9
GARRISON
It had been a long morning, longer than I'd wanted to spend retrieving the horse from the train and getting it settled at the livery. I was tired—all the late-night f*****g meant little shuteye—sweaty and I smelled like horse. All I wanted to do was take a bath and take a nap with my bride. When I returned to the room, I did not find Dahlia as I'd expected. I hadn't seen her in the lobby as I'd gone through and the restaurant was closed between meals. The bed was unmade and the scent of her, the scent of lovemaking was in the still air.
Where the hell had she gone? It was then that I saw the note on the small table beside her plain gold wedding ring that had belonged to my mother. My heart leapt into my throat and plummeted at the sight of it. I knew. I knew. She was gone.
B
