Northeast Texas, 1894

An ear–splitting shriek ricocheted through the forest, startling a raucous cloud of blackbirds from the roadside trees.

"Easy, Trib." Adam Barr patted the horse's neck as the animal shied. What now?

The buggy behind him slowed to a stop, but Adam ignored it, along with the uneasy questions from the three men seated inside. He'd promised to escort the men from Philadelphia to Texas, not be their nursemaid.

The wailing continued and Adam fought the urge to tilt back his head and answer with a wild, full–throated howl.

He'd gritted his teeth so often these past few days the muscles in his jaw hurt. Taking on this job when more important business waited for him in Philadelphia had him in a foul mood, as his companions could no doubt attest.

After six years of biding his time – six years, two months and thirteen days to be exact – he'd thought he could finally pursue his goal without distraction.

If this assignment had come from anyone but Judge Madison...

Adam scanned the brush–skirted hardwoods lining the trail. Whatever the source of that eerie sound, it was headed their way.

He eased his rifle from the scabbard. Anticipation stirred his blood. He might have to employ his "company manners" with his three charges, but this bellowing beast was another matter.

No telling what manner of creature roamed this forsaken backwoods. The wail was too high–pitched to belong to a bear. A large cat maybe?

He urged Trib closer to the trees. There seemed to be a pattern to the sound, a certain mangled cadence. Almost as if –

Well, what do you know?

He leaned back. Not a wild animal after all. Too bad. "Do you think it's a wolf?"

Adam glanced over his shoulder. Chance's expression, like his tone, held more eagerness than worry. Did the kid think it would be some kind of lark to face down a wolf? Of course, from what Judge Madison had told Adam, the twenty–one–year–old was on this expedition precisely because he was prone to seek out trouble.

"Sounds more like an infernal wildcat." Everett adjusted his shirt cuff with exaggerated care, doing a creditable job of appearing unconcerned. But his British accent was more pronounced now, something Adam noticed happened when anything rattled the dandified cynic.

Mitchell, who controlled the skittish carriage horse with ease, refrained from comment. Nothing unusual in that.

The loose–limbed bear of a man had spent most of the trip west with a sort of sleepy–eyed disinterest. What was different, however, was the subtle alertness that radiated from him now, as if he were a cavalryman waiting for the enemy to appear over the rise.

Another strident note drew Adam's focus back to the roadside. He didn't bother to disabuse them of the notion that it might be a wild animal. It'd do the pampered trio good to have something to worry about besides the unorthodox plot they'd gotten themselves embroiled in.

"Perhaps you should get the carriage moving," Everett said. "I'm sure our escort can handle this better without us to distract him."

"We shouldn't abandon Mr. Barr," Chance shot back. "He might need – "

"This is about common sense, Junior, not courage," Everett interrupted. "Besides, I do believe Mr. Barr is more interested in getting rid of the lot of us than having us guard his back."

"I told you before – the name's Chance, not Junior."

Adam's jaw tightened. Everett was right. Even if it had been a grizzly headed this way, he'd rather face that than listen to more of this petty bickering. This assignment couldn't be over soon enough to suit him.

A heartbeat later, the source of the ear–grating racket stepped onto the roadside. As soon as the creature caught sight of them, the discordant warble ceased.

"It's a man!" Chance's tone carried as much disappointment as surprise.

"Not quite." Adam didn't blame the youth for the mistake. The party responsible for that unmelodic braying wore baggy overalls and an equally oversize shirt, both of which had seen better days. There was even a smudge of dirt on one cheek to match those on the clothing.

But this was no man.

From Adam's closer vantage, he spied a frizzy brown braid long enough to brush the seat of the overalls. That, along with the slender neck and hint of curves below, proclaimed this person as most definitely female. He hesitated, though, to use the word lady. She appeared more a disheveled forest waif than a civilized being.

The girl seemed as startled as the men in the carriage. But a flicker of something else – disbelief? wariness? – shadowed her surprise.

Remembering he still cradled the rifle, Adam resheathed it and tipped his hat. No point scaring her more than they already had.

Besides, she might be a good source of information.

He dug deep for the polite pleasantries that had grown rusty with disuse. "Good afternoon, miss. My apologies if we startled you."

"Good heavens, it's a girl." Chance's whispered–but–easily–heard comment only served to heighten the color in her cheeks as she broke eye contact with Adam.

"Or what passes for one in this barbaric wilderness." Everett didn't bother to lower his voice. "Do you think she speaks English?"

Adam narrowed his eyes in annoyance. Did the men think just because she looked like an uncivilized rube she didn't have feelings?

But before he could say anything, the girl snapped out of her slack–jawed immobility. Her lips compressed and her eyes flashed daggers. So, there was more wildcat than rabbit in her, was there?

Instead of baring claws, however, she bent down to pluck a stem of grass. Straightening, she favored them with a broad, neighborly grin as she stuck the weed between her teeth.

But something in her stance told Adam the claws were there, merely out of sight for now. He also noticed she didn't step away from the protection of the trees.

This girl was no fool. He mentally saluted her precaution, then leaned back in the saddle, ready to enjoy whatever performance she had in store for his companions.