““While he finished his meal, Loretta consoled herself by hugging her knees, acutely aware that he watched her. A meadowlark warbled nearby, its clear voice ringing sweetly. She focused on the sound and tried to pretend the Comanche didn’t exist. It was an impossible feat. Leaves above them danced in the sunlight, casting flickering splashes of gold upon the ground. She studied the patterns, wishing he would leave. Wishing she were someplace else. Anyplace else. When she could bear his silent perusal no longer, Loretta forced herself to turn her head. His indigo eyes met hers, reflecting the shadows and sunlight, shifting, elusive, impossible to read. His features, carved in burnished copper, offered no clues. The wind caught his hair and draped it in dark wisps across his face, catching it in his long lashes, but still he studied her with an unblinking intensity. No trace of laughter showed in his expression, but she had the feeling he was amused by her.””
