CHAPTER FOUR
Tessa gripped the wagon reins so tightly her fingers ached. Yesterday's excitement over Reverend Deering's invitation to church had given way to a paralyzing fear. She'd scarcely slept last night, her dreams haunted by scenes in which the good people of Pony Springs shunned her once more.
They'd certainly turned their noses up to her when she and Will had first come to town, seven years ago. She'd never forget the cold stares that greeted them when they walked into the mercantile that first day. Will's skill as a blacksmith had eventually silenced most of his critics, but they'd continued to regard her with disapproval. After a while, she'd stopped trying to win them over.
She stared out over the landscape around her, forcing herself to think of something, anything, besides what lay ahead. Dust rose in powdery clouds around the horses' hooves and coated the grass on the side of the road so that the whole landscape seemed covered in a sifting of flour. She watched dust drift onto the sleeve of her black bombazine dress and wrinkled her nose in distaste. Maybe it was time she put away these widow's weeds. Will had been dead more than a year now, though of course, he wasn't really gone.
The wagon rocked as it crossed a rough spot in the road, and she adjusted the reins in her good hand. "Will?” The steady cadence of the horses' hooves on the hard-packed dirt road was her only answer. Even her ghostly husband had abandoned her this morning.
She almost wished now she'd taken Micah up on his offer to come with her. Almost, but not quite. The memory of the hard look in his eyes when she'd rejected him left a bitter taste in her mouth. She knew she'd been wrong to refuse him, certainly unChristian. But she also knew what people would say if she rode into their midst beside him. They'd shut her out before they'd even given her a chance to be a part of them again. She didn't think she was strong enough to bear that.
Within the hour, the town of Pony Springs came into view. A double row of weathered wood storefronts lined the town's main street, with the Red Dog Saloon at one end and the white steepled church at the other. Already a crowd of wagons and buggies shared the shade of a tall cottonwood beside the house of worship.
She found space for her wagon, set the brake and climbed carefully down, trying to avoid looking too awkward as she did the job one-handed. The horses began cropping grass. Smoothing the glove on her good hand, she surveyed the scene from beneath the shadowing brim of her sunbonnet.
Families and couples were making their way toward the church house. The women all wore brightly colored calico dresses, with softly gathered skirts and fitted basques. Tessa looked down at the full sleeves and full skirt of her own 'Sunday best' and felt awkward and out of fashion. Keeping to herself so much, she was unaware of the latest styles.
Maybe she should just turn around and go home. She didn't belong here. They wouldn't like her anymore now than they had seven years ago. She pushed away the discouraging thoughts and took a deep breath. She wasn't the same person she had been seven years ago. With effort, she could fit in again. She could make them like her. Either that, or she'd spend the rest of her life alone, and that was no choice at all.
She raised her head, adjusted her out-of-fashion bonnet, and started toward the church house.
Milo Adamson was the first to notice her approach. Tessa recognized him from the hours he spent parked on a bench in front of Wilkins's Mercantile. Adamson squinted from beneath the brim of his hat, then nudged Bill Thornton next to him. The two stood with a group of men just outside the door, like a receiving line inspecting each new arrival. "Mornin' Miz Bright," Adamson said. He tugged at his hat brim and grinned, revealing a missing front tooth.
With as much dignity as she could muster, Tessa nodded. "Good morning, Mr. Adamson."
"M. . . mornin', m. . . m. . . ma'am.” Bryan Ritter had lost a considerable amount of his hair over the years, but apparently none of his shyness. When she nodded to him, he blushed clear up to his bald spot.
The other men mumbled greetings as Tessa moved past. Legs wobbling, heart pounding, she made it up the steps and into the sanctuary. Her boots echoed on the wood floor, causing the cluster of women near the front of the room to turn and watch her approach. Tessa wished she were back home in her kitchen, or in her barn tending the horses, or cutting hay with Micah -- anywhere but here under the judging eyes of all these people.
"Why, I declare, if it isn't Tessa Bright!” An older woman detached herself from the group and started down the aisle toward Tessa. She wore a green and black figured calico dress and an elegant paisley shawl. She looked vaguely familiar, but Tessa couldn't put a name to the face.
"We're glad to have you with us this morning," the woman said, grasping Tessa's hand firmly in both her own.
Enveloped in the warmth of the woman's grasp, and the equal warmth of her smile, Tessa felt some of her nervousness ease. "I'm glad to be here," she said, and the words were now only half a lie.
