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1856

Late Summer, Nebraska Territory

Insidious, like a snake slithering through the tall prairie grass toward its unwary prey, the vision came in the dark of night when her mind was at its most vulnerable. It hovered at the edge of consciousness: a swirl of color, a whisper to the mind, a thread of awareness. Without further warning, images of events to come struck, obliterating her peaceful sleep.

Star Dreamer moaned and thrashed, trying to wake and ward off the unwanted vision. But it seized her mind and will with swift savagery. Across the back of her closed eyes, the kaleidoscope spun, bringing with it a familiar sense of nausea, until, with crystal clarity, a scene formed.

She stood in the middle of a battlefield.

The night sky glowed with yellow, orange and red flames. Smoke filled the air, making her gasp even in her sleep. Her hands rose to cover her ears in a vain attempt to blot out the war cries as warriors battled to the death. On and on the scene raged, until just as suddenly as it had begun, it stopped. The eerie silence frightened her more than the battle cries and left her shaking. She backed away and tripped over the fallen body of a warrior.

She scrambled to her feet as the ground turned red. Blood red. All else faded but the red sky, red dirt and the pale body of the fallen warrior whose life's blood drained from his body. Crimson pooled on the soil and flowed away from her, a dark, glossy river absorbed by the maka, from which all life sprang. Moving in slow motion, she reached down and touched him, felt his coldness. Felt death.

In the night sky, the bright round face of hunwi slid from behind a cloud and sent a beam of white light to illuminate the fallen warrior. Vulnerable, unable to fight what she did not want to see, Star bolted upright on her pallet of furs, her eyes wide open, yet unseeing, hands in front of her as she struggled to free herself from the grip of the frightening vision. Hunching over, knees drawn to her chest, she covered her head with her arms. "No," she whimpered, her fingers pulling and clawing through her hair.

Look, the traitorous voice in her vision commanded. See the face of the newly dead.

"No!" The sound of her own hoarse shout tore Star from the clutches of the nightmarish vision. She woke bathed in sweat. Frantically, she reached out beside her, needing the comforting reassurance of Two-Ree, her husband.

He wasn't there. The mound of furs beside her was empty and cold — as cold as that lifeless warrior in her vision. The last vestige of the vision fled, leaving her wide awake, shivering and apprehensive. Her chest constricted, her throat tightened. "No," she moaned, over and over, denying what she knew to be true. She'd seen her own husband's death.

Her gaze swept the tipi, hoping it wasn't too late to warn him, but it was. His weapons were gone. With frenzied movements, Star untangled herself from her bedding and dashed out into the predawn light. She ran between tipis, past solemn warriors and weeping women, searching frantically.

Near the edge of camp, a handful of warriors gathered on horseback, the paint on their bare torsos and faces standing out in the faint light. Relief that the war party hadn't left yet spurred her forward. It wasn't too late.

Star scanned the men gathering to ride to war. Where was Two-Ree? He wasn’t with the mounted warriors. Behind her, she heard the approach of horses and spun around. Two warriors rode toward her: her brother and husband. Relief left her knees trembling. She wasn’t too late. Two-Ree had painted his torso and face with wide slashes of red and black and he wore a quiver of arrows slung across his back. In his hands, he carried his bow, shield and lance.

Pride warred with fear. Her husband had been chosen to accompany her brother, Chief Striking Thunder, on a raid against their enemy for the murders of their people earlier that day — including Striking Thunder's young wife.

Star stumbled forward to stop her husband, to warn him of her vision and plead with him not to go, but denial and doubt stopped her. What if the fallen warrior in her vision had not been her husband? It could have been anybody. In that short space of uncertainty, both men rode past in stoic silence to join the rest of the warriors.

Star ran after them. Whether or not it had been him, she needed to share her vision. Before she could approach her husband, the shaman, an old man with long flowing white hair, stepped forward with arms outstretched. In a loud chanting voice, he evoked the spirits to go with the brave men. Star watched, helpless to intervene. When the wise man finished, the air came alive with shouts and chants from warriors and tribal members alike. Revenge would be theirs.

