His glance drifted down further to an ample bosom.

William Robinson Leigh Francis was tired and spent. He was in one of Redshirt’s private rooms in the main house, a great honor as a man of Francis’s stature would not normally rate anything more than a cot in the bunkhouse with the rest of the hands. He was all alone and thinking of Mags when he heard a knock at the door.

He opened the door. Standing there, as pretty as always, was Redshirt’s daughter. She smiled provocatively at Francis. It made him a bit uncomfortable.

“Hello, Francis.” She slid past him, not waiting for an invitation to enter the room.

“Hello, Yanaba. How you doin’?” He looked down on the top of her head as Yanaba was a tiny young lady. His glance drifted down further to an ample bosom. He was pleased to see her, but felt a little nervous, as it was not appropriate for her to be in his bedroom. It was not so much that he was afraid of what Redshirt might think or do, Yanaba was a grown woman in the chief’s eyes and her actions were her own. But Francis had Mags on his mind. Mags would not like a beautiful Navajo princess in her fiancé’s bedroom.

Yanaba was nearly eighteen and had been a widow for more than a year. She had two living children and she was the most beautiful woman Francis had known up until Mags. She liked Francis very much but was married when he came into their lives. Now that her husband was dead, Yanaba thought it would be good to test the waters.

She reclined on his bed, her long raven-colored hair, freshly brushed, cascaded over her shoulders and down her back. She wore a sheer sleeping gown of silk covered by a brightly colored Chinese robe. It was flimsier yet and hung open, not by accident. She was barefoot and rested one leg on the bed, revealing her shapely brown legs to mid-thigh.

She could tell right off her expedition would not be fruitful.

“Who is she, Francis?”

“Who’s who?” Francis was being a bumpkin again. He did not know how transparent his feelings were about Mags. The princess could tell, but Yanaba’s actions and dress were also distracting him and he was finding it difficult to concentrate.

“The woman you love.” Allingham