Bride of the Frontier (The Prophecy of Sisters Book 3)

his gray-haired, thin man following close behind and they leave me alone with the woman who is still sitting beside me.
I must be dreaming. That’s it. I’m having one of those vivid dreams my mom was telling me about. Maybe Liv and Sybilla are going to appear and tell me they’re safe and happy. Maybe I just need to go back to sleep. That’s it. I just need a little more sleep. I’m too stressed out about Sybilla and Liv.

Chapter Two
COLT
Sitting at the small desk in my parlor, I decide not to go down to my main home office. I’m not willing to miss seeing her. I want to watch her walk into this room, I want to see her standing upright and take in her true shape. Take in every part of her.
I don’t know who this woman is, but she is important somehow. I can feel it. She is not a soiled dove, she did not speak of a husband lost. In fact, the way that she spoke was odd in and of itself.
There is more to her and I need to know if she’s some kind of spy or what exactly her purpose on my land is and why she would walk around the desert with little coverings and no horse, alone.
Ernest appears with a tray of food and water as I asked him to. He doesn’t say anything, but I can feel his sideways glance in my direction. I ignore it. As the leader of this entire country, I can and do what I wish without giving him or anyone else an explanation.
Though, I’m technically supposed to have a consult with the Assembly before I make any major decisions, but they can’t stop me from doing a dratted thing. Not at all. I have ultimate power, which I didn’t agree was the way they needed to reform the government, but they voted and made that decision, not me.
“You have a comment?” I ask Ernest before he leaves the room, curious to hear what he has to say about the situation.
He clears his throat, then looks to his boots before he lifts his head and his gaze meets mine. “I fear she could be dangerous, sir.”
I hum. He’s probably not completely wrong, but I’m not quite sure what kind of danger. I don’t know if she’s dangerous for our country or just me personally. Thinking about her again has me reasoning that it is more likely she is dangerous for me personally more than anything. I am far too physically attracted to her.
“She probably is,” I admit. “Though I won’t know the level of danger until I speak with her a bit further.”
He nods his head once, but doesn’t move from his post. I fear the old dog may actually like me and be worried for my welfare. I want to tell him not to bother, that I can care for myself, but I don’t. Something inside causes me to hesitate.
Clearing my throat, I stand to my feet and walk over to the window. Looking out, I take pride and joy in the fact that everything for as far as my eyes can see is mine. I’m not sure that I’ve earned every bit of it yet, but I will.
With my hands clasped behind my back, I stand staring at the land as the sun begins to drift downward and start its descent to set and the night slowly takes over. I don’t know when she’ll find her way into my parlor, but I’ll wait until she does.
Not long after the sun has set, I hear the door open, and the rustling of fabric, but I don’t turn around immediately.
Bracing myself for her beauty, I inhale a deep breath and slowly turn to face her. She’s standing just inside of the door, her hair long and shiny, her berry lips parted, and her eyes wide as they move around the room quickly, taking everything in around her.
Dipping my chin in greeting, I take the moment to allow my gaze to roam over her entire body. I jerk back slightly at the sight of her. She’s wearing what looks to be thick men’s pants and a shirt of some kind. I can’t quite tell what the fabric is made of, but it’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before.
“Who are you?” I ask in a harsh, demanding tone without meaning to. The words slip out through my surprise.
To her credit, she doesn’t even flinch from my harshness. “I’m Birdie Collins. Who are you?”
Her brow arches and her berry lips press together as she waits for my response. I think about playing with her, knowing that she no doubt knows exactly who I am. There is not a man, woman, or child who doesn’t know who I am in this land. Deciding that playing games is not something that I wish to do today, I tell her the truth.
“Colton James, most folks I’m friendly with call me Colt.”
I watch as she looks around the room once more, then her lips turn up into a small smile. “And where exactly are we? Because I know this isn’t Arizona… unless…”
“Oh my god, is this one of those reenactment ghost towns? You’re all actors, right?” she asks, lifting her hand and twirling her finger around. “How did I even get here? Are my sisters here? Are they fucking with me?”
Arching a brow, I lift my hands to my hips and watch her, confused by her words, by their meaning, and the speed with which she says them. I’ve never heard a woman or person talk this fast in my entire life.
“I understand the words you’ve said, but the context has lost me,” I admit.
She tilts her head to the side. “Man, I mean I knew a lot of reenactment places took shit completely seriously, but I guess I never thought that ghost town ones would,” she mumbles.
“Why don’t you go and sit down, have something to eat. You’re probably hungry,” I