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SOMETHING lodged in the back of Chloe's throat. She wasn't sure if it was dust or fear or maybe a mixture of both.
The tall rider reined around that strawberry roan and headed straight for the depot. From what she could see of his demeanor, he did not appear to be pleased.
As the distance closed between them, Chloe got a better look at this stranger who had been arguing with Billy. He sat easy in a well-worn saddle, a tall, long-legged rider with wide shoulders and a soft touch on the reins. His cream-colored duster flapped in the sporadic wind and slapped at the haunches of the big roan. A sweat-stained hat remained steady on his head. Sunlight glinted off the pistol holstered on his left hip and skittered along the polished wooden stock of the rifle sheathed near the back of the saddle.
He reached the depot and dismounted, his boots stirring up a cloud of dust. After tying leather reins to a hitching ring, he vaulted onto the platform. Well-worn boots made rhythmic progress across creaky wooden planks.
Stopping in front of Chloe, he nudged his hat upward just enough to reveal an unusually handsome face. A day's growth of whiskers was dark but not particularly thick for a man of his age, which Chloe guessed was somewhere in the early to mid-thirties. His nose was fairly straight and not too long. Gray eyes held curious speckles of green. Dark brown hair, long and thick, was tied back with a strip of leather. Canvas jeans molded to long legs and hugged the ankles of dusty riding boots. His right hand cupped over a trim hip, while his left hand fingered the handle of a holstered pistol she now recognized as a .45-caliber Peacemaker.
Chloe had never seen anything look so good and so dangerous at the same time. An embarrassing throb settled deep in her lap and she felt her cheeks tingle from a tell-tale flush. The mere presence of a man had never moved her like this.
"Are you Chloe?" His voice was husky, his words rife with western tones.
"Yes," she choked out, cringing just a little beneath the brim of her hat.
"The name's Max McKee. Your brother owns the spread west of mine." He adjusted his hat in a gesture that suggested nervousness, and one boot pawed at the rough wood platform. "I think we have a little misunderstanding."
Joe hadn't bothered to mention that Maxwell McKee was as handsome as the day was long. She hoped Frank Hilden wasn't this attractive, else her resolve might desert her and she would never make it to San Francisco.
Realizing she had been staring at the man for more than a polite amount of time, Chloe blinked dry eyes and rolled her gloved fists in her lap. "I'm sorry, Mr. McKee. Did you say something about a misunderstanding?"
"Yes, Ma'am." Max cleared his throat and ran tanned fingers along the handle of that intimidating pistol. "I just spoke with Billy Compton. Ma'am, there's something we need to get straight."
Chloe winced at the angry clip of his words. "And what would that be, Mr. McKee?"
"To be blunt, Ma'am, I wasn't expecting you."
"Nor I you," Chloe said...

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