Cal kept his eyes focused straight ahead, maintaining the gelding's steady, unhurried pace and trying not to notice the four women sitting on the verandah of the only boardinghouse in town. Young women. Pretty, too. One was all fluffed out in something pale green and sheer-looking with lots of ruffles. The one on the chair wore her hair in a tight bun and was buttoned all the way to her chin. Spinster, maybe. The blowsy-looking redhead next to her stared at him with a look that said Interested.

They were all drinking something, probably lemonade. He licked his dry lips. He'd ridden all the way from Silver City without a single drop of the whiskey in his pack. Must be getting old. Or maybe he was getting religion. Better make it religion, Cal, since preaching is partly what brought you here.

The fourth lady, rocking in the porch swing next to the blonde with the ruffles, didn't even look up. She had a soft look about her, not over-refined, just nice somehow. Maybe she was dozing. The other three women were giving him a careful once-over, but this one didn't seem to care who was clip-clopping past her porch on this warm Sunday afternoon. Probably married with three kids.

A dart of remorse niggled into his brain. Forget it, Zander. You've got other things to do here. He started to walk Star on past, feeling three pairs of female eyes follow his every step. At the last moment, Miss Sleepyhead snapped her lids open, and her gaze met his head-on. Not bold or anything, like the redhead or Miss Ruffles, just calm and steady. And only mildly interested.

Her eyes were blue, so clear they looked like pools of brook water. Like bluebonnets. Did Oregon have bluebonnets?

Did he care? He didn't need bluebonnets. What he needed was a place to sleep.