He held the hands tighter, and the movement drew the girl closer to him, until for no more than a breath he felt her against his breast.

In that moment he forgot all sense of time and place; forgot his old self--Jack Howland--practical, unromantic, master-builder of railroads; forgot everything but this presence of the girl, the warm pressure against his breast, the lure of the great brown eyes that had come so unexpectedly into his life.

In another moment he had recovered himself.

He drew a step back, freeing the girl's hands.
"I beg your pardon," he said softly.

His cheeks burned hotly at what he had done, and turning squarely about he strode up the trail.