Bronco...lifted a pair of saddlebags from a sawhorse near the door, smacked them once to get rid of some of the dust and tossed them to her. "If there's anything in there you want to take along, better put it in here. And do it fast. We're leavin'. Now."

She threw him a look of pure hatred, which strangely enough he found exhilarating, rather like watching a bolt of lightning rip across a slate-black sky. He hid his smile from her, though; it wasn't going to do either of them any good to make her madder than she already was.

He stood and leaned against the door with his arms folded across his chest and watched her transfer the contents of the overnighter to the saddlebags. He was trained to be observant, and it struck him that her movements weren't quite coordinated, as if she were trembling violently inside. And not all from anger, he imagined. There was fear, there, too, as hard as she might try to hide it. He tried to imagine what it must be like for her, one minute to be going about her business and then without warning to find herself forcibly taken prisoner, with no idea why or what it was all about or what was going to happen to her. He thought she was holding up pretty well, considering.

Although, as smart as the lady was, he wouldn't be a bit surprised if she'd got the whole thing figured out by now.

Finished with her packing, she rose and put herself to rights, shaking each foot to settle the pantlegs down over the tops of her boots, jamming her shirttails any-which-way into the waistband of her jeans, skimming back her hair and fastening it with a rubber band she'd retrieved from the saddlebags. Efficient, Bronco observed. No nonsense, no fuss, and a surprising lack of vanity for so beautiful a woman. For a woman soon to become one of the world's most famous and recognizable.

"Ready?"

She was standing before him with the saddlebags over one shoulder, storm cloud eyes almost level with his. He was aware of a disturbance in his insides as he gazed back at her, a sensation that felt oddly like thunder-rolls.

"Got a jacket?" he drawled, keeping his eyes veiled.

She cut him a look that was pure acid. "Are you nuts? It's August. This is Arizona."

He didn't argue with her. He'd find something for her to wear. She was going to find out soon enough how chilly a summer monsoon could be at seven-thousand feet elevation.

Instead he opened the door and held it for her with mocking gallantry, which she acknowledged with a look that for once he couldn't quite figure out.

"I should never have danced with you," she muttered bitterly as she passed him.

To that, Bronco could only add a fervent, if silent, Amen.