The crackle of burning brush and the snapping of falling branches was much too close. Sparks popped into the air, and several landed on her arm. She swatted them and then brushed one off Jericho’s shoulder.

How had the fire moved so swiftly without warning?

When they reached a narrow opening between two large rocks, he squeezed through and drew her along with him. She expected the space to be nothing more than a cleft where they might be able to huddle and hope the flames would pass over them. But Jericho tugged her in deeper.

She had to duck to keep her head from hitting the granite, but the interior was wide enough that they could stand side by side. Outside the glow of flames engulfed the rocks. And as the smoke seeped inside the cave, she cupped a hand over her mouth and nose to keep from inhaling it.

“Looks like we can crawl back farther.” He lowered himself to his hands and knees and poked his head into what appeared to be a tunnel. Without a lantern or torch, they couldn’t see where they were going or what lurked in the depths of the cave. But she followed him anyway, never one to let a little danger stand in her way.

The ground was smooth rock, cold to the touch. And the tunnel was tight, her head brushing the top. It was only a dozen feet, and they soon found themselves in another cave, this one bigger than the first.

Coughing, she sat back on her heels and tried to catch her breath. The light from outside barely reached inside the cavern, but it was enough to see that the room was narrow, the walls jagged, and a passageway continued on the other side. How deep into the mountainside did the tunnel go?

“Are you alright?” Jericho’s shoulder brushed hers.

“Yep. Just inhaled a mite too much smoke.”

“Hopefully it won’t reach us here.” His breathing was ragged too.

She wished for more light so she could examine him. “Did you get burned?”

“I’m fine.”

“You sure?”

“Now that I’ve found you, I’m more than fine.”

Had he ridden out all this way because he’d been worried about her?

She couldn’t read into his words more than he meant. But something in his tone sent her pulse skittering, like the first rocks trickling down before a landslide.

He was sitting on his heels and took off his hat and wiped his brow. Only then did she notice he was still attired in his Sunday-meeting getup and looking real fine, in spite of being disheveled and dusty and sporting the bruise around his eye that Flynn had given him on Independence Day.