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could hear it. As rain sluiced off the roof to plink in the flower beds at the house footings and smeared the polished floor to puddle at her bare feet, she couldn’t move. Like a stick of wood she sat there, the mist from the droplets spilling through the sill. The moisture dampened her face, stained the front of her work dress and crept up the hem of her skirt.
    Maybe, if she stayed still enough, the space between one breath and the next could stretch forever. Thenmaybe time would forget to move forward. The clock’s pendulum would freeze. The next hour would not chime. The night would not end. The dawn could not come.
    She’d rather remain in this emotionless night where her soul would not have to endure another lethal wound. Another loss so unthinkable she would not survive it.
    But her heart beat, her lungs drew in air and the clock’s echoing tick pounded through her, loud and unstoppable. The rain turned to mist and fog as the dark became shadow, and the shadow twilight, and the twilight dawn.
    A shadow lengthened on the floor, a shade darker than the room.
    â€œRayna?” Daniel’s voice. His big, awkward hand gripped her shoulder.
    That was not the halo of the sun behind the horizon. She would will it back if she had to.
    The shadow knelt beside her, warm substance of a man pulling her from her numb cold state as the crest of the sun peered over the rim of the prairie, the distant slate-blue hills topped by gold and peach.
    The world seemed to take a breath as the dawn came and tender, newborn light painted the land, illuminating the miles upon miles of downed wheat, sodden and defeated.
    Nothing of the harvest could be saved. Not even the stalks could be salvaged for straw.
    Her sorrow was reflected in Daniel’s eyes. On his face. His hair was a pleasant dark brown, from farther away it had appeared black, and tangled from a night in the wind and rain.
    The harsh, square cut of his hard jaw was stubbled with a night’s growth. His mouth was a severe line that did not yield as he turned from the endless acres ofdesolation. His boots squeaked on the wet floorboards as he straightened. His grip remained.
    â€œEven with my losses, I can afford to lease your fields. You should be able to keep your house.”
    The warm, steady grip of his hand on her shoulder remained, so different from Kol’s. Heat radiated through her cold shoulder and into her arm. Into her torso. Dawn’s light spilled through the window, too bright after a night of utter darkness and it thawed her, too. The clock marked the hour, chiming in a pleasant dulcet tone five times.
    Morning was here and time marched on. She’d not been able to hold it back, of course. Somehow she had to find the steel to face the decisions she must make. Decisions that would break her. She could already feel the cracks, little fissures in her soul, splintering like ice melting on a shallow pond.
    She turned to Daniel, but he was gone. She hadn’t been aware of his hand leaving her shoulder or his strong masculine presence moving away. Alone, she shivered, only now feeling the coolish air skimming across her damp face. Goose bumps stood out on her forearms.
    The iron door of the stove clacked into place. She recognized the rapid crackle and snapping of dry kindling feeding a new flame. Daniel’s boots knelled on the floor and the ring of his gait echoing in the still room was all wrong. Too quick, too assertive, not the easygoing thud of Kol’s gait.
    He’s gone, Rayna. She knew that. Logically she accepted she would never again hear Kol’s shoes drumming the length of her kitchen floor. The air around her turned to ice, leaving her chilled and aching for themorning routine that had marked the beginning of nearly every day for fifteen years.
    How he would come up behind her, wrap his brawny arms around her waist and tickle the crook of her neck with his full beard. She would laugh, spinning in his arms to