Beside him, snuggled beneath the covers and encompassed in the haven of slumber he'd been in seconds ago, Randi rolled over. Flipping the covers aside, he padded barefoot across the carpet and out the bedroom door to one of the front room windows. Throbbing, his gullet rose, blocking his windpipe while the heaviness of known dread covered his shoulders like a heavy winter coat. A good two dozen men had gathered below along with their horses and a few wagons. The street was full. They shouted amongst themselves, gesturing toward his building. He twisted and hurried to the bedroom to get dressed before addressing his lynching party. It had been inevitable, so why was he shocked? In a matter of seconds, he was dressed and leaving the room. Howard paused for a split second, glancing back to the bed. It had been his choice, from the moment he'd realized Thurston Fulton was her father, he'd known if he stayed married to her this moment would come. He pulled the door closed and moved across the front room to the door that would lead him below.
