Leo Ryder had a headache that bore through his right eye straight through the back of his skull. That wasn't the least of his problems.

Damn this being on the run. It had blown his quiet life all to hell.

He should have skipped the poker tables last night one town over. But it was too tempting. It had been a time when he could drink to forget.

And thanks to dodging a rare U.S. Marshal in this lawless land, he'd spent the night and half a day hiding. He didn't like creeping home in the low, bright rays of the setting sun.

He tugged the brim of his hat low over his eyes and kept walking through the dry grasses in the shade of the trees. On the lookout, always on the lookout for trouble.

He wanted to find it before it caught up with him.

The slightest noise crackled behind him in the shadows of the lonely, desolate road up ahead.

He froze, his senses sharp. Trouble. He could feel it gut deep. Was it the killer he'd come here to find?

Then he thought of the gold and money he'd won at the tables last night.

Taking no chances in this mostly lawless country, he unsnapped his holsters. Now his .45s, one strapped to each thigh, were ready.

There was something in those shadows, no doubt. He squinted into the glare of the setting sun.

Was that a horse and wagon up ahead, pulled over at the side of the road?

A shadow moved, and a horse neighed. Was trouble waiting for him?

Well, he wasn't taking one single chance. He ducked for cover and drew one revolver.

The figure moved closer. He knelt down against a tree trunk, heart pounding.

He didn't want to go to jail, that was for damn sure, and he'd drop any son of a bitch who thought he could bring him in dead rather than alive.

But the rather short, skinny man didn't look armed. In fact, he was a rather graceful man—not a man at all.

Not with the elegant way she knelt beside the sparkling creek and laid a hand on the beautiful black gelding's neck.

The two drank side by side, water glinting like diamonds in the last rays of the sinking sun. Well, didn't that beat all?

A woman traveling by her lonesome in these dangerous hills.

Worse, she was not paying attention to her surroundings. A blond braid swished against her slim back as she rose, swiping her mouth on her button-up shirt's sleeve.

Didn't the female have the sense to notice the dark figure looming behind her in the shadows?

Leo grimaced as the figure stalked closer and raised a rifle. The barrel shone black as death as it pointed at the woman.

Well, hell. Now he had to get involved. Leo didn't hesitate.

He pulled the trigger, his Colt Peacemaker fired a second before the gunman's rifle, and a woman dressed as a man gave a stifled scream.

Hard to tell if his aim had been true, at least from this angle. Adrenaline gave a little kick.

Just to be sure the woman was safe, he broke out of the underbrush and stepped into the line of fire.

No gun shots zinged through the air. So far, so good. He dashed into the open, risking exposure. Risking arrest.

There was no fallen gunman.

Only shadows and forest. And a splatter of blood in the dust.

Where did he go? Leo's chest cinched up tight. This wasn't right.

Maybe this was no horse thief. Was it the killer he was hunting?

Leo spotted something up ahead. It was a rifle, dropped on the shoulder of the road.

He crouched to examine it, alert to any danger he couldn't see. The stock was wet with blood.

So, he had got in a good hit. That meant the gunman hadn't gone far.

He wanted to chase down the shooter, but what about the woman near the creek, defenseless and likely terrified?

He gave a heavy sigh. She needed his help, whoever she was.

Despite the wanted poster with his face on it, he was still a deputy marshal at heart. Would always be.

His first concern was to make sure the woman was unharmed. Then he would get her to safety and then back to hunting down his father's friend's killer.

He retrieved the rifle from the side of the road and approached the woman. His knees weakened at the sight of the single female on the ground.

She sat in the shade of her new wagon. Her horse stood next to her, nibbling the side of her face with concern.

"Don't to be afraid," he called. "I won't hurt you."

No answer. She merely glanced up at him.

Well, now he had problems, didn't he? He shifted the rifle into his other hand, watching her sitting so still.

She was a fresh-faced young lady, with a full rosebud mouth and small creases of pain in the corners of her closed eyes.

Oh, she might be hurting, but Leo could see the softness of her skin, pearl-smooth, even in the waning daylight.

She wore a man's hat, the new brim straight and crisp, shading her sweet face and all but a hint of her golden blond bangs.

Her gray, man's button-up shirt sleeves were rolled up to reveal the dainty line of her forearms. She wore no jewelry, no other adornment.

No pretty touches.

Hell, what was wrong with him that he looked lower than that perfectly curved chin? The material of her shirt stretched across her perfect breasts.

Don't think of that, he told himself, although he could not stop his gaze from roaming downward.

Beautiful. Slender. With a slender waist he could have spanned with both hands. Her man's denim trousers outlined lean, long legs.

She'd been shot. A bright stain stained the fabric of her jeans, upper thigh. Blood.

