“Before, you were saying how you"d stand here and shoot it out, with your own father!” Hands clamped to her hips, Manuela"s eyes blazed with defiance. She stood in the ranch forecourt, a light breeze swirling tumbleweed and little clouds of dust around her feet, but nothing would move her. Two or three men pushed past her, struggling with saddles, but she gave them no mind. All her attention was focused on Reece, dressed in chaps and wide-brimmed hat, two guns at his waist. Breathing raggedly, he was pulling hard on the leather straps of his own mount"s saddle and he glanced back at her, closing his eyes briefly.
“Now look at you,” she continued, “about to ride out and kill the men responsible for killing your father – the very man you yourself wanted dead.”
“That was then, this is now.”
