West of Forgotten by Lynda J. Cox

Author:Lynda J. Cox [Cox, Lynda J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: romance, historical, western, Wyoming
Publisher: The Wild Rose Press
Published: 2017-02-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

When Harrison woke, the muted gray of the moments just before dawn filled the parlor. He lifted his head from the back of the couch, wincing as stiff muscles protested. A glance down at his right leg explained the weight resting on it. Rachel’s head was pillowed on his thigh, her chin tucked into the V formed where she’d crossed her wrists over her chest. His hand was still draped on her shoulder.

Sometime during the night, she had slipped further down the length of the couch and she was so deep in sleep a soft, small snore—sounding more like the purring of a contented cat than anything else—issued from her. He couldn’t contain his grin. So much for her claim she didn’t snore.

He carefully brushed a tendril of hair from her cheek. She didn’t even stir and the thought occurred to him that this was the first time in a long time for her that she had felt safe enough to fall into a deep sleep. Tracing her profile, he noted how relaxed she finally looked.

The blanket he vaguely remembered draping over her during the night had slipped down to her waist and he tugged it up to her shoulders. The pillow was behind her knees, against the back of the chesterfield. He picked it up and positioned it under her head as he stood. Other than a slight twitch of one hand, she didn’t move.

The chill in the room was nothing the rapidly rising sun wouldn’t banish so he negated the thought of lighting a fire. However, a cup of coffee was a necessity. He gathered up the cups forgotten the night before, pausing to glance at her over his shoulder.

What in the name of heaven could have possessed Sam to castigate her as he had? She was everything Sam had said she was during that damned poker game—beautiful, intelligent, poised and polished—and yet when his plans for her were ruined, the man had deliberately attempted to destroy his only child.

He made his way to the kitchen and rinsed out the cups, then started a fresh pot of coffee. While that brewed, he went upstairs and changed out of the nearly formal mourning suit. A simple white linen shirt and a pair of denims would more than suffice for the day. Before returning to the kitchen and a cup of hot coffee, he looked in on his sleeping wife, again.

A shaft of golden light rested across her legs and must have warmed her as she had kicked the blanket off. He didn’t bother to replace the brightly colored fabric as the black wool of her mourning dress would gather the warmth as well.

He took his cup of coffee onto the back porch and sank into the rocking chair. He set the cup onto the rail and rolled a cigarette. The flat roof of the nearest mountain drew his gaze. Shadows and light played across its face and the angle of the rising sun left its base shrouded in darkness.

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