By noon the next day the formidable Caldero Ridge was in view. When approached from the north, it didn’t look particularly threatening as mountain ranges went. There were no towering peaks to speak of but its incredible width made it impressive indeed, as it stretched a hundred miles to the east and west in a seemingly unbroken line. However, its most intimidating feature wasn’t at all visible from the north. The Ridge was the dividing line between the high plateau and the basin that cut across the south central part of the territory. Going into the Ridge was no problem. Getting out of it—or down from it—would be a different story.

They camped that night at the base, and the next morning began the most hazardous part of their journey. The rutted wagon trail they’d been following became more difficult to detect as Meade led Rayna up a series of winding switchbacks, then down a narrow escarpment and back up the next peak. Occasionally they would come across an area where a landslide had obliterated the trail, and they had to find another, even more dangerous route.

As they navigated the treacherous course, Rayna watched Meade closely and discovered that he wasn’t quite the tenderfoot she had expected him to be. He rode exceedingly well and never once betrayed any hint that the perilous trail unnerved him.

“How long will it take us to get through this?” she asked when they stopped near noon to eat.

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“If all goes well, we’ll be clear of the mountains by midmorning tomorrow,”

he said, then fell silent again as he had so much of the trip.

When they were riding, it didn’t bother Rayna much, particularly now that handling Triton on the difficult terrain had become a full-time matter of life and death. But when they were stopped like this with nothing to do, the silence was oppressive. It seemed to Rayna that Meade was determined to ignore her, and she was getting fed up with it. This wasn’t a good time to pick a fight with him, but she was too keyed up to sit quietly.

“You ride very well, Meade,” she told him, hoping a deserved compliment would spark a little conversation. “I’m impressed.”

He didn’t bother looking at her. “What did you expect? My father was a cavalry officer for twenty years, and I’ve spent half that much time as one myself.”

She tried not to take offense at his churlish tone. “Yes, but you told me once that you spent most of your career as a post surgeon and you didn’t do a lot of campaigning. You don’t need exceptional horseback skills to run an army hospital.”

He shot her an exasperated glance. “Would it make you feel better if I fell off Chicory every once in a while?”

Rayna gasped. “Damn you. I was only trying to make conversation. In case you hadn’t noticed, I paid you a compliment.”

“Well, thanks a lot, but your so-called compliment suggested that you had anticipated I would be less than competent to begin with.”

He had a point. “You’re right, I was concerned, but I was wrong. At least I’m not too petty to admit I made a mistake,” she said, more as an indictment than an admission of error.

Meade glared at her. “And what mistake have I supposedly made?”

“You called Triton a troublemaking man-killer, but you were wrong, weren’t you? He’s been an absolute angel.”

“So far,” he admitted reluctantly. “But if you don’t mind, I’ll reserve judgment on him until we’re out of here. This is the easy part.”

Easy? If this was easy, Rayna didn’t want to think about what lay ahead, and she didn’t want to think about Meade’s surliness, either. Falling silent, she chewed on a tough strip of jerked beef until Meade announced it was time to mount up again.

They headed up another narrow switchback with Meade in the lead, and as they neared the summit where the trail seemed to disappear into thin air, Meade called back to her, “Brace yourself.”

“For what?”

“You’ll see,” he replied as he reached the summit. With the packhorse in tow, he disappeared around a sharp curve.

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Rayna had heard about the Caldero Ridge of course, but nothing in the rugged New Mexico landscape had prepared her for the dizzying sight of the mountain falling dramatically away as she rounded the curve. The sheer drop-off just a few feet to her right plunged down a thousand feet or more, making the basin below seem a hundred miles away. Numerous small mountain ranges dotted the basin, but from this vantage point, they looked like insignificant anthills. Rayna had never seen anything quite like it, or even half as breathtaking.

“My God, Meade, it’s magnificent,” she called to him. “I feel as though I’ve reached the end of the world.”

“In many ways you have,” he said, turning in the saddle to look back at her. The glorious smile on her face made him wish he hadn’t. Why wasn’t she frightened out of her wits by the daunting spectacle? Why in hell wasn’t she cringing with dread at the thought of having to make her way down to the valley below? Why did she take everything in stride, even his foul, unfair bouts of temper?

Because she was the singular Miss Rayna Templeton, that’s why, Meade thought, answering his own questions. It seemed that nothing in the world could frighten her. Except, of course, the thought that she might not get her sister back. The sympathy that was mixed with his irritation and his attraction was a potent combination, and Meade righted himself in the saddle.

Being with Rayna twenty-four hours a day was a thousand times harder than he’d imagined it would be, and he just wanted to get to Fort Apache and be rid of her.

“Come on. We can’t sit here gawking all day.” He urged Chicory into motion down the steep escarpment. Then the trail doubled back and the mountains swallowed them again.

An hour later they stopped in a wide gorge to rest the horses, and Meade strolled around the area studying what appeared to be a set of fresh tracks made by two riders on horseback.

“What’s wrong?” Rayna asked as she caught up with him.

“Someone has moved through here recently,” he replied, frowning.

Rayna studied the imprints. “Yeah, I noticed those same markings earlier.”

She knelt and pointed to the irregular ridge left by one of the horses’ shoes.

“See the cleft there? We’ve been following whoever is riding that horse for quite a while.”

She was so proficient at everything else that Meade wasn’t too surprised she’d picked that up. “Did you also notice that they stop frequently, and every so often one of the riders doubles back?”

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gorge, the horse with the cleft shoe had made three sets of prints. “They’re not in too big a hurry, are they?”

“Or maybe they’re waiting for someone,” Meade suggested thoughtfully.

“Us, you mean,” she replied.

Meade studied her expression and found concern but no fear. “Could be.

Or it could be that some of my brother-in-law’s instincts are wearing off on me. Somehow this just doesn’t feel right.” He started back to the horses with Rayna at his side.

“What kind of terrain do we have coming up?” she asked.

“The kind I’d rather not be traveling through right now,” he answered, wishing the skin on the back of his neck would stop prickling. “This gorge snakes around for another mile or so, then narrows into Denning Pass, a swath of canyon that’s barely wide enough for a wagon.”

Rayna took a deep breath and expelled it slowly. “Great ambush country, huh?”

“Exactly. During the early years of the Apache wars, that pass was the site of more ambushes than I care to count. In fact, it got its name from a party of settlers who were massacred there. Road agents have made use of it, too,” he added grimly.

“Is there another way through?”

Meade looked at her. “Nope.”

Nodding thoughtfully, Rayna looked up at the steep walls of the gorge. “If they’re going to attack us, they’ll have to go into the cliffs eventually. I don’t see that we have much choice but to keep going until we lose their trail.”

Regrettably, Meade didn’t see any choice, either. “Let’s lead the horses awhile,” he suggested.

“Agreed.” She removed her Winchester from its scabbard on Triton’s saddle, and Meade followed suit. Moving cautiously, with one of them always keeping an eye on the cliffs above, they followed the trail left by the cleft-shod horse. In sections where the ground became too rocky to show sign, they stopped and Meade scouted ahead until the tracks resumed.

They rounded a bend that led southward, and the gorge began to narrow before it snaked off to the east again.

“They stopped here,” Rayna commented, and Meade crouched beside the prints.

“Yes, but neither of them dismounted.”

Rayna felt her pulse pounding steadily harder with every foot they traveled, and when the tracks disappeared on a rocky shelf of ground, her heart nearly thudded out of her chest. She waited while Meade searched ahead for fresh sign, and when he returned to her, his expression was grim.

“Come on,” he said, taking Chicory’s reins from her and turning the horse in the direction they had just come.

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