Two-Ree glanced back at Star. Their gazes met and held as he lifted his lance high, and let out a long war cry. Tears streamed down her cheeks. To approach him now, to speak and ask him to remain behind would shame him before all. He was a great warrior, and as such, it was his duty to protect his people. Yet he was her husband, the father of her children.

A small warm hand slipped inside hers. Star glanced down at Morning Moon, her young daughter. The child's eyes held a hint of worry. Together, in silence, they watched the warriors ride off.

A week later, Star woke once more to the sound of screaming — her own. Oblivious to her family rushing in, she rocked back and forth. She didn't need anyone to tell her that her husband was dead.

CHAPTER ONE

Spring, 1857

Star Dreamer watched her people rejoice in the marriage of Chief Striking Thunder to Emma O'Brien through troubled eyes and a tormented soul.

In the center of the village, women moved about wearing dresses exquisitely adorned with beads, feathers and dyed quills. More feathers and beads decorated their long, black hair which gleamed in the firelight. The men, not to be outdone, had painted their bodies and wore their best breechclouts and moccasins.

Orange-red flames from a large fire leapt high into the sky, casting a warm glow over the darkened camp, showcasing male dancers. Some wore impressive bonnets made from sacred eagle feathers they'd earned with their brave deeds, while others waved coup sticks in the air as they shuffled, twirled and danced around the hot flames.

Infectious laughter competed with the chanting of dancers, voices raised in storytelling and the happy shrieks of children running among the adults. She spied her five-year-old son, Running Elk, tumbling and somersaulting with other boys and smiled. Like most children his age, he loved to stay up late and play in the dark. Though it was mid-March, and the night air held a bitter chill, no one minded. It was a night for everyone, young and old alike, to lose themselves in the simple joy of being alive.

Star ran her fingers through her shoulder-length hair — a reminder in itself of her recent loss — and her reasons for avoiding the crowds. She yearned to be happy and carefree, even if only for one night but shame at failing her people held her back. The fast and furious beating of drums accompanied by the loud rhythmic chants of the drummers rose in pitch and tempo.

Death. The words came at her, echoed loudly in her mind as the pulse at her temple reverberated with the loud pounding drums, driving her further into the deep shadows between the tipis. Peace, harmony and contentment would always be denied to her. Like her deceased grandmother, Star possessed the Sight. But unlike her grandmother who'd viewed the ability to see into the future as an honor, Star felt cursed.

She hated the uncertainty of never knowing when the visions would strike. She dreaded losing control of her mind to a force unseen and unfelt by most. Most of all, she was tired of being afraid. Tired of taunting glimpses into the future. Tired of being torn by the knowledge that each time she failed to heed or understand the warnings in her visions, she put her people at risk. Death lay on her shoulders, bowing them under the weight of guilt, leaving her feeling as though she lived in the dark shadows of the spirits

Walking around the perimeter of the outer circle of tipis, she spotted a group of girls trading beads and necklaces. Morning Moon, her daughter, sat among them. Watching the girl laugh and play with her friends, Star wondered how long it would be before her daughter began suffering the same fate.

Morning Moon had the Sight.

Prickles of gooseflesh chilled her flesh. She rubbed her bare arms. Once, she'd been so sure that her daughter had been spared, that once again, a generation had been skipped, but Morning Moon, knowing how her mother felt, had hidden the truth from her.

Tears trickled down Star's cheeks. Despair engulfed her. Please, not her daughter, not her sweet child. Morning Moon was only eight winters — an innocent child — too young to understand. Just knowing that one day her daughter would experience this same torturous pain made Star want to fall to the ground and lament the Spirits for their cruelty.

"Why does my sister hide in the shadows and walk alone?"

