Walks in Shadow

Dorchester Publishing ISBN: 0-8439-5508-2

ighing, she stared morosely at the best looking horse she'd ever seen. Blessed heaven, how she had wanted him. How she still wanted him. And Oscar was right. "There must be a better way," she murmured. "There has to be."

"There is," a voice said behind her.

At her side, Oscar turned and Guy looked over his shoulder.

"Says who?" Oscar challenged.

"Walker. Holden Walker."

His deep voice vibrated along Samantha's nerves like a cat's purr. She was glued to the spot as if a tub of thick, sticky honey had been dumped over her head. For some insane reason, she wondered if she dared look at the man with the extraordinary voice. Deep inside, heat coiled in her belly, flashed through her veins. At the same time, inside, she was on fire, and goose flesh erupted on her skin. She shuddered.

Holy-moly, what's wrong with me? This Holden Walker was only a man, for heaven's sake. Not... Well, she didn't know what. Taking a deep breath, she quelled her shaking limbs.

"You got a-lotta experience, I suppose," Oscar further challenged, sounding as though he thought the man had taken leave of his senses.

"Enough."

She was being ridiculous and rude. Turn around, you ninny! Squaring her shoulders, ever so slowly she turned. A buckskin-clad chest met her gaze. Delaying the inevitable, she glanced down and inspected the man from the ground up. He wore black boots and black trousers that hugged muscled thighs. Two belts circled his narrow waist. One black, the other, his gun belt, brown, tooled leather. A six-gun's long barrel rode his lean thigh, a rawhide thong anchoring the tip of the holster to his leg. Like a shootist usually wore a gun. Samantha was certain he could use the weapon--with deadly accuracy.

Considering her height, she was uneasily aware that this man towered over her. His buckskin shirt looked surprisingly clean. Ax-handle-wide shoulders loomed beneath the soft leather. Lines bracketed wide, well-defined lips curved in a slight smile. His face was burnished and clean-shaven. Backlit by the morning sun, gleaming sable-brown hair dusted his shoulders below a black hat. Brim tipped low, his eyes were in deep shadow. Until he nudged up the hat brim with a thumb.

God in heaven! Gold centered, circled by greenish-gray, his eyes seemed to glitter with inner light. She swallowed. Cat... No. Only once before had she seen eyes like his. And they weren't human. Wolf's eyes. Dangerous. Compelling.

Befuddled, Samantha could say nothing. Caught by his gaze, she was unable to look away.

So still, he appeared not to breathe, his rude, intent gaze roamed over her, as hers had over him. Her lips tingled with a burning sensation when his perusal lingered on them for what seemed forever. Then he refocused on her eyes.

Her breath labored, but she forced herself to speak. "I don't believe we've met. I'm Samantha Timberlake."

"It is my pleasure."

While the greeting sounded ridiculously formal coming from a Texan's mouth, his brilliant eyes promised... What?

Tremulous with disquiet and wonder, her heart thumped with undeniable excitement.