Molly, though…something about her was getting to him. Molly was colorful, he thought. That had been his very first impression when she had spun thro...gh the office door. It wasn't that her clothes clashed, or that she wore garish colors or patterns. At dinner she'd worn a pair of dark purple slacks—Maddy would have called them "plum," he was sure—a blouse with a small print, and that pretty necklace. I could use some color, he thought ruefully. Chelsea, he recalled, had usually dressed in. Striding over to his saddle bags, he took out a part-used bar of soap. He picked up a blanket from where she had discarded them, and the cloth he had used to bathe her face.Going back to the distraught girl, he carefully picked her up, wrapping her in the blanket in the process. She buried her face in his chest as he carried her over to the stream, standing there on the bank while she continued to cry.His horse, which had been contentedly grazing on the bank a few yards downstream of where he. More

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