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Two mornings ago Gabriel had awakened with Miranda in his arms. Was that a dream, the soft fragrance of her haunting him? In her, he’d seen his eternity and his essence, in that flashing pinpoint before his desire came flooding into her keeping. He’d known that he was meant to hold her, to give her his child, to keep her safe until the winds took away their breath—together. She’d burned a path to his heart, and that soft scar hurt him more deeply than those of the flesh.
Flesh? She was more—a part of him now, inside him, moving in his blood, heating it, the fever for her—Wait! Gabriel hadn’t been aware of the power of a woman’s calling to him. He wasn’t certain about his strength against it now.…
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“Oh, yes. Of course. But I want to see better.” Miranda moved away quickly. Did anyone suspect? Amid the cheers, she glanced at the people she’d known all of her life. She found only joy and warmth in their expressions. Gabriel stood apart, his face unreadable, and she wondered if he knew that she was alone.
Who was she? Where was that cool reasoning power now? she wondered, as she foundered in her emotions. She sat by the opened hope chest she’d filled all those years ago. She’d dreamed of being Gabriel’s wife, of having his children. Hope chests were a requirement of the brides in Freedom Valley, and her mother had helped her fill this one. Miranda smoothed the tiny hand-stitched quilt her mother had made, the note pinned to it. “With love, Grandma.”
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