Alarmed, his heart kicked with concern. He knelt down to study what he could see of the torn skin.

The small bullet hole revealed a raw tear in the side of her leg and several layers of opened flesh.

She'd only been nicked by the bullet.

Whew. What a relief. It looked like a superficial wound. Nothing life threatening. Hardly even serious. Minor flesh wound.

Leo hung his head. She was lucky and he was damn grateful, since there wasn't a doctor brave enough to set up practice in the notoriously rough town of Willow Glen.

Now that he knew she wasn't dead or dying, larger questions troubled him. Where did she come from? Who was she?

And more importantly, why? Why was she alone and driving through this godforsaken country?

Not his business. But it was time to take care of business.

He eased the knife from his pocket and glanced around.

Best to keep an eye out for trouble, one more check, before he got down to the business of helping the woman.

The silent woman.

At least she had not scooted away from him or beaned him in the head with the rock her right hand was inching toward.

He exposed the knife's blade. Its steely edge caught the fading light and flashed. He was no doctor, but he would do what he could.

Listening for the return of the gunman he'd shot, he reached for a length of the woman's starched denims and sliced off a good bit of one pant leg's hem.

"Get off me, you sweaty thief." Her fingers curled around the palm-sized rock, she lifted her hand and swung. "I've had just about enough of bad men."

Before he could duck, the hard edge of granite clonked him in the side of the head. Right above the temple near the cheekbone.

Man, that hurt. What the hell was wrong with her?

"Stop that. I mean it." His hand shot out, stopping her before she could smack him again.

Which only made her try harder.

He grimaced, frowning as he tightened his hold on her slender forearm. "I'm no bad man, and I've had just about enough of women."

"Then why did you shoot me?"

"I didn't shoot you."

"I heard your gun fire." Her deep blue eyes filled with pain. With fear.

If only her dainty little curve of a chin didn't hike up a notch, as if full of fight. As if with a challenge.

"I shot the asshole who shot you. Didn't you notice? Or weren't you paying attention?" He couldn't believe this.

He was gonna need more whiskey. Already he was starting to get a headache.

A killer one.

"If you try and hit me one more time," he said, "I'll take your horse and leave you out here."

"I knew you were a horse thief the second I caught sight of you. Slinking up the road." She blinked, emphasizing the long curl of her lashes.

Such a pretty face. Such fear in her eyes. A fear she tried to hide.

She gulped. "I'm armed. If you know what's good for you, you will leave right now."

"Is that so? Where's your gun?" He arched one eyebrow.

Ignoring her threat, he forced the rock from her hand, gave it a toss and caught a swipe from the horse's tongue against his jawline.

"Beauregard, don't do that. I've warned you about kissing perfectly strange men." She reached for the dangling length of driving reins. She'd obviously unhitched him for that long cool drink in the creek.

A bad mistake. A horse like that was worth a mint. Worth his weight in gold.

Leo eyed the fine, careful line of the horse with a practiced eye. His father had owned a horse not so different once.

Before he'd died.

Emotion bunched up in his chest, a hard knot of grief. Best not to think of that now, not out in the open like this.

Besides, stealing her horse wasn't that bad of an idea. Nice of her to suggest it.

Riding was gonna be a whole lot better than walking.

His hideout wasn't a great distance, but he was beat. It had been a hell of a night, a heck of a day and judging by the looks of it, it was only gonna get worse.

"Would you mind controlling that horse? He's an animal." He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling.

It was wise for an outlaw on the run to seem grim, you know, not prone to humor of any kind, especially the occasional pun.

Okay, fine, it was a bad pun. But still, he enjoyed amusing himself.

It was about the only comfort he had left to him during these dark days.

One wrong move and he'd wind up behind bars again, looking a death penalty in the face.

"Don't lick that grimy face again, Beau." The woman clutched the reins with a death grip, protective fury vibrating in her voice. "He looks like poison to me. One lick and thud, you're dead."

"I'd never harm a horse. Not ever. But I can't say the same about a woman. Hush up and let me take care of this, before that gunman I shot to save your skinny butt comes back."

"I do have a gun, you know, but it's in the wagon." She scooted backwards and planted her foot on the ground.

Not new riding boots, but not old battered ones either. They looked comfortable, just right.

She must be used to wearing those pants, he figured. A woman who rode horses astride, he'd bet.

In fact, he'd put good betting money on it. And on the fact she was about ready to stand up and run for that weapon of hers.

"Not a good idea." He caught hold of her good ankle and gave it a tug, keeping her from standing up.

"Why, I've tangled with varmints like you before."

Her fist swung out, hit him right blow the left eye and knocked his head back a bit.

His hat went flying.