Klondike Fever
Yukon wilderness August 1898
Dylan Wayburn recognized her before she recognized him.
She dressed differently, he thought. An odd mix of blatant beauty and hidden treasure. And after five years, instead of recognition in her eyes, there was dismissal. Dylan lowered the brim of his Stetson and hoped it would stay that way.
He studied her through half-closed eyes.
Miss Lilybeth Cromwell had always been self-conscious of a man's attention. Yet the top button of her square neckline, scooped low like many high-society dresses, was half undone. It riveted the faces of all four men in the stagecoach. They waited for the button to slip completely and grace them with more of her bosom. Even the old lady seated beside Dylan was sniffing into a handkerchief and staring. Funny thing was, Lilybeth wore a black silk shawl around her shoulders, covering up the brilliant blue dress beneath.
Dylan never could understand that about women. She put that revealing dress on this morning and now she was trying to hide it.
Lilybeth was as far from demure as her flowing red hair and full lips would allow. But then again, Miss Lilybeth Cromwell was not the shy, nameless adolescent h ... read full excerpt from Klondike Fever ebook
