and a few dozen other times along the trail. We both just sat there and let whoever it was ride right up to the fire. And when that slim-legged, long-bodied horse came into the firelight and I saw who it was, I couldn't believe it. Nor could Miguel. If we'd seen the ghost I'd been expecting, we wouldn't have been more surprised. It was Gin Locklear. Chapter Six. She rode side-saddle, of course, her skirt draped in graceful folds along the side of the horse, her gloved hand holding the bridle reins just as if she hadn't ridden miles through bandit-infested country to get here. She was just as lovely as when I last saw her. She taken my breath. Coming up on us out of the night so unexpected-like, and after all the goings-on outside of camp ... I hadn't a thought in my head, I was that rattled. It came on me that I'd best help her from the saddle and I crossed over and took her hand, but it was not until she was actually on the ground that I saw the dark shadows under her eyes and the weariness in her face.
