Chance Mohanon took off his hat, dark hair tumbling loose and long, a tribute to his half Cheyenne heritage that had made him forever a stranger between two worlds. With no true place to be, he had little to fear, and there was nothing but bold appreciation in his gaze as he looked over the farm girl. Daphne Wilder felt oddly challenged by the gaze, as if he were trying to direct her to turn about with those commanding eyes. In a fit of defiance most unlady like, she instead met his gaze with her own, and took the whole of him in. Her back straight, her own golden hair stirring like a banner as the breeze off the the ridge nearby fluttered through. He wanted a look? Fine, but she'd look right back.