A wiry man with springy red hair and penetrating brown eyes opened it and peered out. “Yes?”“Mr. Dumbarton?” Luke removed his hat. “We’re staying at the inn, and—” “Come in, son. We are almost ready to eat.”“We’re sorry to interrupt.”“Don’t be. We’re glad for the company and blessed to share.” He ushered them into a small parlor furnished with simple pine furniture. A woman in an unadorned gray dress emerged from the next room wiping her hands on a red-checked towel. Her dark-brown hair was pulled into a neat bun, her full cheeks flushed.“Visitors, Silas?” She smiled at Olivia. Olivia tried to smile back, but the events of the day, the long trip, the lack of food, caught up with her. Black spots danced behind her eyes. Her skin prickled.“Luke Mackenzie,” she heard him say before the room began to spin and she sagged toward the floor.She was vaguely aware of Luke helping her onto a chair. Then the acrid fumes of smelling salts burned her nostrils.