"Have you met Mamie Tucker?” Her hostess led Tessa over to a plump, pretty blond who cradled a baby.
"How do you do?” The blond smiled and nodded, and Tessa returned the greeting.
"Of course you know Trudy Babcock.” Tessa turned to the next woman in the group, struggling to keep her smile in place. She wasn't likely to forget Mrs. Babcock. The wife of the man who had been Will's chief competition didn't look any more pleased to see Tessa than she'd ever been. She gave a curt nod and looked away.
"And you probably never met Ambrosia Smith. She's our new school teacher.”
A tall, black-haired woman offered her hand. "Ada, let go so she can greet all of us," Miss Smith teased.
Ada Drake! The name came back to Tessa in a rush of memory. Her smile brightened with relief.
"Please, call me Ammie," the young teacher said to Tessa.
"It's nice to meet you, Ammie," Tessa said, hoping she'd remember all the names and faces. She was sorely out of practice at this sort of thing.
"My goodness, what happened to your arm?" The blond, Mamie Tucker, inclined her head toward the cast.
Tessa rubbed the rough plaster. "I was trying to doctor a horse and it kicked me. The doctor says it will be healed in a few more weeks."
"You poor dear." Ada shook her head. "You must have your hands full trying to take care of that big place of yours by yourself."
"I was so very sorry to hear about your husband's passing," Mamie said. The other women murmured their own sympathies.
"Thank you," Tessa said.
"I would have come to call afterwards but, well, I thought you preferred to be alone.” Ada looked apologetic and. . . was she actually as nervous as Tessa felt?
"We were surprised to hear you'd decided to stay on after your husband's passing.” Trudy Babcock sounded disapproving, but perhaps that was just Tessa's imagination. "We assumed you'd want to go back east to be with your family."
"Oh, I could never leave the ranch and Will.” She flushed, realizing what she'd said. "I mean. . . his gravesite."
The women made more sounds of sympathy, then an awkward silence hung in the air between them. Tessa avoided looking at the others, fearing the disapproval or suspicion she expected to see in their eyes. Instead, she focused on the room around them. The simple wooden pews, narrow pulpit and unadorned wooden cross hadn't changed since her last visit. The scent of candle wax and lemon-oil polish hung heavy in the air, along with an unfamiliar, flowery scent that seemed out of place.
"What is that smell?" Ammie Smith asked, wrinkling her nose. "Is something blooming nearby?"
"You must mean my new perfume.” Trudy flashed a self-satisfied smile. "It's called Jasmine Nights. Imported all the way from France."
Ammie didn't seem impressed. "It's quite. . . strong, isn't it?"
Tessa hid her smile behind her hand. Poor Trudy was always trying, and failing, to impress people.
"We were just discussing the need this town has for a library." Ada Drake diplomatically changed the subject. "Don't you think it would benefit everyone, and especially o
ur school children, if we instituted a lending library?"
Tessa stared at her. Was Mrs. Drake actually asking her opinion? "Oh, yes. That sounds like a wonderful idea," she stammered. "I've always loved to read."
"We're forming a committee to spearhead a drive to establish a library in Pony Springs," Ammie said. "Would you like to be on it?"
"Yes. Yes, I think I would.” Tessa hoped she didn't sound too pathetically eager. To think that they would include her. . .
"I'm sure running your ranch occupies all your time.” Trudy's words were like a dart aimed at her inflating spirits.
There had been a time when Tessa would have retreated at such a remark, but today she met the challenge head-on. She gave Trudy her most winning smile. "I'm sure I can make time for such a worthy cause."
If the other women noticed Trudy's irritated expression, they ignored it. They showered Tessa with words of thanks and news of their plans for the Library Society.
"The men are coming in. It's time to start.” Trudy's announcement broke through the women's happy chatter. She nodded toward the back of the church, where the men were indeed filing in. The women scattered to take their place in the pews. As if it were the most natural thing in the world, Tessa found herself beside Ammie, who, as a teacher, was of course unmarried. When the piano player struck up the first hymn, Ammie even offered to share her songbook with Tessa.
It was easy as that then? Ten minutes after arriving here, she'd been accepted as one of them, even asked to join their library group. What had happened? What had she done to dissolve the animosity of years past?
