“Perhaps,” Craig agreed gravely, “that would be wise.”

It wasn’t so easy to travel the twenty-five feet to Sonia’s side. For a man who eighteen years earlier had been orphaned with no property save a bankrupt ranch in an obscure corner of Wyoming, he’d certainly come a long way; there was no counting the number of people who went out of their way to talk with him now. Having made his mark in Cold Creek-a town few people here had even heard of-Craig was still occasionally amused that anyone from Washington should go to such trouble to seek him out at this gathering. He was a private man, without the slightest interest in earning public acclaim. Actually, the only thing on his mind at the moment was collecting Sonia and getting the hell out of here.

Some sixth sense told Sonia that Craig was approaching. It was strange, but somehow she had only to intuit his proximity and her every feminine instinct was aroused. For the hundredth time, she thought idly that it was really very difficult not to be proud of him, even if she did have to bully him into coming here.

She didn’t have to spot him to know the look of him, wending his way through the crowd, a boyish shock of brown hair on his forehead, a disgracefully all-American smile catching every woman’s eye. He moved in lithe, lazy motions, with an easy sensuality that never betrayed tension. Tell me your secrets, said those brilliant blue eyes. If one looked closely enough, one could see the crow’s-feet around those eyes, and the experience and character in his strong features that bespoke his thirty-five years. He was five foot ten, but he carried himself like a man of six-eleven. Naturally, people cornered him to talk. People envied his self-assurance, his vitality…

Sonia wasn’t a bit prejudiced.

Well, a little, perhaps. Her husband had a few glaring faults. She generally treated those carefully. For instance, since she planned to be married to him for all of her next thousand lives, she figured she still had plenty of time to convince him that it was okay to take an occasional laurel for who he was and what he’d already done with his life.