Startled, Star jerked her head up. Striking Thunder, her brother, stood before her, arms crossed with a fierce frown adding to his stern visage. He looked every bit as intimidating as their father when displeased. Unable to look him in the eyes, she averted her own gaze.

How could she join in the happy celebration when it was her fault that many present tonight had lost their loved ones. Since her own husband's death, she'd felt so lost and alone. Two-Ree had been her anchor when her world spun out of control. Hugging herself, she turned from her brother. "I wish to be alone." Forcing herself to smile and act as though nothing was amiss was more than she could manage.

Striking Thunder's fingers, warm and firm, stopped her retreat. He turned her gently, forcing her to meet his frustrated gaze. "You still blame yourself for your husband's death. When will you accept that you were not to blame? If you do not stop torturing yourself in this manner, you will make yourself ill."

Concern roughened his voice. His gaze slid down her body. Even in the shadows, her weight loss was noticeable, as were the sunken hollows below each cheek bone, the pallor of her skin and the sharp jut of bone beneath his fingers. "You must eat, build your strength, mitanski, my sister. I know you are troubled. You fight your gift, but someday you will fulfill our grandmother's prophecy."

Seeing her brother's hard features soften with worry tugged at the compassion within Star. It would be so easy to bow her head, agree and grasp at the hope he offered. She couldn't. Not any longer. "Hiya! You are wrong." Star squeezed her eyes shut against the stark truth and yanked herself free. She didn't want to remember their grandmother's words that the Sight would one day save their People.

Star's visions used to be filled with vague images or impressions she couldn't interpret and could easily shove aside or discard. And once she'd had her children, they'd visited her less often. But over the last year, messages from the Spirit world came more frequent, lasted longer, the images far too powerful to ignore. They warned of evils she couldn't — and didn't want to — understand.

Only her grandmother could have understood the panic Star felt when her vision darkened and control was taken from her. Only Seeing Eyes could have known how it felt to have one’s mind held in the grip of a spiritual force.

"My gift is not strong — not as it was with our grandmother. Only births are clear to me. But I cannot see or prevent death. The visions either come too late — like the death of your first wife — or they are not clear enough to be of use."

Except for seeing your own husband’s death in battle, which you did nothing to prevent. Seeded in her soul, guilt sent its roots deeper.

Striking Thunder held out his hands, palms up. "This is not true. Did your gift not prevent me from killing Emma's father? You knew he was not the enemy. Had I attacked, it would have brought the wrath of the soldiers upon us and destroyed our people. Did you not save our people that day?" Her silence lent frustration to Striking Thunder's voice. "What of Wolf and his wife? You warned of the danger surrounding them and yet you believe you have failed?"

"I could not see the danger clearly. It took you and our father to know where the danger lay. Look what happens when you and my father are not around. People die — like your first wife. Many died last summer because I could not warn them of the attack. I saw death and did not understand what the Spirits were saying." Her voice broke on a sob. "You lost a wife — and a child — because I refused to listen to what the spirits were trying to tell me." For the first time Star spoke of the unborn babe none but she had known about. She revealed her knowledge not to hurt her brother, but to prove him wrong.

Striking Thunder's only reaction to learning Meadowlark had been with child when she’d been brutally murdered was a tightening of his jaw. "You speak nonsense! You are not to blame for the death of my first wife, nor of any child she carried." He drew a deep shuddering breath. "It was not meant to be. I know this as do you."

"Then why did I see it? What was the point if the outcome could not be changed? I can't bear the thought that more of our people will die because I fail to understand the messages of the spirits." Star brushed the tears from her face.

"The Spirits took my husband, left my children without a father’s love and protection."

"You are not responsible for your husband's death. Do you think if he'd known the truth he'd have stayed behind like a fearful old woman? No! Your husband — my friend — would have gone with me that night, no matter what you told him. Had he known he was riding to his death, he'd have done so proudly." Pride tinged with sadness filled his voice.