At the last chorus of O, For a Thousand Tongues, Reverend Deering stood and walked to the pulpit. He wore the same black suit she'd seen him in the day before, his hair neatly slicked down, a fresh collar on his shirt. "Our new minister is certainly a handsome man," Ammie whispered.
Tessa glanced at the school teacher. A pink flush across her cheeks made her look quite lovely. Tessa looked down at her lap, fighting back a smile. Of course, every single woman in the congregation would set her cap for the good-looking preacher. The question was, would Tessa be one of them?
"I take my text today from Hebrews 13:1 and 2: "Let brotherly love continue. Be not forgetful to entertain strangers; for thereby some have entertained angels unawares."
Tessa smiled. Whether she decided to go along with Will's scheme to match her with the preacher, she admired his choice of a sermon topic. If this was a declaration of the focus his ministry here would take, she could see nothing but good to come for the church, and the town.
#
Micah watched Tessa leave, an uncomfortable emptiness expanding in his chest as the buggy grew smaller and smaller in his vision, until all that was left to mark its passing was a cloud of dust hovering in the still air over the road. He whirled, turning his back on the forlorn image, and stalked to the corral, where he saddled the strawberry roan mare, Pigeon, and rode her toward a field east of the house. They hadn't gone far before he felt the mare straining to turn toward home. She tossed her head and fought the bit, risking damage to her mouth and trying his already thin patience.
"So you want to go back, do you?” He reined the mare to a stop, still keeping her facing away from the barn. "Fine. We'll go back. But you'll do it my way.” He pulled on the reins and nudged her with his heels, forcing her to back up. She tossed her head and protested, but he kept it up, one awkward step at a time. He turned in the saddle to make sure the path was clear, and kept the horse backing, all the way to the corral fence. The mare snorted and rolled her eyes at him, a hateful expression if he'd ever seen one. "Are you ready to go back and do it right this time?" he asked.
He let her rest a moment, then nudged her forward again. Halfway to the field, she threatened to turn again, but the minute he nudged her backwards, she appeared to change her mind, and straightened out her course. The minor victory dispelled some of his earlier gloominess. Once in the field, he tied the mare in the shade and began to cut hay.
It was work he enjoyed, feeling his muscles bunch with each swing of the scythe, seeing the grass fall away in sweeping arcs. The sun warmed his back and the sky above was the blue of turquoise stones.
He felt the visitor before he saw him, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling with the sensation that someone was watching him. Scythe in hand, he turned slowly and saw an Indian on a spotted pony some fifty yards away. The two men faced each other, unmoving, the only sound a mockingbird caroling in the tree where Pigeon was tied.
The Indian looked to be close to Micah's own age. He wore only a breechclout and low moccasins, his dark hair hanging loose almost to his waist. He had a bow and quiver of arrows slung across his back, the hindquarter of a deer tied across the rump of the pony. Comanche, Micah thought. Was he a scout for a raiding party, or simply out hunting a little meat?
Though he'd had plenty of encounters with members of various Indian tribes in his years with the Army, every confrontation left Micah feeling at odds with himself and the world. He stared at the man before him now with the unnerving sensation of looking into a trick mirror. The image he saw was more like himself than any white man could be. And yet to Micah, he remained an unfathomable mystery, a dim reminder of a past he'd struggled to leave behind.
He waited, perfectly still, with a firm grip on the scythe. After a long moment, the Indian kneed the pony and moved closer, until he was in front of Micah, no more than a yard away. "Who are you?" he asked in Comanche, signing the words as he spoke.
"Fox," Micah said, using the Comanche term for the animal. He'd become fairly fluent in the language during his years as an Army scout.
The Indian's eyes swept over Micah, taking his measure. "Who are you?" Micah asked in turn.
The Indian squared his shoulders. "Esahiwi.”
Drinking Wolf, Micah translated in his head.
"Where are you from?" Drinking Wolf asked.
He might have been asking about Micah's origins, but Micah chose to answer the question more superficially. He nodded in the direction of the ranch house. "I live on the ranch here."
The Indian looked puzzled. "You know Tes-Sah?"
Micah took firmer hold of the scythe and nodded. What did this Comanche know about Tessa?"
Drinking Wolf turned and unfastened the haunch of venison. "This is for Tes-Sah," he said.
Micah stared at the man, then at the meat. "Why?"
Drinking Wolf grinned and dropped the meat at Micah's feet. "You will have to ask Tes-Sah.” Then he whirled and kicked the horse into a gallop.
