Colorado, 1887

Kinsey Templeton watched the passengers file out of the stagecoach at the depot across the street. Horses and wagons passed between them kicking up little swirls of dirt. She squinted her eyes against the bright afternoon sunlight and craned her neck for a better view.

A husband and wife. Two women and a young boy. A man traveling alone. All tired and dusty, probably hungry, stretching their legs and drawing fresh breaths of the clean air.

Since arriving in Crystal Springs several months ago, Kinsey watched the arrival of nearly every person who set foot in town. The task had grown more difficult lately. The stage came more frequently now. The railroad had made the town a regular stop on its line, bringing even more new faces. She had her job, too, at the boardinghouse. Kinsey was probably the only person in Crystal Springs who arranged their day to match the stage and train schedules.

She was probably the only one who needed to. With a quick glance around, Kinsey checked to see if any of the merchants she knew on Main Street or her friends going about their business seemed ready to stop and chat. No one did. No one at the stage depot took notice of her either.

She was all but invisible to everyone arriving in Crystal Springs. Twenty-five years old, her brown hair tucked beneath a bonnet, she wore the same sort of clothing as all the women in town. She looked as if she belonged there.

No one noticed that she watched the stage passengers, scrutinizing their appearance, their clothes and manners. Even if anyone commented about her odd behavior, Kinsey wouldn't have changed her ways. She couldn't. She had no choice.

Because she knew that still, after all the miles, all the towns and all the these years, someone would come after her.

How would she recognize him? A family resemblance? Maybe. Maybe not. More likely his clothing. Eastern. Well-cut and expensive. His appearance would be out of place here in the West. He'd have the look of a dandy. A thief.

A predator.

Kinsey turned her attention to the husband and wife in front of the depot. The two of them talked for a few minutes before he pointed to the White Dove Café down the street. The couple was passing through, Kinsey decided, and focused on the two women and young boy who were now speaking to the express agent. She dismissed them as quickly, realizing they were, like so many other travelers she'd seen, inquiring about their layover time. She settled her gaze on the man who'd been the last to exit the stage.

His back was to her as he gazed westward down the street. Tall, wide-shouldered and long-legged. Hours on the cramped stage had surely been difficult for a man his size.

He wore dark trousers and vest, and a pale blue shirt. His black hat covered most of his equally black hair. A pistol was holstered low on his thigh. He carried a small satchel in his hand.

The man seemed to fit in, in dress and manner, at least from what she could see from across the street. Yet a unease crept over Kinsey, as if —

He turned quickly to answer the shotgun rider who'd called to him from atop the stage. Kinsey's heart rushed into her throat.

Good gracious, he was handsome. Clean-shaven and carefully groomed despite the long stagecoach trip, yet somehow displaying a rugged air at the same time. Long limbs, stolid, sturdy. He carried an air of confidence, perhaps bordering on arrogance, as he spoke. A man used to being in charge.

The shotgun rider tossed down a valise and he caught it easily. He was staying in Crystal Springs. Kinsey's stomach fluttered unexpectedly and her heart thudded harder until —

"Mama! You're squeezing me!"

Kinsey gasped and leaned down to her son, easing her grip on his hand and pulling it up to plant a kiss on his tiny fingers.

"Mama's so sorry, Sam," she said, watching the little frown disappear from his face. "Let's go into the store. I'll bet Miss Ida has a treat for you."

He darted ahead of her in typical five-year-old fashion, scooting through the open door of the MacAvoy General Store before Kinsey could catch his hand again. She smiled with motherly pride. Sam was a beautiful child, with dark hair and blue eyes. He was a joy. Smart, too. Miss Peyton had allowed him to start school already. The townsfolk had taken to him — and Kinsey — immediately. Crystal Springs felt like home now, despite the short time they'd lived there.

Kinsey headed into the general store, knowing she'd find Sam sitting on the counter, Ida Burk presenting him with a peppermint stick from one of the glass display jars. But at the doorway she turned back and cast another look at the stage depot. At the man.

In that instant he turned her way, and for a second their gazes met and held. Kinsey's breath caught. Her heart started up its thumping again and her stomach gave a quick lurch. He stared right back at her, frozen, as she was, for a few seconds.

Kinsey came to her senses with a little gasp and dashed into the general store, leaving the stranger staring after her.

What the hell was he doing. Jared Mason gave himself a mental shake, silently admonishing himself for blatantly ogling the woman across the street. True, she was pretty; he could tell that even from a distance. And true, he'd been cooped up on the stage for days — and before that, weeks on the train — and this was the first woman who'd caught his eye, so he guessed he owed it to himself to enjoy the view.

Yet that wasn't what he was here for.

Jared adjusted his grip on his valise and satchel, and headed down the street toward the hotel the shotgun rider had told him about.

Walking, stretching his legs felt good. Jared kept his pace steady, more interested in looking over the town than getting to the hotel.

Crystal Springs, Colorado, seemed like a prosperous place. Jared spied stores, restaurants, a bank, a hotel and several other businesses. Men in suits roamed the street alongside cowboys carrying guns on their hips, miners with long beards, women in gingham dresses. The town looked clean, and from the talk he'd heard on the stagecoach, the place was growing.

Another new face among the townsfolk wouldn't draw much attention, Jared decided, and that suited his purpose well. He needed to blend in, to look like he belonged. The element of surprise was essential. He'd known that since he set out on this trip, several weeks and thousands of miles ago.

After crossing the Mississippi, Jared had abandoned the private railroad car and sent it back to New York, continuing the journey in the cars with the other passengers. Over the next weeks at some of the train stops, he'd slowly changed his appearance.

Suit, silk shirt and cravat exchanged for Levi's trousers, vests and cotton shirts. Italian leather shoes gone, replaced by boots. A wide-brimmed black Stetson hat. He'd bought a pistol and shoved it into the holster on his hip; he had yet to fire it but he did know how to load it.

The transformation of his appearance had been completed somewhere in Kansas. Jared didn't recall exactly where now. The train depots, the small towns, the scenery had blurred a long time ago.

In the town of Cold Creek, about fifty miles to the east, Jared had abandoned the train. He couldn't take another day of cinders and smoke blowing in through the open windows, the clacking of the rails, the relentless swaying, the screaming whistle. He boarded the stagecoach bound for Crystal Springs.

Jared glanced down at the satchel he carried and the technical journals tucked inside. They'd saved his sanity, along with the newspapers he'd bought along the way.

All he'd been able to do for the duration of the cross- country trip was read. And think. Think about what he'd lost. And what he'd come here to get back.

At the corner he stopped and eyed the Crystal Springs Hotel across the street, suddenly anxious to get inside, book a room, get cleaned up and grab a few hours of sleep. But his gaze swung to the general store down the block and the spot where he'd seen the pretty woman standing in the doorway. She was gone now, but her image lingered in his mind.

She'd had a market basket on her arm so she was probably shopping. For supper, maybe? For her family?

A raw surge of emotion ripped through Jared. A cozy home. A warm kitchen. A good meal on the table. Someone special waiting.

"Damn..."

Jared bit off a worse curse as the painful reminder of why he'd come here twisted inside him. He trudged on toward the hotel, as anxious as ever to get this job done. Once more he silently vowed he wouldn't go home empty-handed. And after this long, arduous journey, he wasn't particular about how he accomplished his task.

But he wouldn't fail. He'd head back east quickly. As soon as he got what he'd come here for.