Dakota's Bride

By Christine Young

When Emma St. John received her brother's letter imploring her to escape her stepfather's vengeful scheme and to trust Dakota Barringer with her life, she was willing to chance it. But the handsome, brooding riverboat owner Emma found in Natchez a danger of another kind. For Emma soon found herself surrendering to an unrelenting desire.

Raised by the Sioux when his parents were killed, Dakota had been betrayed once before by a white woman. He wasn't about to trust another, especially one claiming that her stepfather, a powerful U.S. senator, had framed her as a murderess. But he couldn't let Emma's intoxicating effect on him. Now Dakota would risk his very life to protect the innocent beauty who had seduced him with her tender love.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rogue Phoenix Press
• Release date: Jan 29, 2021
• ISBN: 9780984221165

Book preview

Dakota’s Bride

Christine Young

Published by Rogue Phoenix Press, LLP for Smashwords

Copyright © 2009

ISBN: 978-0-9842211-6-5

Electronic rights reserved by Rogue Phoenix Press, LLP. The reproduction or other use of any part of this publication without the prior written consent of the rights holder is an infringement of the copyright law. This is a work of fiction. People and locations, even those with real names, have been fictionalized for the purposes of this story.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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Chapter One

Moonless and frigid, the December night sent chills down Emma’s spine. Yet she didn’t stop at the lighted inn nearby, nor did she break stride when she stumbled over a rut in the muddy road. Instead, she pulled her skirts higher. A carriage raced by, hell-bent in the same direction, spitting mud as it flew past

A frantic look over her shoulder did nothing to relieve the fear. He was closing on her, forcing her from her hiding place. She stopped for a moment while she quickly shook the mud off her cape, then she turned to the little girl.

You all right, Clare? Emma asked.

The little girl nodded but didn’t say anything, her face screwed tight with concentration, her breaths ragged and hard.

The big Mississippi paddle wheeler, due to leave in ten minutes, let out two loud, booming whistles. To Emma’s frayed nerves, the sound was heart-stopping.

The wind from the docks smelled of fish and tar. When it shifted, she could make out the aroma of fresh baked scones coming from the inn. Emma gripped the tiny hand she held in her own a little tighter, and prayed that Clare could keep up the pace.

It’s only a wee bit farther. We can make it, Emma told the little girl, her sister. Half sister, she reminded herself.

Clare’s father was not her own. His demonically handsome face leering at her while he calmly explained what he meant for Emma to do in the bordello was something she’d never forget.

Clare was a tiny and very fragile seven-year-old. She had loving green eyes and a long, slender nose coupled with delicate cheekbones. Emma knew that someday Clare would grow into a classic beauty.

One long blond lock of hair slipped loose from Clare’s cap. The little girl pushed it away with her free hand, wrinkling her nose disgustedly.

Frost coated the road, and each hurried step caused the almost frozen mud to crunch beneath their feet. A horse and rider passed them, the man tipping his hat as he and his mount thundered by. Church bells rang out, the sound hollow and thin. It was almost six o’clock. She had five minutes to reach the boat.

A gust of wind caught her broadside and whisked the hood of her cape off the top of her head. She grabbed the soft fur and pulled the fabric back where it belonged. Distracted by the wind and her haste to reach the boat, Emma caught the toe of her shoe on a rock and balanced precariously for an instant.

She swore softly under her breath.

Had only one month passed?

No, three weeks ago her mother had died and two weeks ago she had learned the awful truth. Lawrence Stevens had slowly poisoned her mother. He had given her a small dose of arsenic each day until finally her mother took to her bed. Several days later Emma had held her mother’s hand while she breathed her last.

Emma would never have known about the murder if she hadn’t overheard Stevens speaking in harsh whispers with a friend of his. There were other things said and promised, things Emma had not wanted to acknowledge.

Disbelief and denial had caused her to waste precious time. Seven days had come and gone since she’d had her last horrible encounter with her stepfather. It was an encounter that had left her with no doubts that everything she’d heard was the god-awful truth. Stevens had meant to sell her to a whorehouse. Still, she’d had a difficult time believing the extent of Lawrence Stevens’s depravity. But when he’d installed her in Madame leBon’s bordello, she realized too late that her life was in grave jeopardy.