Micah dropped the scythe and ran to the mare, intending to follow. But the Indian and the pony were out of sight before he could even untie the reins. He stared at the empty horizon. What was that all about?
He retrieved the venison and tied it to his saddle horn, then headed back toward the house. He'd gather the hay later. Tessa would be home soon.
#
After church, the congregation spilled out into the sunshine; children first, anxious to be free of their confinement, boys divesting themselves of jackets and even shoes as they raced toward the trees, girls following more sedately, the bolder ones untying bonnets or stripping off gloves. Next came the men, some filling pipes or cutting off plugs of tobacco. The women filtered out last, in pairs and small groups. Some of them, including Tessa, lingered around Reverend Deering in the church doorway.
"An excellent sermon, Reverend," Trudy pronounced with a regal smile.
"Thank you, Mrs. Babcock.” He nodded amiably and turned to shake the next well-wisher's hand.
"My husband and I will have you over for luncheon soon," Trudy continued.
"That's very kind of you, Mrs. Babcock. I hope to visit all my congregation as time permits.” He spotted Tessa in line and beamed at her. "I'm so pleased you decided to join us today," he said, leaning forward to take her hand.
"I'm very glad to be here," she said, returning his smile. "I particularly enjoyed your message
."
"It's one I intend to put into daily practice," he said. "There is entirely too much strife and petty differences in the world. In fact, I hope you'll persuade Mr. Fox to accompany you to services one day soon."
Tessa's smile faded, as she remembered how she'd rebuffed Micah's offer to accompany her. How could she have behaved so shamefully?
"Who is Mr. Fox?” Ada Drake asked pleasantly.
"Micah Fox is Mrs. Bright's hired hand," Reverend Deering answered.
"Do you mean to say you are living alone on your ranch, with a single man?” Trudy's severe tone of voice and raised eyebrows conveyed her disapproval.
Tessa would have given anything to hold back the blush that warmed her cheeks. She brushed non-existent lint from the sleeve of her dress and wished she could as easily have brushed away Trudy's censorious words. "Mr. Fox lives in the barn," she said crisply. "Our relationship is perfectly proper."
Trudy sniffed, as if she doubted this was so. Tessa fought the urge to tell the old biddy just what she could do with her narrow-minded opinions.
"I've visited with Mr. Fox and he seems quite respectable.” Reverend Deering's attempt to defend her was destroyed by his next words: "He's a fascinating man -- half Indian."
An audible gasp sounded sharply just behind Tessa's elbow. She turned and met Mamie Tucker's shocked look. "Aren't you afraid of being scalped in your sleep with a man like that around?" Mrs. Tucker asked.
"Afraid? Of course not.” She'd never thought to be afraid of Micah. Besides, Will would never allow anything to happen to her. "Mr. Fox has been very helpful. I couldn't have kept the ranch going without his help."
"Couldn't you have hired a white man to work for you?” Trudy's scolding words attracted attention from across the church yard. "Instead of bringing another savage to live among us?"
"I assure you, Mrs. Babcock, Mr. Fox is no savage," Reverend Deering said. "He appears completely adapted to the white way of life."
Trudy looked no less disapproving. "Still, there are plenty of white men in need of work. I'm sure one of them would help Mrs. Bright."
"Except none of them ever did.” Barely containing her anger, Tessa nodded a curt goodbye, then whirled and rushed down the steps.
"Goodbye, Mrs. Bright. I hope to see you again soon," Reverend Deering called after her.
She didn't pause to acknowledge his words, just gathered her skirts and walked as quickly as possible toward her wagon, fighting the urge to break into a run. All she wanted was to be away from this place, and these people who judged her so harshly by the company she kept. How could she have supposed things would be different this time?
She climbed into the wagon, released the brake, and slapped the reins across the rumps of the drowsing horses. "Get up," she called. The sooner she was out of sight of this town, the better.
Of course, a quick departure was out of the question in the crush of other buggies and wagons. She had to sit and wait while Wes Drake backed his buggy out from the space in front of her. She tapped her toe against the foot board, fretting.
"You should have stayed and visited, been more sociable."
She glanced around to see if anyone else had heard the words, but no one paid her any attention. "Will, what are you doing here?" she muttered through clenched teeth.
"I came to see how you were getting along," he answered. The seat beside her creaked as he took his place. "And it's a good thing I did, too. What did you mean, rushing off in a huff like that?"
