Bound by Honor Read Free Page A

strong and spirited."
    Seemed Gage Dalton possessed a healthy share of attitude himself. Life sparked in his onyx eyes as he talked about the animals he raised. Then he leveled his gaze on her.
    "Is that why you're here? You're interested in a pinto?"
    The question elicited another chuckle from her, this one completely natural. "Oh, no," she told him. "Not me. I wouldn't know one end of a horse from the other."
    She couldn't tell if the tiny crease that suddenly marred his high brow was a sign of curiosity or suspicion. He glanced down at the ground, tapped the rake absently with his foot, and then lifted his chin to meet her gaze.
    "Well, you've found out that I weathered the accident just fine," he said. "And you've complimented my ranch. And my horses. We could talk about the weather, if you like. Or how rising gasoline prices are thinning our wallets. But I'd prefer it if we cut the small talk. I have stalls to muck before I can stable those horses. Why don't you save us both some time and tell me why you're here?"
    The blunt qu estion left her momentarily spee chless. But then, before she'd even had time to think, words began tumbling off her longue.
    "My sister died. The day of the storm. The day you and I met on the road. I remember telling you I was on my way to the hospital." Anguish gathered in a tight ball high in her c hest. "Her husband was killed, t oo. They . . . they ran off the road. The car s lipped. Into a ravi ne. My brother-in-law d ied instantly. Amy . . . my sister . . . sh-she held on for several hours."
    The emotion rose to knot in her throat. It became so over-w helming that she had to glance toward the horizon as she whispered, "But she passed soon after I reached t he hospital."
    Jenna blinked back the tears that burned her eyes. She would not cry. She didn't know this man, refused to show her vulnerability to him. He had to know her story, though. Otherwise, how could he understand her plight? The tribal council had forced her into a desperate situation, and that was the only reason she was here. But Gage Dalton must not see her as weak. Because she wasn't.
    It was the stark silence that drew her from her thoughts. Why didn't he say something? What kind of person didn't offer condolences after learning about a death in the family? In this case, two deaths.
    Her gaze clashed with Gage's, and the sentiment clouding his eyes shocked her. Sympathy rolled off him in waves. He didn't have to say a word; everything he felt was expressed in those soft black orbs.
    The muscle in the back of his jaw went taut, and he seemed to be engaged in a mental struggle of some sort. His tone was tight, his words grating, when he finally spoke.
    "I know grief well." He swallowed.
    His keen, too-intense focus on her made her feel as if she were the only person alive on Earth at that moment. "May your heart find healing."
    Of all the cards and letters, flowers and prayers she'd received from friends and business acquaintances since losing Amy and David, Jenna couldn't recall a more comforting wish. She found his words both simple and beautiful. Abundantly so.
    Hot tears made a fresh attack, but she blinked them back. She still had a great deal to explain before she could broach the sensitive subject of why she'd come to him for help. Losing herself in sorrow was something she couldn't afford to do.
    "Thank you," she murmured, her breath hitching between the two short words. Willing a vibrant potency into her voice, she repeated , "Thank you very much."
    Another gust of warm summer wind blew a cross the Montana prairie lands. The sun high overhead continued to heat her shoul de rs and back through her light cotton top. Slowly, she was able to push the sorrow at bay and latch onto the resolve that had br ought her here in the first place.
    11 Amy was married to a Lenape Indian who lived on Broken Bow," Jenna told G age. "David Collins was his name."
    "The artist?" Gage propped the metal h e he'd been holding against the