And Clare, sweet, sweet Clare, had understood all she’d told her and perhaps more. With the eyes of a child, Clare had somehow sensed the evil that surrounded her father long before anyone else did.

Five long days and nights they’d spent on the run. Clare had not complained. No matter how exhausted or hungry she was, the little girl had pressed on, understanding the imminent danger that faced Emma. Clare had somehow known that Emma had to get as far away from Lawrence as possible.

Emma knew the trip west would be difficult, knew she might have to sacrifice in order to succeed in her mission. Her heart ached for what might have been, and now, unless some miracle occurred, she’d have naught to look forward to. Her future loomed bleak and dark in front of her. She would do anything—sacrifice all for Clare. She could do that for the beautiful child. At all cost, she meant to protect Clare from Clare’s father.

Hurry, sweetheart. We can’t let the boat leave without us.

Men were already pulling up the gangplank and slipping the ties of the huge boat from the dock.

Wait! Emma yelled. Determined not to miss the boat, and with the last of her remaining energy, she lifted her skirts and rushed forward. Wait! The men paused, peering into the darkness. Engines roared to life.

Who’s out there? one of the workers called out.

Emma St. John. My sister and I have passage. If you’d let us on, I’d be grateful.

Come along, then, the man grumbled.

They raced on board. The boat heaved and shuddered, then slowly left the wharf behind. Emma let out a relieved sigh and watched the fading lights from the town.

She’d made it. For better or worse, she’d cast her fate with this boat and a man named Dakota.

Thank you, she said.

You know where to go?

Slightly dazed, Emma nodded. Yes, I was shown my quarters this afternoon. I’m working in the saloon.

Move along, then. You’re only in the way here.

Apprehension welled up inside Emma. The magnitude of what she was about to do tore at her conscience. She clung fast to Clare’s hand, drawing courage from the little girl. Above her the deck was awash with lights and music. A raucous rendition of Oh, Dem Golden Slippers seemed to muffle all other sounds except the boisterous laughter coming from the saloon. Hazy smoke sifted through the lights above.

A man stood at the railing, his tall form and broad shoulders commanding attention. When he looked down, the lanterns from the saloon cast an eerie glow across his face. They made eye contact. He nodded, and for a moment the lines in his face made him look vulnerable and lonely. Then the need she’d seen vanished, replaced by a well-defined hardness in the planes of his face.

His cheekbones were chiseled, his nose aristocratic. He was dressed in a dark formal jacket and a white shirt. His shoulders and chest were broad—powerful came to mind—and Emma guessed he didn’t need padding to fill the jacket. In stark contrast, beaded moccasins clung tightly to the heavy muscles of his calves. Hair like spun gold shimmered for a moment, falling to his shoulders then he turned, his entire body appearing primed and ready. Tension seemed to snake through him. Even while he leaned negligently against the railing, he looked invincible and sleek, and he reminded her of a large cat, a wildcat perhaps. Emma wished she could have seen the color of his eyes.

Emma, Clare said while she tugged on Emma’s cape. What are we waiting for?

For the longest time, Emma watched the man above. Her body seemed to shudder with the boat.

Emma?

I’m sorry, sweetheart. I was thinking.

Clare beside her, Emma turned and walked down the long, narrow staircase toward her room. A few moments later, her heart in her throat, Emma pushed open the door to the tiny compartment she and Clare would call home for the next few weeks. One small bed was pushed up to the far wall. A pitcher of water and a chipped ceramic bowl painted with blue pansies sat on a table.

All smiles, Clare bounded inside and sat on the bed. Her tiny hands smoothed the threadbare quilt.

The room smells funny.’’ Clare wrinkled her little nose. Are we here, Emma? Is this where we’re going to stay?"

Yes, Emma said, and for Clare’s sake, she wished with all her heart she could have paid for a nicer cabin.

It’s all right. I like this room.

Emma touched the little girl’s cheek with the back of her hand. I love you, sweetheart. You wouldn’t tell me if you hated this place, would you? I’ll protect you, you know. If it’s the last thing I do, I’ll keep you safe.

Clare nodded, her solemn little face suddenly lighting up.

Look, Em, a dress? Clare said in wonder. Why would anyone leave a dress?

It’s for me, Emma said, accepting the dress from Clare as she held it out to her. I’m supposed to wear this when I work in the saloon.

Put it on. Clare clapped her hands delightedly.

