Cool golden eyes looked at Willow’s left hand, which was slender and without a ring. She flushed guiltily. She hated having to lie, but her brother’s letters had made it clear that he was living in a wild, uncivilized place. A young womantravelling alone in such a place was at risk. A wife, on the other hand, had a husband’s protection. Even an absent husband was enough to give other men pause.

«Yes,» Willow said, clearing her throat. She met Caleb’s eyes with a combination of embarrassment and defiance. «My husband. Have you heard of him by any chance?»

«A lot of men change their names when they get west of the Mississippi. Even honest men.»

Willow’s eyes widened. «How odd.»

«Most people don’t think honesty is odd.»

The cool contempt in the words stung Willow. «That isn’t what I meant.»

Caleb looked from Willow’s burnished blond hair to her delicate patent leather shoes peeking from beneath the long silk skirt. «I’ve never met a man called Matthew Moran. Did he have a nickname?»

«If he did, he never mentioned it.»

Caleb’s eyes narrowed. «You’re certain?»

«Quite.»

«How long have you been…married?»

Caleb’s inflection made it clear that he doubted Willow was married. His eyes repeated the message. Willow fought against the tide of color she felt rising in her cheeks. She truly hated to lie, but the war had taught her that survival required doing things she hated.

«Does it matter?» Willow asked.

A sardonic smile curled one corner of Caleb’s mouth. «Not to me. You just look a little young for marriage. Barely out of rompers, in fact.»

«I’m twenty,» she said distinctly. «Many women my age already have children.»

Caleb grunted. «How old is your husband?»

«Twenty-five,» Willow said, eager to tell the truth wherever possible. «Matt is the youngest of my — that is —» she corrected quickly, «he’s the youngest of five sons.»