Shit, Dad had always told me never sit with your back to the door. And there I was, like Wild Bill Hickock before he bought it, sitting with my stupid back to the door. Slowly, I turned in my chair. Equally slowly, my eyes drifted up the so dark-brown it was nearly black clothing, taking in the knife belt (with knives), leather band across the wide chest, slanted cloak made of hides and angled sword at the back of my now heavily bearded husband.
