“Yes, and I might be elected President tomorrow.” He lifted his elbow another notch. “Now, shall we walk? I need to know how many feathers you’ve ruffled before I start smoothing them over.”

Reluctantly she took his arm, and he led her across the street into the tree-lined plaza. “You really don’t like me, do you, Major?” she asked, keeping her voice carefully neutral because she wasn’t quite sure how she felt about his low opinion of her.

Meade considered the question and decided he should be honest with her.

Well, partially honest, anyway. Since he had no intention of ever pursuing his inappropriate carnal interest in her, he saw no reason to reveal that. “Actually, Miss Templeton, I have a certain grudging admiration for you.”

She looked up at him with surprise. “The key word being ‘grudging,’ I take it.”

“Yes. I understand that this is a harsh land and it has yielded a new breed of Americans—a much rougher lot than those I was reared among back east.

But a young woman of your background and breeding shouldn’t be one of them, Miss Templeton.”

“According to you,” she accused lightly. “Who made you the arbiter of what’s proper and what’s not?”

“We are discussing my opinion, no one else’s,” he reminded her. “And you did ask.”

“Hmmm. Tell me, Major Ashford, have you ever pulled a bog?”

His eyebrows went up. “I beg your pardon?”

That was all the answer Rayna needed, but she elaborated, anyway. “Have you ever pulled an irate, frustrated longhorn steer out of a waist-deep mud bog, only to have the animal turn on you once it was free, cuff the seat of your pants, and send you flying?”

It was everything Meade could do to suppress a smile as he visualized Rayna in the predicament she described. “No, I’ve never had that pleasure.”

“Try it sometime, Major, and if you can accomplish it without muttering a single swearword, I will gladly mend my wicked ways.”

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He seriously doubted that it would be possible for her to live up to that bargain. “Miss Templeton, my point is that a real lady would never participate in the type of activity you described. Have your mother or sister ever . . . pulled a bog?”

“No,” she admitted reluctantly.

“I rest my case. You were raised by a lady to be a lady, but for some reason, the lessons didn’t take. You had the benefit of a genteel upbringing, and it’s obvious that no expense was spared to educate you.”

“You gleamed that from my refined speech, I presume?” she asked wryly.

Meade tried not to laugh. It wouldn’t have surprised him if she’d added a

“hell” or “damn it” after her question just to tweak him. “Let’s just say I know a finishing school graduate when I see one.”

“Well, I’m sure Mrs. Purdy would be happy to know that some of her training wore off on me.”

“Actually I was referring to your sister. I just assumed that if your parents sent one of you off to school, they’d have sent both of you.”

“I went reluctantly,” she told him. “I was dragged away kicking and screaming. You’d have loved that sight, I’m sure.”

Meade didn’t rise to the bait this time. “You tolerated the experience for the sake of your sister, didn’t you?” he asked quietly.

His insight into her personality caught Rayna off guard. “Yes.”

“That’s where my admiration for you comes from, Miss Templeton. I may not approve of your methods, but I admire devotion and loyalty. Here.” He guided her to a bench beneath a shade tree, and they sat down. “Now, tell me how you’ve been keeping yourself busy these last weeks. And what word have you heard on your father?”

Rayna was grateful for his questions, because she had no idea how to respond to his compliment. What she did realize in that moment was that his opinion had somehow become very important to her. “Papa is still weak, but apparently there have been no more seizures,” she replied, arranging her skirts around her.

“Does he still believe Skylar is with you?”

She nodded. “Mother has managed to keep up the charade, but I’m afraid it can’t go on much longer. Skylar is an inveterate letter writer. Always before when we’ve been away from home, she’s written our parents every day. If Papa hasn’t caught the inconsistency yet, he will soon.” A hopeful thought occurred to her. “I don’t suppose Skylar gave you any letters to post, did she?”

He was sorry to disappoint her. “No. Writing materials weren’t available to her on the trip, and I never thought to offer her mine. I’m sorry.”

Rayna shrugged. “Well, that’s Skylar for you. She wouldn’t have asked for fear it would be an imposition. Sometimes I think my sister is too good for this world.”

