Heart of the Sandhills
By Stephanie Grace Whitson
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She found him leaning on the corral fence, one foot on the bottom rung, his elbows resting on the top. Instead of tugging playfully on the long braid that hung down his back, as was her habit, she lifted his arm and slipped beneath it, nestling against him and murmuring, "Stop worrying, Daniel. They are coming to see you--not the things you own."