by JoAnn Ross
He dragged his hand through his hair and cursed. A rich, earthy curse she'd never heard from him before. "Do you hate me too badly?"
"Hate you?" Noel laughed. "Darling, I could never hate you." She framed his distressed face between her palms and kissed him. A light, friendly kiss with no sexual overtones. "I told you, I'll always love you."
Two days later, Noel was in Washington, D.C., helping Chantal hang paintings for the gallery showing.
"So it's really over."
"Yes."
"Are we happy about that?" Chantal asked carefully.
"Very happy," Noel assured her.
"Good." Chantal's smile was as dazzling as ever. "So, what will you do now?"
Noel shrugged. "I'm not sure. At the moment, the only thing I do know is that I belong in Whiskey River." She took another framed drawing out of the carton. "There's an inn I might buy."
"You're thinking of running an inn?"
"Perhaps. Or perhaps I'll just live there."
"And do what?"
Noel shrugged. "Play it by ear, I suppose."
Chantal shook her head. "I think that's a very good idea. And very unlike you." Noel was infamous for her lists and schedules. "Are you certain you didn't suffer any head injuries in that accident?"
"I'm fine." She cut the string and began unwrapping the brown paper. "Truly."
"Well, I for one, think it's time you had a little enjoyment out of life. You've always worked too hard."
Chantal said. She glanced over at the painting Noel was staring at.
"Oh, I like that one."
"So do I," Noel agreed as she studied the painting of a woman, clad in a red dress, holding a dapper, well-dressed man at gunpoint.
"Do you know," Chantal said thoughtfully, her gaze going from Noel to the painting and back to Noel again, "that woman looks a great deal like you."
Noel laughed, feeling happier and more carefree than she had in days.
Epilogue
Noel had never been happier. Three months after her return to Whiskey River, comfortably settled into her new home, she was in the front yard, weeding the garden, when the sound of a car engine coming up the long curving driveway caught her attention. Nearby, beneath an apple tree laden with fruit, her dog gave one quick sharp bark.
The big yellow dog had shown up her first day in the former bed and breakfast, behaving as if he belonged there. Which, she knew, he did.
"It's okay," she assured the animal. "I've been expecting company."
After spending the night dreaming of Wolfe, she'd awakened with a feeling of expectation. A feeling that had escalated when she'd reached into the drawer of the bedside table and discovered that the Rogues Across Time book had mysteriously disappeared. Fortunately, Wolfe's books remained on her bookshelf.
She stood up, experiencing a brief light-headedness and a faint fluttering in her stomach. Although morning sickness had kept her close to home, she did not resent the frequent nausea.
Because, along with Bret Starr's painting that Chantal had sent her—the one depicting her in the red dress, holding Jeremy Knickerbocker at gunpoint, the one currently hanging on her bedroom wall—this child growing in her womb was proof that her exciting, blissful time with Wolfe had not been a dream. Or a fantasy.
She may not have Wolfe, but she would have his child. Somehow, miraculously, proof of their love had transcended time and space.
As she watched, a man climbed out of a forest-green Jeep.
With a whelp of welcome, the dog went bounding over to him, dancing circles around his legs.
"Hello," he said, a friendly smile on his face as he approached her. With his right hand, he casually ruffled the dog's thick yellow fur. "I'm Mackenzie Reardon, owner of the Rim Rock Record."
"Oh, yes. Hello, Mr. Reardon. It's nice to finally meet you."
"It's a pleasure to meet you, too, Your Highness."
"Please." She took off her canvas gardening gloves and extended her hand. "It's Noel."
"Noel." As his hand closed around hers, a current surged through his fingers, into hers. Seeing the surprise in his eyes, she knew she was not the only one who'd felt it.
There was a long pause. A pregnant pause, Noel thought with inward humor.
"Well," he said, appearing reluctant to release her hand, "as I told you on the phone, it's not every day a European princess moves to Arizona's ranching country. I thought the paper's readers might like to know about your plans. And since you haven't felt up to coming to town—"
"I've been a bit under the weather. But I'm feeling much better."
"I'm glad to hear that." Friendly green eyes set in a tanned face swept over her face with what appeared to be genuine concern. "Nothing serious, I hope."
"No. Something quite wonderful, actually." She smiled. "I'm going to have a child."
Noel watched the questions in those emerald eyes, realized the truth was going to come out sooner or later and decided who better to spread the news than a newspaperman.
"My baby's father is dead," she revealed.
"I'm sorry." His eyes, which had drifted involuntarily to her still-flat stomach, returned to hers.
"Thank you."
A little pool of silence settled over them as she looked at him and he, in turn, studied her. Although his hair was a sun-streaked chestnut, rather than black, and his eyes were the color of emeralds, rather than a deep indigo, something about the newspaperman stirred a deep-seated recognition inside Noel.
Apparently, Mac was no less affected. He was looking at her. Looking hard, looking deep. "I'm sorry," he said finally, on a faintly embarrassed laugh. "I don't mean to stare, but I have the strangest feeling that we've met somewhere."
"I'm not as famous as my older brother or sister, but I've received my share of press. You've undoubtedly seen a photograph."
"I suppose that's it," he murmured absently.
Noel could see the lingering doubt in his eyes. A doubt that echoed in her own heart.
When he lifted his hand to drag it through his thick wavy hair again, Noel viewed the birthmark on his wrist. A mark that looked, remarkably, wonderfully, like the head of a wolf.
"Mr. Reardon, do you like lemonade?"
"Who doesn't? Especially on a hot day like this."
"How wonderful. And as it happens, I was feeling unusually domestic this morning and did some baking. Would you care to share a piece of chocolate cake with me?"
A dazzling smile wreathed his handsome face. "Princess, I'd be honored."
Infused with a warm, golden glow, Noel invited Mackenzie Reardon into her home.
If you've enjoyed reading about the residents of Whiskey River, Arizona, a place that Jo Ann Ross says "is where anything can happen. And often does," then you won't want to miss her new Temptation miniseries
MEN OF WHISKEY RIVER.
In October, November and December 1996 enjoy three very magical romances featuring three sexy, unforgettable men and three beautiful and unusual women. Come and be spellbound!