Star's gaze went blank as she relived that one brief moment when her husband had ridden past her. One word. He'd have stopped. He'd have listened. And while part of her acknowledged that her brother was right, that her husband would have ridden to war that night regardless of what she'd told him, she'd denied him the choice and the ability to take precautions to protect himself.

Fear of dishonoring him had kept her from sharing the vision with him. What good was honor to her now? Honor didn't provide for her family or come home each evening to be a loving father to his son and daughter. Honor was a sad substitute for the friend she so greatly missed and grieved for.

Striking Thunder glanced behind him. A slim red-haired woman dressed in a bleached deerskin dress came forward from the deep shadows. Six months before, Emma had been his white captive, now she was his beloved wife and Star's newest sister-in-law. Striking Thunder brought her forward. The love in Striking Thunder's gaze was reflected in the answering adoration in hers.

"The Spirits took one wife, and gave me another. Who is to say this is not the way it was meant to be? Who is to say there is not another husband for you?"

"Hiya!" Star rejected that outright. There would be no one else, ever. Never again would she risk seeing the death of a mate. She backed away.

"I’m not worthy of our people's respect and honor. I failed — failed you as my chief, failed my family, my grandmother — my people." The painful words tore from her. Star spun around and ran away from the tipis, away from the warm circle of light, away from the happiness of people who might one day die because of her inability to use the Sight for the good of the tribe.

A short distance away, Colonel Grady O’Brien watched his eldest daughter ride away from the village with her new husband. While he still harbored mixed feelings over her marriage to the young Sioux chief, he accepted her decision to stay among the Sioux rather than return home with him to St. Louis.

It went against his fatherly instincts to leave her out here where life was harsh, where illness wiped out entire tribes, and war with other tribes or soldiers was a part of life. He longed to wrap her in his cloak of protection and keep her safe from harm, shield her from the ugliness that made up their world. He could have insisted she return with him.

Maybe he should have.

With his soldiers, he had the manpower to forcibly take her away. After all, it could be argued that after her ordeal of being captured first by Yellow Dog and his band of renegade Indians, then rescued and held captive by the man who was now her husband, she couldn't possibly know her own mind. But he of all people understood the power of true love.

And he had no doubt Emma loved her husband as much as he loved her. No matter how much he worried, Grady could not deny his child the chance to follow her heart. Some would whisper he'd been too ashamed to bring her back to polite society, that she'd been ruined by her time spent in captivity among the Indians, but he knew the truth. Love tied her to this land, to her husband, and gave her the courage to embrace a life so different from the one in which she'd been raised.

Glancing up into the bright, shimmering heavens, Grady thought of his late wife, Margaret Mary. They'd married young, had known a love so binding, even death had not been able to sever the threads that bound him to her. "She's all grown up, Maggie. Our baby has flown the nest." Some might find his habit of talking to his deceased wife strange, but when he spoke aloud, carried on conversations with her, he felt as though heaven and earth weren't so far apart.

Even after nine years, he still missed his wife. Her sunny smile, her laughing green eyes and her love of life had made his own life complete. When she’d died, colors faded, joy ebbed, and part of him shriveled and died with her. He went through life a mere shadow of the man he’d once been.

"I'm leaving her behind, Maggie. Watch over her."Adjusting his gloves, he spun around, away from the black emptiness where Emma and Striking Thunder had gone. At least he wasn't returning home alone. He still had his youngest child. And speaking of his other daughter, he realized he hadn't seen her in hours.

Well over six feet tall, he moved with easy grace and a strong commanding presence among both soldiers and Indians. As he searched for his daughter, he observed his men’s behavior as he went. So far, his men had put their best foot forward. But he knew temptation could weaken the strongest of men. Spotting one soldier walking alone with a young maiden, he beckoned the man over. "I believe it is time to return to camp, soldier."

"Ahh, Colonel—"

"You heard me, soldier. I will tolerate no improper behavior."

The man looked as though he'd protest, then thought better of it. "Yes, Sir." The soldier left the Indian village.

