I swallowed hard. “It’s quite likely she ran away to find me,” I said. “Mayflower said she’d been drawing pictures of me at the ranch. It’s all my fault!”

Darkness had fallen, and the saloon across the street was lit up like a Christmas tree. Rowdy shouts and laughter drifted up from the street, the sounds occasionally muffled by the rhythmic beat of horse’s hooves.

“No, Delia, it’s not your fault she’s missing. It’s mine. I should never have left her alone.” He turned to face me. “What if we never find her, Delia?”

I thought back to his words to me that night back in New York: The ones you love will always leave you in the end one way or another.

I could hold myself back no longer. I went over, sat on the arm of his chair and put my arm around his neck. He reached up and pulled my face close to his. Then he kissed me hard on the lips. I responded like a thirsty pilgrim drinking from a stream. I’d fantasized about this moment ever since our night on the train, but I never believed it would happen again. I moaned aloud. Still kissing me, he stood up and lifted me in his arms and carried me over to the bed. He put me down gently, lay down beside me and pulled me to him.

We turned to face each other in the shadows. His arms tightened around me as he pulled me close. He kissed me again and again, whispering my name at each pause. I reached over and unbuttoned his shirt all the way, so that I could run my fingers across his bare chest. He moaned as I let my lips trail across his chest and down his body.

Suddenly, he sprang up and, standing with his back to me, removed the rest of his clothing. I lay admiring his broad shoulders and slender hips silhouetted against the dim light. I let my eyes travel over his buttocks and down his strong legs.