How could either of them sleep with the terrible premonition that this was their last night together, after all the years, all the loving, all the hardships, all the sharing and sacrificing? How could he make love to her enough? How did a man say good-bye to such a woman? He had never been able to in all these years. Perhaps he wouldn’t be able to now. But the memory of the past winter, the vision of being too crippled to ride or even get out of bed haunted him. He was Zeke Monroe, and he was Lone Eagle, the warrior. She touched every part of him, and he left no part of her untouched or unexplored. He must remember every curve, every feature, everything about this woman who had been his since she was fifteen. And she in turn wanted to forget nothing. She could not touch him enough or study deeply enough his lustrous black hair, the high cheekbones and straight nose, the perfect lips, the thin scar on his left cheek, the handsome, dark eyes, and the bronze skin.