I can’t. Emma had wanted to put this moment off as long as she could. God willing, she’d find Dakota tonight and she’d have to wear this only once. God willing.

All right. The dress was a pale blue, edged delicately with black lace. Perhaps it wouldn’t be too bad. It would though. She could tell by the scoop of the neckline and the height of the hem that it was daring. Nay, more than daring. The very look of it would tempt a saint, and God knew the men she’d be serving drinks to were no saints.

The last thing on this earth Emma wanted to do was put it on. She nervously wandered around the room, prolonging the dreaded moment.

Oh, hurry. Clare’s childlike enthusiasm didn’t help.

All right. Trancelike, Emma slipped out of her serviceable gray dress and slipped on the blue one. The material felt like satin against her skin.

The mirror reflected all the horror she felt.

There’s not much to it, Clare said, her voice tiny and filled with skepticism. You sure it’s yours?

Emma could do no more than nod her agreement. Under other circumstances she might have laughed at Clare’s innocent comment. Today she couldn’t bear to look at her sister, so she studied the woman in the mirror, a woman she no longer knew.

It’s so pretty.

Yes, but... Heat flashed through her.

The bodice of the dress was low and had a built-in corset that seemed to push her breasts up so high they almost spilled from the gown. Black lace edged the top of her bosom—provocatively. The lace was not meant for anything but seduction. Black against ivory, it was a startling contrast. Flames licked at her insides, scorching her cheeks. Self-consciously, she covered her nakedness with her hands. She couldn’t walk outside in this.

Are we going to find Jacob?

As if the little girl sensed her shame, she had changed the subject. Emma turned from the mirror and the sudden rise of humiliation.

I have to do this. I have no choice, she reminded herself.

She knelt beside Clare and lifted one small white hand to her lips. She kissed the back. Clare’s hand was tiny and soft, so very delicate.

Of course. Those two words hung in the air. Emma wanted desperately to believe them. Jacob, her older brother, had left town when he realized what Lawrence Stevens was like. It had been five years ago—five long years.

Promise? Clare asked.

Emma smiled and nodded. Come along now. It’s time for you to get ready for bed.

Emma would never forget the day Jacob left. Sheets of water had poured from the sky while thunder and lightning bombarded their home. The anger and yelling had been too much for Emma, so she’d hid in the sewing room. But there was really no place to hide. She could still hear her mother’s sobs, and the horrible oaths Lawrence had hurled at Jacob.

Just before her brother had left, he’d called her into the parlor, his sad blue eyes frightening her.

Jacob? She had wanted to run to him, hold him tight.

I have to go, he had said. His hands were fisted and by his sides.

He had handed her a letter, one name written boldly across the back of it. Then a small box. She hadn’t opened the envelope. Instead, hoping to postpone the inevitable, she’d slipped the paper into the pocket of her dress and later that night into her diary.

Open the box, Em, Jacob said.

With tears in her eyes, she’d opened the gift. She’d never seen anything so beautiful. Nestled inside the box was a delicate silver bracelet, a dozen tiny silver bells attached to it. When Jacob had lifted it from its bed, the bells whispered a soft, enchanting music.

He fastened the magical bracelet around her wrist.

It’s beautiful, she said. Oh, Jacob, do you have to go? You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. Isn’t that what you’ve always told me?

She had felt his deep sigh to the tips of her toes. He wanted to leave. But she didn’t think she could bear the loneliness if he did go. For so many years he’d held the family together. He had made her laugh. He’d taught her about the different birds that sang in the trees, and about friendships that would last a lifetime. When her mother had had thoughts only of her new husband, Jacob had held Emma in the night, soothing her fears and telling her that all would be right with her life.

But Jacob had left. Since then nothing had been right.

I do want to go. There’s a world to explore and adventure around the corner. But I have to leave you here, and for that I’m sorry. If you need me... just don’t lose the letter.

She had frowned at her brother, a great number of thoughts shifting and tumbling through her brain. Are you in trouble?

No, but I will be if I stay here.

At the time, nothing he’d said made sense. Then you’re running from something.

Hush, little one. You’re too perceptive by far, but in this instance you’re wrong. I can’t stay here—can’t live under the same roof as Lawrence.

I don’t understand.

