Chapter 2
As she looked down at the old daguerreotype, she squinted her eyes at the image, knowing that apparently the new tintypes must not have made it out west yet. Into the lone prairies where blinding heat burned up all living things, where dust storms haunted the wagon trains and their herds of cattle. They faced all of that, as well as the danger of Indians who threatened war.
Still she could tell he was a real hellion—one of those cowboy creatures who ruled the west. He stood wide-legged, his pants punched down into his tall boots, and his six-guns hanging askew along his hips. The curled brim of his hat cast a shadow over one eye, and he looked tough, his face molded by the wild life he lived. He was a dirty-looking thing—no, not dirty like unwashed, but naughty.
She’d only kno
