Chapter Four
Sarah locked the door, threw the hat and coat onto the bench, and plopped herself onto the bed. She refused to cry even though she felt that familiar knot in her throat that preceded the tears. Hardly knowing him, the man had the ability to make her feel like a foolish six-year-old who’d been caught with her hand in the cookie jar.
She was no child, but a woman fully grown. A woman who knew her mind and her heart. A woman who longed for adventure and had the confidence to take it when the opportunity arose. She absently toyed with the ribbon holding her braid and tugged, pulling it free. Children wore their hair braided, not women. She walked to the mirror and fingered her too-thick messy curls, beginning to untangle them with her comb, when a knock sounded.
If the man mean
