Tempest (Old West, #3)

by Beverly Jenkins

daughter solemnly walking towards him holding a small bouquet of wildflowers. In her red dress, and her hair threaded through with ribbons, she was so beautiful his chest hurt. He’d never seen the dress before and wondered where she’d gotten it, but further contemplation was cut short by the appearance of his sister. The dark burgundy off-shoulder gown with its fashionable overskirts transformed Spring from a rancher to a woman who’d just stepped out of a back East drawing room. Her raven black hair was pinned up, offering an unhindered view of her stunning face. The fiddlers paused. The locals hooted and hollered. The smiling Spring paused, did a slow turn so everyone could get a good look, and continued her walk to Anna’s side. A hush fell, and as the fiddlers began again, there was Regan Carmichael walking to the bower like a queen to her coronation. Colt stopped breathing. “My God,” Whit whispered. “Would you look at that woman!” Colt could do