He’d taken her high up into the hills. He had to hide her from the white sheriff and his band of vigilantes. It was the only way to keep her safe—if they didn’t freeze to death first. The high forest was his best chance to evade the white man’s posse. It was an area he knew well, but the lawmen would have trouble navigating or tracking them without help. The bad news was that at such a high altitude, even in the summer, the nights were cold. Maggie shivered. The single blanket they shared for warmth did little to provide shelter from the bitter chill of an exceptionally cold night in the Sierra Nevada. But it was nothing compared to the noose at the end of a rope—Maggie Fuller’s fate if they were caught. Protectively, Tajan tucked the blanket around her and reinforced his embrace. “I am sorry,” he said in English, “we can have no fire.” Exiled in total darkness, he hadn’t dared build a fire for fear of discovery. “It’s okay.” Maggie’s voice trembled. “I’m not cold.”
