Dark inwardly cringed.
Rosalind, a fifty-something woman with long black hair pulled into a severe bun, greeted them with a less welcome than he’d anticipated. Her drab gray dress hung nearly to the floor, obscuring the view of her shoes, but cinched at the waist, giving a general impression of a slender build and a modest bosom. It was her unusual lavender eyes that snared his attention, not just the color, but the intense emotion mixed with intelligence. Calculating came to mind.
Under other circumstances, he’d consider her pretty. Unfortunately, her words, coated in harsh criticism of Destiny, wiped out any physical beauty in his judgment. Not that he was looking—far from it. He had more than enough on his plate and only one woman snared his interest.
He hadn’t seen the woman in a fe