"Did you hear what that old biddy said?” She spoke softly, glad now of the sunbonnet which concealed her face. "Of all the hateful. . . "
"Trudy Babcock's never forgiven me for taking away the lion's share of her husband's business. Besides, she's just one person," Will said. "You can't expect everyone to welcome you with open arms right away. If you want to fit in, you've got to earn their approval."
"What difference does it make? They've already judged me because of Micah."
"I told you not to hire him. I warned you he'd make trouble."
"I couldn't very well go on with things the way they had been.” The Drakes' buggy out of the way, she guided her rig forward. "You can't say he hasn't done a good job."
"He's done a good job all right. But not as good as the ranch owner would do. As your husband would do.” His icy breath stirred the bavolet of her sunbonnet as he leaned toward her. "Micah Fox hasn't done as good a job as Reverend Deering would do. And no one would dare say a word against the preacher's wife, at least, not that anyone would listen to."
"You leave Reverend Deering out of this!” She gave the reins an angry shake, sending the horses plunging forward.
"Watch out!" Will shouted, as a heavy Army ambulance lumbered into her path.
Her horses screamed and reared. Heart in her throat, Tessa stood and struggled to control the frightened animals with one hand. The leather burned through her glove, and pain shot through her arm and shoulder as she strained against four thousand pounds of frightened horseflesh. She stared across at the wide-eyed young soldier driving the ambulance, and saw the door of his vehicle pop open, and a figure in blue leap toward her.
The man vaulted into her buggy and took the reins from her shaking hands. The heavy broadcloth of his officer's uniform scraped against the stiff bombazine of her dress as he stood beside her, hauling on the lines, forcing her horses to calm and turn the buggy, somehow avoiding the wreck that seconds before had seemed inevitable.
Her knees turned to jelly, Tessa sank onto the seat, her hand over her mouth to stifle a moan of equal parts relief and terror.
The officer, a major by the insignia on his shoulderboards, sank down beside her, keeping firm hold on the reins. "Are you all right?" he asked.
She nodded. "I. . . I'm so sorry.” Her voice had an appalling vibrato, and she struggled to bring it under control. "I. . . I wasn't watching where I was going. I don't know what I was thinking."
He waved aside her apology and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and offered it to her. She took it, aware for the first time of the tears sliding down her cheeks. The handkerchief was of fine white linen, with the initials A. L. F. embroidered in the corner in neat stitches. She dabbed her cheeks and extended it to him. "Thank you so much, Major ?"
"Alan Finch, at your service.” He tucked away the handkerchief and extended a leather-gauntleted hand to her.
She touched her fingertips to his briefly. "I'm Tessa Bright."
A drooping blond moustache hid his upper lip, but his lower lip curved in a pleasant smile. "You seem somewhat shaken still, Mrs. Bright. Do you mind if I drive you to the stage stop, where I can rejoin Private Thompson and my rig?"
She shook her head. "I'd be much obliged."
Major Finch maneuvered the wagon through town at a sedate walk, the Army ambulance following behind. Tessa studied him out of the corner of her eye. She judged him to be about forty years old. Hair the same sunny shade as his moustache, though silvering at the temples, curled up at the collar of his flag blue tunic. Eyes a somewhat lighter shade of blue fixed in the perpetual squint of a man accustomed to spending hours on patrol, searching the horizon for unknown dangers. "Are you stationed at Fort Belknap?" she asked as they neared the stage station.
He nodded. "I've recently been appointed commander there.” He glanced at her. "My wife is coming in on the stage today. At first, we thought it would be best for her to remain back east while I was posted here.” He smiled. "But I must confess I've missed her too much. When she pleaded to join me here, I couldn't refuse her, though I worry about her living in such rough conditions."
There was something wistful and boyish in his expression. Tessa couldn't keep from smiling. "Any woman with a taste for adventure would enjoy this country, especially with a loving husband to share it with her."
His smile expanded. "You've said it exactly, Mrs. Bright. My Margery definitely has a taste for adventure. I've no doubt she'll soon have the whole country tamed to her sat
isfaction."
"I'll look forward to meeting her," Tessa said. Of course, it was the polite thing to say, but she discovered she actually meant it. Margery Finch, a stranger to town almost as much as Tessa was, might be easier to make friends with than those who knew Tessa's past.