Of course not, you’re too young. Look at it this way. There will come a time when you’ll feel the same way I do. A time when you’ll know deep inside that you have to leave home—cut the apron strings. When that time comes, go to this man. He took the letter from her pocket "He will help you. Go to Dakota, sometimes he is known as Wildcat-Who-Stalks-The-Night.’’

She had gripped the letter fiercely when he handed it back to her. You don’t like Lawrence—our stepfather. Appalled at what she’d blurted out, Emma turned away.

Jacob had laughed. You’ve always been an audacious little thing. True enough, I don’t like him. There is not enough room in this house for both of us. For Mother’s sake and for peace and quiet in the household, I have decided to leave.

You’ll write me? Emma knew he would. Jacob loved to write. He wrote all the time. Jacob had kissed her on the forehead then he’d left. Without a second thought, Jacob St. John walked out of her life.

Until that night, all she saw when she looked at Lawrence Stevens was his handsome face and crooked, endearing smile. As the years passed, she set the argument between her stepfather and her brother to the back of her mind. Her mother made excuses for Lawrence, and Emma believed them. She had no reason not to believe.

She was twenty years old now, no longer the innocent, naive schoolgirl she’d been when Jacob left home. Lawrence Stevens had ripped her wide-eyed innocence away. Two years had gone by since she last heard from Jacob. After he left the Pinkerton Agency, he’d gone to live in a cabin somewhere in the Rocky Mountains. And now that she needed him, she didn’t know where to find him.

Emma grimaced once more at the reflection in the mirror. She rearranged the fall of curls and tugged at the bodice of her dress.

Emma?

What? Her heart raced. You scared me.

What are we going to do now? Clare asked. Suddenly Clare’s voice sounded very small and frightened.

Emma didn’t want Clare to be afraid of anything. You are going to go to sleep, and I’m going to work.

I don’t want you to get hurt.

Emma bent over to give Clare a good-night kiss and hug. She felt the warmth of the little girl’s arms as they wrapped around her, the heartfelt love—the never-ending trust. I won’t get hurt. And neither will you. I’ll be back as soon as I can. I’ll lock the door on my way out.

You shouldn’t be wearing that dress. Mother wouldn’t like it.

No, she wouldn’t, Emma agreed. But I’m going to wear it for work.

What kind of work?

I’ll just sell a few drinks and talk to the customers. She tugged on the bodice, but the quarter-inch she gained didn’t seem to make a bit of difference. She still felt as if her breasts were about to spill from the gown. You know I have to find Dakota. He’s supposed to be on this boat.

You shouldn’t have to work.

Emma caught the determination in Clare’s voice. A few days ago she wouldn’t have dreamed of working either.

We don’t have enough money, Emma said.

She heard the footsteps before the knock on the door. That would be Franklin, her boss. He’s here. Have to go now, sweetheart.

Emma blew Clare a kiss and slipped the door open just far enough for her to pass through. She spoke before closing the door. Don’t you worry about me. With any luck, by this time tomorrow all our troubles will be over.

Promise? Clare’s sleepy voice made Emma smile.

Promise.

You look lovely.

Franklin’s gravelly voice sent a riot of chills straight to the marrow in her bones. Self-consciously, she crossed her arms over her chest, one hand modestly covering her where her dress didn’t

Don’t hide your luscious tits, little lady. Modesty doesn’t have its place here. If you’re going to make any money tonight, you’re going to have to flaunt your charms, not hide them.

Franklin might have been handsome, but time and overindulgence had taken its toll. He was of average height and stocky build. His once-lean features turned soft didn’t repel Emma so much as the leer he bestowed on her and the rancid smell of cigar smoke that seemed to dance around him. His gaze lingered on her breasts just before traveling the length of her, undressing her with his eyes. For a minute she thought he meant to touch her.

Instead, he offered his arm. She hesitated, but the look he shot her gave warning that she best heed his wishes. Before she could comply, he clasped her hand in his, bringing her close. The smell of cheap cologne mingled with the cigar smoke and liquor.

A man and a woman walked by. He waited until they’d rounded the corner to speak to her.

Now—come along. I think— He paused and looked her over again. After I have Lou add a few touches to your face, table two will be just fine. If you see someone at a different table who takes a liking to you, you’re free to change partners. Tonight, I’m giving you the best table in the house. Don’t disappoint me.

Her heart froze. Change partners?

