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Authors: Heather Graham
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task.
And then he was there.
Just as suddenly as he had appeared that day. The tall man in the railroad duster and the hat dipping low over golden eyes.
He stood straight and firm against the wind, defying the darkness.
He closed his arms around her and swept her close, and she was uncomfortably aware of the intense way he was looking down at her. His eyes, which in reality were hazel, were glowing with a true golden splendor against the night. It was like being touched by the sun, and heat coursed through her, warming her face, her limbs, and stirring an arousal she’d never experienced before.
He walked with her into her room and gently set her down on the bed. Then he touched her cheek with a tenderness that made her catch her breath, but when she would have stroked his face and drawn him to her, he rose.
“Always fight the shadows, and never listen to the wind,” he whispered. “And don’t worry. I’ll be here,” he added, as if it were a vow.
Despite the words, though, he stepped away from her and stood at the foot of her bed. “Never open your door. Believe me as you believe in God, Miss Gordon, and do not open your door,” he warned her.
She wanted to speak.
She wanted to draw him back to her.
She wanted to forget that her father had been killed, that there had ever been a past and would ever be a future.
She wanted him back.
But she couldn’t form words. It was a dream, of course. A dream turned nightmare, turned dream again. Because she was safe, and she knew it.
Because he was there.
“Sleep now, Miss Gordon.”
“Alex,” she managed to say.
“Sleep, Alex.”
And so she did.
W HEN SHE OPENED her eyes, she was alone.
Of course.
And yet she could remember every detail of the dream.
In the cold light of day, she groaned aloud, wishing she didn’t remember with quite so much clarity.
She rose impatiently and turned toward the doors to the balcony. They were closed, the curtains drawn. And it was the light of day seeping in, not moonlight punctuated by dancing shadows.
Then she noticed the door that connected her room to the one beyond. Once that room had been the nursery, but it had long ago been converted to a guest room.
She hesitated, her heart thundering, then set her hand on the doorknob and slowly turned it.
The door was unlocked.
She pushed it open.
The bed was unmade, as if awaiting the maid’s attention. And lying on the bench at the foot of the bed were saddlebags. Saddlebags engraved with a name. Cody Fox, M.D.
CHAPTER FOUR
B EULAH WAS SINGING when Alex went down to the dining room.
“Good morning, Miss Alex,” she said happily.
Alex cast her a curious glance. She wasn’t feeling quite as chipper as Beulah. She’d arrived in town to discover that vicious outlaws were decimating the region, she’d nearly become a victim herself, and then there had been that truly bizarre dream. “You’re certainly cheerful this morning,” Alex said to the older woman.
“Honey, I’m alive and kicking and breathing. That makes for a good morning in my book. And not only that, but I see hope for the future.” Beulah grinned, pulling out a chair for Alex. “Come on, sit down, honey. You’re still tired from the journey out here, that’s what’s bothering you. Didn’t you sleep well?”
Despite herself, Alex was certain she was blushing again. It was absurd—she knew the strange events of the night before had been all in her mind. And yet…he’d been right there. The door between the rooms hadn’t even been locked.
But she knew the difference between a dream and reality, and she had been dreaming, as strange as it had been. Then again, what hadn’t been strange since she had arrived?
Until now, she’d never seen anything odd about unlocked doors.
This had always been a trusting household. Her father had liked people and possessed a natural ability to size them up. No thief had ever come in and stolen anything.
The thieves terrorizing their little piece of
And then he was there.
Just as suddenly as he had appeared that day. The tall man in the railroad duster and the hat dipping low over golden eyes.
He stood straight and firm against the wind, defying the darkness.
He closed his arms around her and swept her close, and she was uncomfortably aware of the intense way he was looking down at her. His eyes, which in reality were hazel, were glowing with a true golden splendor against the night. It was like being touched by the sun, and heat coursed through her, warming her face, her limbs, and stirring an arousal she’d never experienced before.
He walked with her into her room and gently set her down on the bed. Then he touched her cheek with a tenderness that made her catch her breath, but when she would have stroked his face and drawn him to her, he rose.
“Always fight the shadows, and never listen to the wind,” he whispered. “And don’t worry. I’ll be here,” he added, as if it were a vow.
Despite the words, though, he stepped away from her and stood at the foot of her bed. “Never open your door. Believe me as you believe in God, Miss Gordon, and do not open your door,” he warned her.
She wanted to speak.
She wanted to draw him back to her.
She wanted to forget that her father had been killed, that there had ever been a past and would ever be a future.
She wanted him back.
But she couldn’t form words. It was a dream, of course. A dream turned nightmare, turned dream again. Because she was safe, and she knew it.
Because he was there.
“Sleep now, Miss Gordon.”
“Alex,” she managed to say.
“Sleep, Alex.”
And so she did.
W HEN SHE OPENED her eyes, she was alone.
Of course.
And yet she could remember every detail of the dream.
In the cold light of day, she groaned aloud, wishing she didn’t remember with quite so much clarity.
She rose impatiently and turned toward the doors to the balcony. They were closed, the curtains drawn. And it was the light of day seeping in, not moonlight punctuated by dancing shadows.
Then she noticed the door that connected her room to the one beyond. Once that room had been the nursery, but it had long ago been converted to a guest room.
She hesitated, her heart thundering, then set her hand on the doorknob and slowly turned it.
The door was unlocked.
She pushed it open.
The bed was unmade, as if awaiting the maid’s attention. And lying on the bench at the foot of the bed were saddlebags. Saddlebags engraved with a name. Cody Fox, M.D.
CHAPTER FOUR
B EULAH WAS SINGING when Alex went down to the dining room.
“Good morning, Miss Alex,” she said happily.
Alex cast her a curious glance. She wasn’t feeling quite as chipper as Beulah. She’d arrived in town to discover that vicious outlaws were decimating the region, she’d nearly become a victim herself, and then there had been that truly bizarre dream. “You’re certainly cheerful this morning,” Alex said to the older woman.
“Honey, I’m alive and kicking and breathing. That makes for a good morning in my book. And not only that, but I see hope for the future.” Beulah grinned, pulling out a chair for Alex. “Come on, sit down, honey. You’re still tired from the journey out here, that’s what’s bothering you. Didn’t you sleep well?”
Despite herself, Alex was certain she was blushing again. It was absurd—she knew the strange events of the night before had been all in her mind. And yet…he’d been right there. The door between the rooms hadn’t even been locked.
But she knew the difference between a dream and reality, and she had been dreaming, as strange as it had been. Then again, what hadn’t been strange since she had arrived?
Until now, she’d never seen anything odd about unlocked doors.
This had always been a trusting household. Her father had liked people and possessed a natural ability to size them up. No thief had ever come in and stolen anything.
The thieves terrorizing their little piece of
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