From the moment he saw her, red hair like a beacon against the windswept bluffs, the details of her imagination set to paper now scattered on the winds, he had been enchanted. That he had been with Elvira Evans, at the beginning of a tender cultivation of a business relationship, should have been of more importance. True, Elvira had pointed out the redhead in distress, but still he should've known better. Instead, he had chased down an errant page and returned it to its mistress. Had she reacted with the haughty self-importance so inborn to the upper classes, he'd have stalked off with a tip of his hat and never looked back. Instead, her sweet smile and genuine thank you had touched him, and he'd taken a few minutes to subtly interrogate her. Being called back to his responsibilities in more ways than one, he'd finally relinquished her and returned to his charge, determining with each step to put the titian-tressed writer out of his mind. Fate, as it turned out, had other plans.
The next time their paths had crossed had appropriately been at a crossroads. She had been driving a plain carriage with a beautiful roan lead, and he had been clearing his head behind the wheel of his automobile. Then her nature had not been sweet and quiet; she'd been outspoken and stubborn and shown the fiery independent side of herself. He had still been enchanted, had tried to convince her he could be a gentleman and offered to take her anywhere she needed. He was used to the city mentality of society girls, who were perhaps less observing of strict social proprieties, and her staunch refusal had been like a refreshing breeze. In hindsight, it was better she hadn't gone with him. Despite his assertions of gentlemanly behaviour, he would've found her far too distracting and downright tempting not to attempt at least a quick kiss beneath some convenient covered bridge on the way home.
At KLC, she'd turned out to be one of Em's instructors and her true age had come to light then. Surely she was too young for him. Whatever the social conventions said, he would be uncomfortable with a wife only a few years older than his daughter. Yet in his thoughts she remained, the constant presence in the back of his mind was like the small sore on the roof of one's mouth that caused ever-present annoyance because it could not be left alone long enough to heal. She was maddening and passionate, bold and marvelous. The insults he'd lobbed at her and his subtle machinations to remove her were despicable and entirely self serving. Out of sight out of mind was sadly not working. Morgan was beginning to feel that perhaps out of town might do the trick. Heaven forefend but his mother had been right: he wasn't acting like a man. And if he allowed himself to seriously consider a pursuit, that would have to change.