Samantha James Read Online Free

will.
    She noted distantly how tanned her hands were, the color a rich dark honey. It had never concerned her that her skin wasn’t milky-white, which was why she took no precautions to shield herself from the sun. She wore a cowboy hat when she was out riding, but the only bonnet she’d ever owned had been given to her on her twelfth birthday by a schoolmate, Emily Dawson. It was white and frilly and decorated with pink satin ribbons. She remembered how proudly she’d paraded in front of Pa and Dillon. Pa had tried hard not to laugh aloud, but Dillon hooted openly. That was the last time—the only time—Abby had worn a bonnet.
    It was Emily’s mother who had convinced Pa that her education was sorely lacking when it came to ladylike qualities. When she was seventeen, her father decided maybe Mrs. Dawson was right—maybe it was time his Abigail learned to be a proper lady. Abby had argued and cried and pleaded, but he’d packed her off to that fancy girls’ school in Chicago despite her protests. Mrs. Rutherford, the headmistress, had been shockingly appalled at her golden skin—and frankly dismayed at her loose-limbed, leggy stride.
    “This—this creature ,” Mrs. Rutherford had sniffed disdainfully when her father came to collect her a scant month later, “will never be a lady. She can’t sing. She can’t dance—but I’m not surprised since she walks like a cow!”
    Abby had lost her temper then. “Look who’s talking,” she retorted. “Did you ever hear yourself laugh, lady? You whinny like a horse who got his behind stuck on a fence post!”
    Pa hadn’t been pleased that Mrs. Rutherford had dismissed her from the school. It was only later when they were on the train and headed back to Wyoming that he confided he shared her opinion of Mrs. Rutherford—her brain was surely stuffed with chicken scratch.
    Abby watched her fingers curl into her palm, so tightly her nails dug into her skin. But the pain was like nothing compared to the ache in her heart. For as long as she could remember, she had relied on Pa. She was seven when her mother died from pneumonia. Dillon had been seventeen, already a man. But Abby was still a child—with a child’s tender need for shelter and protection—and Duncan MacKenzie had taken on a role not every man could have accomplished. While Dillon was off scouting for the army, Abby and her father had clung to each other and shared their grief. He had taught her, played with her, and indulged her. Abby had grown up strong and proud, and when she’d needed someone to hold her, her father had always been there. Abby had sometimes teased him that she’d probably never marry.
    “I couldn’t bear to live anywhere other than the Diamondback,” she’d laugh. “Besides, you wouldn’t like it if you and Dillon weren’t the most important men in my life, would you?”
    A wrenching pain ripped through her; it felt like her soul was on fire. Now Pa was gone. Gone . And all she had left was Dillon.
    Abby couldn’t suppress a twinge of bitterness. Dillon was never around when they needed him. Her mind screamed in silent outrage. Damn you, Dillon! Where are you? Where? It was just like him—just like a man!—to think he was invincible.
    Stringer Sam had already proved that he wasn’t.
    Yet she didn’t wonder why Dillon had gone after Sam. To her knowledge, only once had Dillon ever considered marrying and settling down—but Stringer Sam had shattered his dreams. For Dillon, in this instance, at least, it was less a job than a vendetta …
    But she had made a promise to Pa that she could never hope to keep. A debilitating sense of helplessness seeped through her. How on earth was she to find Dillon? The only man who knew where Stringer Sam’s outlaw hideout was had been killed!
    “Dillon,” she whispered. “Oh, Dillon, why are you so—so reckless? And why can’t you love this land like Pa and me?” A hot ache constricted her throat. She battled the overwhelming need to