As it got near enough for him to make out the driver, he realized that this is what he’d really been waiting for since he’d gotten to New Mexico Territory. He reined in his mount and waited, hooking one long leg over his saddle horn and rolling a smoke.

The wagon rumbled to a halt beside him, horses blowing noisily. “Were you going to leave town without even bothering to come and say hello to me?” Elizabeth Burneson demanded.

The wind had flushed her cheeks pink, and it was obvious she had dressed in a hurry; she wore a plain gown of dark-rose wool, pretty but simple. Her hair was half-loose and straggling over one shoulder, dark curls tangled.

“It seemed best.” Steve licked the edge of the thin paper to seal it, and stuck the smoke in one corner of his mouth.

“You still have bad habits, I see.” Her eyes were wide and dark with emotion, and he noted the slight trembling of her hands on the reins.

“Is that what you rode so hard to tell me?” Amused, he saw the flush rise higher in her face, her high sculpted cheekbones wearing color like flags.

“No. I—I do have something to tell you. It’s—it’s not easy, but Martin—We got married not long after you left town.”

“I figured you would. He’s the kind of man you needed, the kind of man who would make you happy.”

“Yes, you’re right about that.” Her gaze was steady, and her hands didn’t tremble quite so much now. The wind tugged at her hair and the hem of her gown. “He makes me very happy. He’s a good man, a decent, hardworking man who would do anything for me.” She paused, then added, “And anything for our children.”

“I’m glad to know that, Beth, really I am.” He meant it. Maybe he should feel remorse, but he hadn’t thought of her much after leaving, and not at all once he’d discovered that Ginny was still alive. Only recently had he thought of her, reminded by Ginny’s confessions.

One of her horses shied slightly, spooked by Steve’s horse, and the wagon rolled forward. Instinctively, he reached out to grab the reins. Elizabeth had lunged to grab them up, and swayed precariously over the seat of the buckboard.

“Sit down before you fall out and a wheel rolls over you,” Steve said roughly, and reached over to set the brake.

She glared at him. He could smell her now that he was so close, the woman-smell of fresh-washed clothes, soap and a faint powdery fragrance.

“Steve…” Her voice faltered and she took a deep breath to steady it. “When Sheriff Blaine came out to tell us that you had come back, I didn’t want to see you again. I just didn’t see the point in it, in raking up old memories.”