Satisfied that all was in order, Grady sought the whereabouts of his youngest daughter. "Now where has she taken herself off to," he murmured, scanning the village. A flurry of movement near the food caught his attention. "Ah." He might have known she'd still be rooting through the leftover food. The child ate enough for three.

Deciding to spend some time with her, he headed her way. Before he reached her, she and her young friend, Morning Moon, ran off toward the river a short distance away. Frowning, he wondered what she was up to now? She knew better than to leave the safety of the village at night. But since when did rules apply to her. Renny being Renny, as he'd discovered, tended to act first and think later. With a shake of his head, he followed.

Though he dreaded to learn what mischief she was caught up in, he chuckled softly. "You’d have loved this one, Maggie. So full of life and spunk." He hesitated. Maybe a bit too much. Grady knew he had his work cut out raising this one. The prospect worried him. The last time he'd seen Renny, she'd only been a few days old, an infant with big blue eyes and a thatch of golden fuzz covering her tiny head. And now she was nine; full of rebellion and resentment and not in the least bit happy to have him back in her life — especially when it meant leaving Emma to return home with a father she'd never known and hated because of it.

Reaching the river, he paused, listened, then followed the sounds of hushed whispers. He found the girls kneeling near a small cluster of rocks. "Ranait! What are you doing out here?"

Startled at the bark of his voice, Renny dropped a large rock back on top of the pile. Standing, she placed her body in front of the pile of rocks. Beneath the light from the moon and stars, she looked guilty as sin. His gaze narrowed when she quickly left the rocks to stand before him, hands behind her back.

He refrained from looking toward the piled rocks and gave her his complete attention, remaining silent. Years of dealing with his soldiers had taught him that silence often broke down barriers whereas questions frequently brought forth lies and excuses.

After several long seconds, Renny squirmed. "Nothing. Just playing. What do you want?" she asked, her tone sullen and resentful.

"You will not take that tone with me, young lady. I gave you orders to remain within the boundaries of the camp. Return to the village immediately. It is not safe for you to wander so far." Hearing the thread of harsh command in his tone, he winced, fully aware that the Colonel in him had overridden the father. The glare of resentment she threw his way warned he had a long way to go in learning how to handle his daughter.

"I'm safe here." She pointed. "Lone Wolf stands guard, just over there." Her voice ended on a smug note. Behind her, Morning Moon remained silent and watchful.

Drawing himself up, he held up his hand, palm out. "Do not argue. Return, and do not leave the safety of the village without my permission again."

Renny's lips trembled but she didn't cry. She glared at him, her small arms crossed over her narrow chest, rebellion in every line of her body. "My name is Weshawee. It means Red Girl."

Staring into defiant eyes the same shade as blue-gray as his own, he felt as helpless as he'd felt the day he'd cradled her in his arms and named her. She'd been so tiny, so fragile. He'd been afraid of her, afraid of failing both his daughters without his wife at his side to guide him. The same fear of failure assailed him now but this time, there wasn't any where to run.

What if I can't do this? Maybe she's better with her, with Emma.

A soft whisper of wind caressed the back of his neck. No. You know what is right. The two of you belong together. You won't fail.

Grady had to believe it was his beloved’s voice giving him the courage he so desperately needed.

Frustrated with his silence, Renny stomped her foot when it became apparent he wasn't going to argue or plead with her. "I wish you'd stayed away." She backed away, her eyes glittering with unshed tears.

"I hate you! I want to stay here with Emma." She grabbed her friend's hand and pulled. Both girls ran back toward the circles of tipis behind him.

Grady's shoulders stooped under the weight of her rejection. After months of sleepless nights, and long days in the saddle searching for his daughters, his body felt close to collapse. Running a hand over his bearded jaw, he wondered if things would ever be right between them.

"She's confused. In time, she'll understand."

At the sound of the soft, husky voice, Grady shifted and glanced over his shoulder. Star Dreamer stood several feet behind him, her face pale and drawn beneath the gentle sweep of the moon's glow. Compassion stirred. He owed this kind, gentle woman more than he could ever repay. She'd befriended both Emma and Renny and had been instrumental in saving their lives.

