to be her father."

Three pair of hostile eyes turned on the sandy-haired youth. Cassie sent him a measured look over her coffee cup before she spoke.

"And you're too young."

"Too young?" Royce sputtered, puffing up his chest. "I'm pert near twenty-one. Anyways, yer only a few months older than me." The freckles stood out on his pale face.

She shrugged. The day was getting hot and it took too much energy to argue. Not that it needed hashing out anyway. Her age must have been mentioned at least a half-dozen times in the last six trips. Boys younger than Royce were working unsupervised. Yet working girls his age were usually either wives or soiled doves.

Fritz tossed the rest of his coffee at the fire and stood.

"Here's Pete."

Pete joined them, waving a gnarled old hand to indicate his companion.

"This here is Chauncey Bordeaux. He's going to be ridin' with us to Ashley."

The statement was flat, obviously intended to discourage argument, but Cassie couldn't resist.

"Eating whose food?"

Bordeaux dismounted, surveying the camp, landscape and men in one rolling glance. He appeared unperturbed by her caustic question.

"I'll live off the land," he responded casually.

Her laughter lashed out in the clear air, seizing his attention.

He tipped his hat back, fixing her with a bright blue gaze that stunned her vocal cords.

The laughter gurgled to a halt in her throat. His eyes were captivating;, by far the most attractive feature in his darkly handsome face. There was something familiar about that face, yet she was certain she had never met him before. She couldn't have forgotten those eyes.

He took a visual survey of her from the boots up, his unabashed gaze lingering on her straining shirt buttons. A flood of heat washed up her throat to stain her cheeks. One dark brow lifted in a quizzical expression. "I said something funny?"

She crossed her arms over her chest. He wasn't the first male to use that tactic to intimidate her. She inclined her head to indicate the endless sand, broken only by an occasional yucca or chickweed. "If you can find anything out there to eat, you're welcome to it."

Hopefully her voice sounded more composed than she felt.

Davis was watching Bordeaux with an intent expression. He started to speak, but Pete cut in.

"Bordeaux, this saucy little peach is Cassie Rinehart. She's got a sharp tongue, but she could make shoe soles taste like fine steak."

Bordeaux raised his brows again. "Oh?"