Rocky Mountain Man (Historical)
“Betsy resisted the urge to brush the tangle of black hair away from the hard angle of his face so she could admire him better. His features were hard, but the muscles beneath the bronzed skin were relaxed. Not exactly soft, his face could never be mistaken for that, but the bitterness was gone along with the anger and the ferocity. What remained carved in his features and etched in the grooves and character lines on his face astounded her.
Nobility. Strength. Integrity.
Vastly different from the man who burned with so much hatred that the fury emanating from him would make the fires of hell seem tepid by comparison.
It didn’t look to her as if he’d moved since this time yesterday, but the basket on the table was empty. Good. She couldn’t resist laying her hand on his brow. Not overly warm—just warm from sleep, not from fever. He made a low noise in his throat, not exactly a moan but definitely a sound as if he’d liked being touched and pressed against her.
Her heart gave a little sigh.
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