Chapter 3Logan lifted his arms and face to the sky. As the sun’s rays fell on his high cheekbones, dark eyes, and tinted skin, his chant rose—masculine, yet falling on the morning air as sure as a songbird in flight—sometimes soaring, sometimes riding the gentle currents of the wind.
The clear notes of his father’s flute strengthened and quickened as the drum picked up its pace. Rosalie shook the rattles now, and her son danced, face impassive, his concentration on his feet as he continued his chant and took intricate steps in time to the rhythmic voice of the drum. The tinkling bells on his ankles added to the musical mix.
Blaze soon found himself lost in the vision before him of the athletic man whose movements were created by his artistic gifts and the honest heart Blaze saw anytime h
