He took a step back and let his gaze skim down her, the reflection of the moon on the snow so bright they might well be standing beneath the gas chandelier in his Deadwood hotel lobby. Her deep coat provided a perfect splash of color against a night bathed in white. Her silky blond hair was starting to fall from her updo. She’d curled her hair tonight too, similar to how she’d worn it the first time he’d met her, in the office of Henry’s warehouse, waiting for a suitor who’d gotten drawn into a conversation with Henry.
He tried to swallow, but his throat muscles were so tight the task was nearly impossible. “You did well for yourself. I never had any doubt that you could. But now that I’m here, you don’t have to do everything alone.”
“Maybe I’m so used to doing things myself, I don’t know how to stop.”

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