Major Finch parked the buggy just down from the stage station and turned to her. "What does your husband do, Mrs. Bright?"
"When he was alive, he was a blacksmith and raised horses. He died over a year ago. Now I run our ranch a few miles out of town."
"I'm sorry to hear about your husband. It must be difficult for you, alone."
"I have a man who helps me with the work.” She tensed, waiting for the questions that would follow. How would she explain Micah to this man who made his living quelling Indian disturbances?
But instead of questions, Finch turned the conversation back to his own pressing concerns. "I'm new at this business of marriage myself. Never thought it was for me until I met Margery. Then. . . well I can't say I can really explain what happened. I always thought it was foolish poetry when people talked about someone stealing their heart."
Tessa smiled. She couldn't recall seeing a man as smitten as Major Finch. "I'm sure your wife has missed you as much as you've missed her."
He nodded. "I expect you're right. This isn't the most glamorous job in the world. My duties generally hold more boredom than excitement. I'm here to protect the settlers and the stage line, but with most of the Indians on the reservations, things have been pretty quiet. Of course, that could change at any moment. And this post can be a stepping stone to something better. Margery says she doesn't care where we are, but I want her to have the finer things in life."
"If you love her, that's all she needs," Tessa said, her throat tight with emotion. She could remember feeling that way about Will. Could she ever bear the risk of such a powerful passion again?
The major nodded. A cloud of dust on the horizon signalled the approaching stage. He turned to Tessa. "Will you come to dinner with us soon? I'd like Margery to make friends in the area."
"I'd be delighted."
He offered his hand once more. "It was a pleasure meeting you, Mrs. Bright. I'll extend an invitation as soon as Margery is settled."
"I'm glad I met you too, Major. Though I hope next time you see me, I won't be trying to run you down."
He grinned and handed over the reins, then leapt agilely to the ground and hurried toward the approaching stagecoach. He had hold of the door before the wheels even stopped turning. The first passenger to emerge was a tall, buxom woman in a dress of sky blue organdy, her face and hair swathed in white veiling. She put her arms on the major's shoulders and he swung her down, then paused to push back the veiling, revealing porcelain skin and a tumble of red curls.
Margery Finch laughed and planted a kiss on her husband's cheek, a kiss that held the promise of greater intimacy later. The major ordered Private Thompson to collect his wife's baggage, then led her away to the waiting ambulance.
Tessa smiled and turned her buggy toward home. As she drove, she replayed the morning's events in her mind. Margery Finch would certainly add color to the captain's boring existence at the fort. And her arrival had given Tessa something to look forward to as well -- the possibility of new friendship, and another guard against the loneliness that weighed too heavy on her these last few months.
The major's friendliness had also taken some of the sting out of the town women's reaction to news of Micah's presence on the ranch. Maybe Reverend Deering's acceptance of her situation would make the women think twice about rejecting her again. In any case, they hadn't rescinded their invitation to join their Library Society, had they?
I'll just go to the meeting and pretend nothing ever happened, she thought, snapping the reins to send the horses into a trot. I'll give those women, and myself, one more chance to get off on the right foot.
A short while later, she rounded a curve in the road and saw the entrance to her drive up ahead. The ornate iron gate stood out against the stark surroundings, drawing the eye of all who passed. Will had worked on the gate in secret, and surprised her with it the first summer after the house was completed. While he claimed to have made it as a way to attract business, she always felt in her heart that he'd created it to please her.
A rider rode out from the shade of a live oak, just outside the gate, a tall man astride a roan horse, an oddly shaped burden tied to his saddle horn. Even from this distance, she recognized Micah, riding the runaway mare, Pigeon. Her heartbeat quickened and she leaned forward, caught unawares by such girlish eagerness. The sight of him there, waiting for her return home, answered a deep longing she hadn't known existed until now, a yearning to have her homecoming matter to someone else.
She slowed the horses to meet him and he flashed the briefest of smiles. Then she knew the breathlessness she felt had less to do with the fact of his welcome than with the man himself. Something in this proud, reserved man spoke to her heart. When she looked in his eyes sometimes, she thought she glimpsed an understanding she'd never known before. Then the moment would pass and she'd wonder if she'd imagined the kinship between them. Now, watching him lean down to unfasten the gate, instinct told her what sense would not. If she wasn't very careful, she might find herself falling in love with Micah Fox.
A Willing Spirit, A Ghostly Romance Page 4
