«Wouldn’t matter if Cal did hate southerners,» Eddy said. «Mrs. Moran’s a Yankee gal. West Virginia, the part that declared for the North.»

Caleb gave Willow a narrow-eyed look. «Then why did you tell me you lost the war?»

Willow told herself that she shouldn’t answer, but it was too late. She was already talking, her words as clipped and cold as Caleb’s had been.

«Our farms were in the border area,» Willow said. «When JohnnyReb came calling, we were called Yankees and everything that could be eaten or carried off was. When Yankees came calling, we were called JohnnyRebs and everything that could be eaten or carried off was. During the war my father was killed and my mother died of a broken heart. All but five of our horses were stolen or ‘requisitioned’ by one side or the other. Our crops were burned and our trees were cut down. We lost our farms one by one until nothing was left, not even a kitchen garden. Tell me, Mr. Black — in what way was I on the winning side of that glorious war?»

«So that’s why you come West,» the widow said quickly, trying to interrupt the fierce currents of emotion she sensed between the tired young lady and Caleb Black. «You’ll feel right at home in Denver, dear. Lots of folks out here just walked away and left it all behind them like a snake shedding old skin. That’s what the West is for, starting over when everything else goes wrong. Are you and your husband going to take up ranching?»

Willow dragged her glance away from Caleb’s bleak, whiskey-colored eyes and focused on Rose. She would like to have told the amiable widow the whole truth, but Matt’s letter had been quite blunt about not trusting anyone with the map he had sent. Most people were decent and honest in their day-to-day lives, but a gold strike tested even the best friendships. That was why Matt had written home in the hope of finding one or more of his brothers to help him dig gold. When the letter arrived, the Moran brothers had been scattered from London to Australia.