As if sensing her gaze, he glanced at her, his brows rising above his rich brown eyes, eyes that could draw her in and make her forget about everything but him. Like last night when he’d focused on her lips as though he might kiss her again. Under the spell of his beautiful eyes—and his calling her darlin’—she’d nearly risen on her toes and kissed him first. She’d wanted to kiss him more than anything else, had wanted to be in his arms, had wanted to lose herself with him and forget about their troubles.

She’d all but flung herself at him and invited him to stay and kiss her.

As though remembering the same, Wyatt shifted his attention to her mouth. “Next time I kiss you, I ain’t gonna stop.” The memory of his low voice rumbled through her and stoked the embers inside her. How long did she have to wait for the next time?

Embarrassed by her eagerness, she dropped her gaze to the ground, which she should be examining with as much care as he was. According to Wyatt, they had to scrutinize every detail, every turned stone, every footprint, every broken blade of grass.

The problem was, it all looked the same to her and had for miles—treeless land, the grass now brown, almost gray, with a lone prairie dog popping up once in a while to scold them as they passed.

Nevertheless, she had to focus. Astrid’s life was at stake.

“Hold up.” Wyatt’s tone was taut and filled with warning. “Utes to the west.”

In the distance, a dozen Indians rode single file, heading to the north. They traveled briskly without wavering from their course.

Wyatt drew his horse next to hers. Only then did she realize he rested his rifle across his lap in one hand and his pistol in the other. He sat tall in his saddle, his focus intently upon the Indians. Though the natives hadn’t harmed her or Astrid that day they’d visited the cabin, this party might not be as kind as the men who’d visited.

The Indians huddled in their deerskin shirts, fringed buckskin leggings, and buffalo robes, the wind rustling their long hair intertwined with beads, feathers, and bones. Men at the forefront were followed by a few women and children riding their beautiful mustangs.

Her body tensed as she waited for them to notice Wyatt and her and steer toward them. But the party rode onward without a glance in their direction. “They must not see us.”

“Oh, they see us alright.” Wyatt’s fingers grazed the triggers of his guns. “They probably saw us long before we spotted them.”

“Then why aren’t they coming over?”

“I don’t rightly know, but I reckon they sense a change in the weather and are in a hurry to get someplace.”