Forty-SixSelina and Graysie were sitting on a bench seat on the Stockton House veranda with Pania’s lost shoe and ripped scarf lying on the table in front of them when a man rode up in a cloud of dust. He hitched his roan to the orchard fence and came towards them across the dewy lawn with long, determined strides.
Selina rose in sharp alarm and in a flash was down the steps and across the damp grass, her hand held up in an arresting gesture.
He didn’t take the hint or sense her agitation but gave Selina a genial nod. “Good morning! Sorry for the early visit, but a word if you please. It’s urgent.” His strong confident bass voice matched his physique — tall, broad shouldered, and well-muscled.
Good morning? There’s nothing good about it. She rounded on him. “Unless you’ve come to offer