He threw his head back and laughed. Don’t hesitate to find someone who suits your fancy. I do expect half the proceeds from your night’s work.

Night’s work?

Don’t be coy with me. We both understand these things. He ran the soft pad of his index finger just above the line of black lace edging the bodice of her dress.

I’m not a whore! She staggered under the weight of his implication. Dread and fear shivered through her, pierced her heart.

Of course you’re not. His voice was smooth. But do remember the job pays for one passage—his face was cruel—not two. You will have to get the money for your sister’s passage some way.

Franklin couldn’t have been less subtle. He had the finesse of a charging buffalo. If she’d stopped for one second to consider the interview she’d endured with Franklin that afternoon, she would have bolted and run. Knowing what he expected of her didn’t change her decision. She had little money and few alternatives. If she didn’t do this now, they would either starve or Lawrence would find her. In which case, her plight would be much worse.

I have to find Dakota.

She had to find him tonight before she lost the only thing she valued besides Clare, her virginity. Dakota would have to understand. Dakota was on this boat, and she’d move heaven and earth to speak with him.

She would find Dakota tonight, before—she gulped down her fear—before she sold herself to some two-bit gambler. Two weeks earlier she had come to terms with her limited options. Her maiden status was a paltry commodity in comparison to her sister’s life.

Resigned to her fate, Emma let out a deep breath.

Franklin opened the door to the kitchen. His hand at the small of her back, he quickly pushed her inside. Sweet smells of cinnamon and sugar floated languidly through the hot kitchen. The chef bustled here and there, his white cap bobbing up and down while he tasted foods that simmered in pots. He’d taste something then lick his lips. Spices were added then he’d move on.

Lou, see to Emma, Franklin bellowed. You’ve got to do something about that wide-eyed schoolgirl look.

Emma turned in time to see an exotically beautiful lady push through a set of swinging doors into the kitchen. In her arms was a serving tray piled high with dirty glasses and an empty pitcher.

Sure thing, Franky. Lou set the tray down and stepped forward. Her skin was dark peach. Her black hair was tied fashionably atop her head, while wispy tendrils billowed and danced around her cheeks and along her slender neck. Her eyes were large, sultry, and a deep brown. She had full, pouty lips, a large bosom, and generous hips that flared provocatively from a hand-span waist.

Lou? Emma’s voice cracked as she spoke, but she stepped forward, hoping Lou would somehow make this easier.

Lou stood in front of her, shaking her head, a strange expression on her face. She rested her long, slender fingers on Emma’s shoulders and studied her. Now, girl, you’ve got possibilities, but Franky’s right—your wide-eyed, innocent look isn’t going to get you customers. If you go out there looking like a schoolgirl, you won’t come back with a penny to your name. Lou stepped back, her hands resting just slightly to the back of her hips, the gesture displaying her provocative bosom to anyone who might be interested. Come on; let’s get some color in your cheeks. Why, you’re as pale as death. Are you frightened, honey? Lou didn’t wait for an answer; she took Emma’s hand and pulled her along.

Trancelike, Emma followed Lou to a back corner in the kitchen. A desk with an assortment of face paints looked as out of place as she felt. One gilt-framed mirror was attached to the wall above.

Sit yourself down, honey. Lou’s going to fix you up real pretty like.

Dazed, Emma sat down as directed. Ten minutes later, looking into the mirror, Emma didn’t recognize the woman who stared back. Kohl rimming her gray eyes made them appear huge, too huge for her face. Lou had added color to her cheeks and her lips. If Clare had thought her mother would disapprove of her dress, what would she think now?

You’ll have every man in the house drooling over you. Now, don’t give yourself to the first man who looks interested, Lou said. A girl’s got to look out for her future. You’ll learn to size up a man, sense things about him. In a little while you’ll know how a man will treat you in bed just by lookin’ in his eyes.

In bed? Emma whispered.

Lou stared a minute before going on. Franky’s given you the best table in the joint. All you’ve got to do is serve them gentlemen drinks, and pick out the gent you want to spend the wee hours of the mornin’ with. Now I’m going to give you something that will make you relax. It won’t hurt you any, just make all this seem easier. My mother used to fix it for me whenever I got my dander up about something.

Good Lord, she didn’t want to spend the wee hours with any of them. What—she swallowed nervously—what’s in it?

Nothing to be concerned about. A little muirapiranga, damiana root, some yohimbe bark, a few other things all mixed with red wine.