Removing his hat, he bowed politely and gripped his hat behind his back. "She'll never forgive me for abandoning her and her sister and it’s no more than I deserve." The words were spoken coldly, matter-of-factly.

"You are here now for her," Star pointed out.

"Yes. Yes, I am." Grady clung to the hope she offered as if he were a dying man. But would it be enough? "I fear my reentrance into her life has come too late."

Star shook her head, sending silky strands of black hair swinging across the tops of her shoulders. "You must not believe that. From what Emma has told me, it was Weshawee's need to find you that made her leave home to come in search of you. Weshawee needed you then, and she needs you now. You are her ate, her father."

"Ah, yes, but it seems my headstrong daughter has changed her mind."

A gentle laugh bathed him in warmth. "It is easy to wish for things but when we get what we wish for, we must accept the change that comes with it. Change is always hard to accept, even for a small child. Give her time. She's frightened of the unknown." Star reached out and touched his shoulder and walked past.

Grady pivoted, his eyes tracking her. He didn't add that he too was scared of the changes in his life. The thought of leaving the safety net the army provided to venture back into the chaotic civilian life he'd left behind left him feeling as though he walked along a narrow ridge, high above a deep chasm. One wrong step either way and he'd plummet. Grateful for the woman's wise words, Grady replaced his hat and prayed that in time Renny would come to regard him as a beloved father, not a hateful stranger. So much had happened in the last six months, starting with the news of Emma and Renny's disappearance on their way to Fort Pierre to see him. His well-ordered life had turned to shambles and beneath it all, he craved what he'd once known with his wife: Happiness. Peace. Joy.

He squared his shoulders, determined to salvage what he could of his family

Unable to face raising their children alone, he'd forsaken them, turned them over to his sister and returned to the regimented military life of the army, seeking safety in the emotional and physical controls imposed by his chosen career. Only recently had he come to realize how he'd betrayed that special love he and Margaret Mary had shared. Blinded by his grieving heart, he'd not appreciated what she'd left behind — two daughters.

Putting his problems with his daughter aside, he trailed after Star and watched as she knelt down at the stream to cup water in her hand and drink. She sat back on her heels, silent and still, lost in thought, his presence forgotten. Her head fell back.

Transfixed, Grady couldn't take his eyes from the slim column of her neck and the sharp jut of her jawbone as she lifted her face to the silver light of the moon. Her hands slid up her throat, over her jaw and into her hair. Tiny dew drops of water glistened along her throat like translucent pearls. Thick black lashes smudged her pale face, and her lips parted briefly as she drew in a deep breath.

His own breathing turned ragged. Though only seconds ticked by, he felt as if time had come to a stop. Then she tipped her chin back down, her hair swinging forward, hiding her face as she stared out over the misting stream.

Moonlight turned the black strands silver. Unlike the other women in the village who wore their hair in long, thick braids, she wore hers short — a sign of her recent bereavement. Yet even with the ravages of grief haunting her, Star Dreamer remained strikingly beautiful. An aura of fragility surrounded her, adding to her allure, making her seem so vulnerable. His protective instincts rose. There was something about this woman that drew him, made him want to ease the lines of grief from her face and put a smile on her lips.

He was attracted.

It horrified him, yet a more plain and simpler truth didn't exist. It didn't matter that it was against his will, or that he'd vowed to never love again. There hadn't been another woman in his life — in any capacity — since the day he'd buried Margaret Mary and there never would be. He didn't think he could ever live through the pain of losing another loved one so survival dictated that he keep that part of him closed off. But like a caged, starving animal, desperate for a morsel of food left just out of reach, claws of hunger tore at his soul.

