Читать книгу The Prodigal Groom - Karen Leabo - Страница 3

As his feet hit the ground, her gaze traveled upward to take in the slim hips, flat stomach and broad shoulders, challenging the seams of a white Western-cut shirt. He was looking down as he hit the ground, and his face and hair were obscured by a pearl gray Stetson. So it was only when he focused directly on her that she saw the lean, weather-whipped face, the sensual lips, the steel blue eyes—features once as familiar to her as her own reflection in the mirror.

“Oh…my…God,” she murmured. Then every cubic inch of oxygen deserted her lungs.

“Hi, Laurie.”

“’Hi, Laurie’?” she repeated. “Is that all you have to say? You’re supposed to be dead!”