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“Have you always been her protector?”

“Yes,” she replied wistfully. “And she was my salvation. It was a more than fair trade.”

Meade frowned. “Salvation?”

“I was six years old when Papa brought Skylar home to live with us, and when you’re six, a ranch in the middle of nowhere is a very large and lonely place. When Skylar came, the loneliness went away.”

Meade understood that only too well. When he was a child, Libby had been his salvation. Their father had been away pursuing his military career most of the time, and their mother had cared more for the social whirl than for her two children. Libby and Meade had felt isolated and alone long before their parents died. They had taken care of each other, forging a bond that could never be broken. If Rayna loved her sister half as much as he loved his, she was most certainly in agony now; and one thing Meade knew positively about Rayna Templeton was that she loved her sister.

“What happened to Skylar’s Apache parents?” he asked.

“We’re not completely certain,” Rayna replied. “Skylar has very few memories of that time, and the Mexican slavers Papa bought her from were understandably loath to explain how she came to be in their possession. We do know that her entire village was massacred. Papa believed it was the slavers who committed the crime, but Skylar has a vague memory of other Apaches being on the scene.”

Given Meade’s knowledge of the history of the southwest territories, either version seemed completely plausible. Even before the arrival of the first white settlers, the Apaches had been preying on one another, and the hostilities between them and the Mexicans were legendary. It wasn’t out of the realm of possibility that the culprits could have been a contingent of Americans, either. Senseless massacres of peaceful Apaches were still being committed by groups of “concerned citizens.”

“She’s very fortunate to have encountered your father,” Meade commented.

“I know. I shudder to think what might have happened to her otherwise.”

The sadness in her voice tugged at Meade’s heart. “And what’s happening to her now?”

Rayna nodded and looked away from him. “Yes.”

“Why don’t we go back to my original question?” Meade suggested, wishing he could banish her sadness. He liked it much better when she was prickly and obnoxious, because it was easier for him to erect barriers against her.

“What have I done to alienate everyone in Santa Fe? That question?” she asked with a hint of a smile.

“Yes.”

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Rayna thought back over the last two weeks. “To the best of my knowledge, the only people I’ve insulted were wearing uniforms similar to yours, give or take a few stripes and gewgaws.”

Meade glanced down at the gold-rimmed stripe on the shoulder of his tunic. “I’ve never heard gold oak leaves described as gewgaws.”

“Forgive me if I fail to show the proper degree of respect, but I don’t have much respect for anything military these days.”

“Perfectly understandable. Have you been able to gain access to anyone in the territorial government?” he asked, getting back on track.

“Of course. Believe it or not, I’m welcome in many of the best homes in the city.”

“That makes sense. You have a wealthy and probably somewhat powerful father.”

“Thank you for giving me the benefit of the doubt,” she said dryly.

Meade grinned. “You’re welcome. All right, go on.”

Rayna shrugged. “I’ve spoken to every friend of my father’s who might be even remotely able to help, but so far all I can boast of is a rather limited letter-writing campaign. Correspondence has been sent from several sources to the Bureau of Indian Affairs, senators, congressmen, the War Department, even the President himself. So far no one has responded.”

“Letters take time, especially when you’re dealing with the government.”

“Really? I hadn’t noticed.”

“Don’t be glum, Miss Templeton. We’ll get Skylar back.”

Rayna appreciated his confidence and his support. She was curious about one thing, though. “Why is it, Major, that you call my sister Skylar but refer to me as Miss Templeton?”

The question surprised him, and it took a moment to find an answer. “I suppose it’s less confusing than referring to both of you as Miss Templeton, and addressing you thus is a form of courtesy and respect.”

“Grudging respect,” she reminded him.

Meade cleared his throat. Apparently she was never going to let him forget that comment. “Yes.”

Rayna thought it over. “It’s odd. Earlier you called me a foul-mouthed, unladylike spinster. Addressing me as Rayna seems almost deferential in comparison.”

“Is that your roundabout way of inviting me to call you Rayna?”