“I hear you have a ranch for sale.” His voice was like the slow burn of a good cognac. His gaze was just as hot.
“Six thousand acres,” she said. “And a few head of cattle to go with it.”
“Awfully big place for a single man.” He took a step toward her, and her mouth went dry.
“You…mean to live here alone, then.”
“Hadn’t planned on it.”
The breath rushed from her lungs. A second later she was in his arms. “Chance!”
He crushed her to him and released a storm of kisses upon her face, in her hair, lifting her off her feet as he spun her around. “I love you, Dora.”
“You do?”
Laughing, he spun her again.
“Since when?”
He glanced up at the portrait of a much younger Delilah hanging above the bar, and laughed so hard his eyes watered. The tastefully draped silk scarf covering the subject’s bare bottom was a nice touch, Dora thought.
“Since the moment you first saw that picture and you fainted dead away.”
“I seem to recall that you were the last thing I saw before becoming overwhelmed by my, um, surroundings.”
He made a lusty sound in the back of his throat and shot her a roguish look not unlike those he’d bestowed upon her while in gambler’s guise. “We could try that again. This time I promise to keep you conscious.”
It was her turn to laugh.
He kissed her, and she let go of all her fears. When the time was right, she’d share with him all that she’d learned about her family and all she’d come to discover about herself. When she looked into his eyes she saw that he was ready to share with her, too.
He set her on her feet and held her face between his hands. “I love you, Eudora Elizabeth Fitzpatrick. Will you marry me?”
She made a mental note to herself to document every word in her diary, every look, the light in his eyes and the tenderness of his touch, though she knew this moment would burn forever in her heart, a memory she’d never forget.
“Yes,” she said. “I will.”
Epilogue
Six months later
“I look so stern.” Dora studied the recently completed portrait of her that Chance had commissioned as a wedding gift.
“Well, you are a schoolmarm, aren’t you?”
She thumped him playfully on the arm. “School-teacher.”
He grinned and pulled her into a bear hug. “And a fine one at that.”
A month after they’d married, Dora opened a school in Last Call in the small, whitewashed church at the end of Main Street. Construction had already begun on a new schoolhouse, along with several other new businesses, in anticipation of the long-awaited railroad. For the first time in its history, Last Call was booming without the trade the Royal Flush saloon had once brought in.
Dora couldn’t have been more thrilled. “I like this room much better as a parlor, don’t you?”
Together they studied the fruits of their recent labor, the transformation of the saloon back into a proper ranch house. While Chance had converted the stage into a nice living area, they’d decided to keep the red velvet décor, the rich pine bar with its brass fittings and even the cash register, as a tribute to Wild Bill Fitzpatrick, the man whose ultimate gift to them both was love.
“Oh, I don’t know. You were a damned good saloonkeeper, too.” He pecked her on the cheek, and she thumped him again.
“Don’t you have some cattle to brand or fences to mend or whatever it is you cowboys do all day?”
“Cattlemen, though I prefer the term cattle baron. Next spring we’ll have better than a thousand head of red Herefords.”
She watched his mind working. “You love it, don’t you?”
“I love you.” He kissed her again. “Which is why I’d best get this portrait hung and get back to work.” He released her and turned the oil painting over on the bar to secure its backing.
The portrait of Delilah had once again been moved, this time permanently, downstairs to the secret room, which Chance had turned into a wine cellar. As always, he wore the key, her father’s pewter watch fob, on a chain attached to his belt. As a wedding gift, Dora had given him a pocket watch to go with it.
“Silas will be happy when his portrait is finished.” Dora peered outside to the front yard where the same artist who’d painted her was putting the finishing touches on an oil of the black-and-white paint gelding. Silas stood statue-still under the oak tree, looking bored.
“I don’t know,” Chance said. “I believe he likes the attention.”
“Speaking of attention…” Dora sorted through the stack of incoming mail sitting on the bar. “It seems that Columbine and Rose and the rest of the girls have garnered a bit of their own.”
“News from Denver?”
She put on her spectacles and opened the letter from Susan she’d begun reading earlier that day. “Good news from the sound of it. It seems that Jim has purchased a theater.”
“No kidding?”
“Tom’s been writing musicals that the girls perform in. Evidently they’re quite good. Delilah’s coming out next month from Kansas City to sing in their new production. And Susan and Tom bought a house. Her son’s thriving and… Oh! They’ve got another baby on the way.”
Chance looked up from his work and shot her a devilish grin.
Dora placed a hand on her growing belly. “Three more months,” she said, “and we’ll have some news of our own to write back.”
Love shone in his eyes.
Dora retrieved her old, red leather-bound journal from the pocket of her dress.
“There,” Chance said. “It’s done.” All that remained was to seal the lower edge of the backing to the picture frame.
On impulse, Dora pushed the diary toward him. “Here. You always did want to read this. Now’s your chance.”
He hesitated, then reached for the journal. To her surprise he didn’t give it a glance. Instead he closed it, then placed it behind the canvas and sealed the backing to the frame. For the rest of their lives it hung there on the wall over the bar for future generations to find.
Special thanks and acknowledgment are given to Debra Lee Brown for her contribution to the COLORADO CONFIDENTIAL series.
ISBN: 978-1-4592-3993-7
ROCKY MOUNTAIN MARRIAGE
Copyright © 2004 by Harlequin Books S.A.
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