His hand lifted, needing to touch her, wanting to pull her hair back from her face so he could gaze upon her moon-bathed beauty. He yearned to trace the taut flesh of her throat from the hollow where a hidden pulse beat, and kiss the soft skin beneath her chin as his hands skimmed upward to cradle her face in his large hands. Was her pale, golden skin as soft as her voice? Would a kiss ease the trembling of her full lips? His blood quickened, shocking him out of his foolish fantasies.

Grady angrily shook off his physical reaction. He was no better than the soldier he'd ordered back to camp. Taking a step back, he tried to convince himself it was gratitude on his part that drew him to her or maybe the sadness cloaking her. Maybe he’d been out in the wilds of the western frontier too long.

He blamed his momentary weakness on the air, the marriage of his daughter, the bright moon and stars overhead. Grady backed away to leave Star Dreamer to her solitude. He remembered his own need to be alone in the months following Margaret Mary's death. The lone howl of a coyote and the buzz of crickets near the water's edge broke the silence. She stood and joined him.

Uncomfortably aware of his body's weakness, he sought a distraction. His gaze slid to the pile of rocks. "Perhaps it's in our best interests to see what our daughters were up to down here."

"Where your daughter is concerned, that is a wise choice." Humor once more threaded its way into her voice.

Star joined him as he lifted a flat-bottomed rock off the top of the pile. Together, they peered into a deep, dark cavity. "What the--?" Reaching in, Grady pulled out several pouches.

Star opened one. "Food."

"Same here." He dumped a bunch of dried chokecherries into his palm. Each pouch was stuffed with foodstuffs: nuts, berries, dried meat. Now he understood why she seemed to have an abnormally large appetite. She was hiding food.

Star looked puzzled. "Why are they storing food? Winter is over."

The full weight of parenthood dropped onto his shoulders. He released a long, drawn out breath. "It's my guess that my daughter will go to any length to avoid returning home with me — including running away.

"I though to give her some more time here, with me, so she could get to know me before I took her away but it's not working. As long as she's here, she won’t give me a chance and I can't risk having her run off. We'll leave tomorrow."

"I will be sorry to see her go. She does liven things up." Star helped him put the pouches back into the rock cavity and accepted his hand up.

Staring down into Star's upturned face, Grady longed to smooth the lines of pain etched along her forehead, bracketing her mouth and nose and leaving her golden skin pale. That desire made him step back. He had enough problems without taking on anyone else's. "Shall we rejoin the others?"

She turned, every line in her body stiff and unyielding. He felt as though he'd suggested she walk to her own execution. Again, understanding flowed between them. She was no more eager than he to return to the sounds of gaiety floating on the night air but he couldn't remain out here for much longer, no matter how much he enjoyed gazing at her. There was too much to do in order to be ready to leave at first light.

Even so, he hesitated. Emma's sister-in-law looked as though she needed a friend. And from deep inside him, that starving, a lonely creature he recognized as his own soul cried out for companionship. What harm could it do to remain out here a bit longer? After all, this quiet woman posed no threat to his heart. He was leaving tomorrow, and when he next saw her, she'd probably have remarried. He ignored the twinge to his gut that thought caused.

Surprising himself, he waved a hand at the meandering stream. "Would you care to join me for a walk instead?"

Reviews:

"–will truly touch your heart."

– Romantic Times

"Author Susan Edwards still has the talent of hooking her readers in the first paragraph and selfishly holding onto them until the last page has been turned. Highly recommended reading!"

– Huntress Online book reviews

"Susan Edwards' White series is a wonder that keeps on giving. . . . —a rare talent . . . "

– Melody Jacobs, Romance Communications

"White Dreams is an exceptional romance — a stunning tribute to the historical romance genre. Don't miss this spellbinding story, for no one writes about the heart like Susan Edwards. It will pierce your soul and leave you star struck."

– Pamela James, Old Book Barn Gazette

"Susan Edwards gives us the Old West and more"

– Kathy Baker, WaldenBooks

"Fantastic! Utterly heart-wrenching!"

– Scribes World Reviews, http://www.scribesworld.com

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