They stepped through the door, Emma’s knees feeling like jelly. She stopped so suddenly that Lou plowed into her from behind.

Good God, girl, there’s nothing to be frightened of. Sashay a little bit, bend over so’s they can get a look at those big, luscious breasts you got. Why, a man could drown in those and know he’s gone to heaven. Nothin’ to it, honey. You’re gonna do just fine. If you have any questions, just look my way and I’ll be with you as soon as I can. Now drink this.

I’m not sure... Emma sipped cautiously. It was sweet. Warmth and a heady courage flowed through her. It tasted wonderful.

Now, don’t drink too much, half a glass right now is enough. If you want, I’ll bring you some more later.

Emma did drink. A few seconds later she felt soft and relaxed too. The room looked slightly crooked, but then it slowly straightened.

Emma put her hand on the door frame to steady herself. What’s wrong with me? she asked Lou.

Nothing. Just the wine. You’ll feel better as soon as it starts working. Now, concentrate, honey. Lou pointed to the tables. See—over there—that table is yours. The portly gentleman with the bald head starin’ at us, that’s Benjamin Winters. And next to him... Lou rambled on and on. That one with the light blond hair. Now that’s a real looker, a loner, too, but he’ll treat you right. Dakota’s his name. Some say he’s a real savage. Grew up with the Sioux...

Emma didn’t hear anything else. Tonight her luck was with her. Dakota—here—at her table. The thought was too good to be true. She wouldn’t have to go to bed with anyone. She stared at him, her eyes assessing every inch of him, at least the back of him. His shoulders were broad. He was dressed in evening wear, a black coat molded to his form, and beneath the jacket he wore a pure white dress shirt complete with ruffles, and a black string tie. That was where all pretense left off. Two small braids hung by the sides of his face, his hair falling to a point below his shoulders. He wore buckskins that stretched taut across his thighs and knee-high moccasins. He was a study in contrasts.

He was the man she’d seen when she’d first stepped on board. He was all lean and wild. He was sleek as a cat. Indomitable.

He was Wildcat-Who-Stalks-The-Night.

As Emma watched him, she saw his hand slowly move to his gun, his finger resting in the trigger.

Her breath caught and her knees nearly gave way.

Chapter Two

The hair on the back of Dakota’s neck stood on end, a sensation that wasn’t new to Dakota. His hand slowly drifted to the handle of his gun, one finger slipping into the trigger.

He deftly closed the cards in his other hand so only one was showing. The ace of hearts.

The scent of vanilla caught his attention then vanished, replaced by the smell of stale liquor and rancid smoke from expensive cigars. Then he thought he heard the soft chime of bells singing in the smoke-filled room.

Every gut instinct he possessed cried out danger, be wary, yet all the warnings seemed to fade. Two different stories. Vanilla. And bells. God, he must be loony.

More whiskey? Her warm breath feathered across his cheek. Soft whispers of bells shivered by his ear. When he turned, he saw breasts and shadowed, titillating cleavage. Deep, evocative sensations suddenly coursed through him. He moved his hand from his gun and trailed his finger across her bared shoulder, the contact mercuric. The urge to dip his finger into the valley between her breasts almost overpowered common sense. She was lush and ripe, and he realized suddenly she would be in his bed come morning.

He pushed his glass toward her and she filled it.

He fingered the black lace trimming her bodice, his knuckles brushing silken skin. The heat of her flesh penetrated his own, her softness beckoning to him.

She flushed and looked away.

A fine actress, he thought. But he couldn’t deny that he liked what he saw—desired her. Lust was volcanic and all-consuming at times.

With his free hand, he poured two fingers of whiskey into an empty glass then held it out to her. She hesitated only a minute before drinking the brew. Her eyes widened, but she gave no other sign that the liquid surely must burn a horrible path down her throat.

Sir, she said softly then put the glass down. No more. She covered the top of it with her hand.

Perhaps she’d like this better, Lou said. She set on the table the decanter of red wine Emma had drunk from earlier. Dakota looked at her and she nodded. He poured from the decanter and once again she drank.

He brought his finger to her chin and directed her to look at him. Their eyes met, and he stared into deep gray eyes, a face with delicate features, high cheekbones. He couldn’t tear his gaze from hers. Her innate sadness penetrated bone