The Lady Takes A Gunslinger (Wild Western Rogues Series, Book 1) (46 page)

He paused, dropping his gaze deliberately to her mouth. "Was that about the gist of it?"

Her smile was slow to come and tremulous when it got there. "Oh, yes," she said. "That'll do just fine."

"And after this stubborn man convinced her he loved her, what did Lavinia do then?"

"Why, the only sensible thing, of course. She kissed him soundly and took him home."

"Home," he echoed, brushing her lips with the heat of his own. The word had lost its meaning for him until the day he'd met her. It seemed like a lifetime ago he'd had one. But it wasn't until she'd spoken the word aloud that he'd understood the power of it. Because now he knew that "home" and "Grace" were one and the same thing and wherever she was, that's where he wanted to be, too.

Her hand, which had been drawing languorous circles on his back, slid southward, deliciously, insistently. He went perfectly still as it snaked its way toward its illicit goal. And when she reached it, she grinned and waggled her eyebrows at him. "So what do you say, Mr. Donovan? Shall we go home now? Or shall I have my way with you first?"

"In all my livelong life," he murmured. "You are a corker, Grace Turner. I think we'll do both at once." And that's exactly what they did.

Epilogue

Late Spring, 1869

"Are you sure we need to do this now?" Grace asked, as Reese tugged her toward the spot beneath the huge oak overlooking the sprawling fields of sweet potatoes they'd planted.

She was juggling a squirming fifteen-month old Lucas on her hip, and Reese watched her touch her newly expanding waistline self-consciously, not at all sure she wanted it recorded for posterity.

"I was just about to put Lucas down for his nap," she said.

The baby, Reese mused, had his dark looks, but Grace's irrepressible smile and sense of timing. So when he chose that moment to let out an ear-splitting shout of joy at the sight of the box camera poised a few feet away, no one was surprised, except, perhaps, the silver-haired photographer Reese had brought back from town. Sam Weissman grimaced and ducked under the black cloth.

Reese laughed, scooped the child out of Grace's arms, and blew on his chubby neck with a sound that made Lucas squeal with glee. It was a sound Reese couldn't resist evoking in his son and one he seldom missed the opportunity to indulge himself in.

"There, you see?" Reese said, lifting the baby above his head like a flying bird. "He's not even tired. Are you, Peanut?"

Lucas beamed at him and reached down for his nose.

Whatever doubts Reese had harbored about his capacity to love anyone as much as he did Grace had vanished the first instant he'd looked in his son's sea green eyes. As long as he lived, he'd never forget that moment. Nor would he ever be able to repay the debt he owed Grace for giving him back his life and sharing hers with a man who'd lost his way.

He settled her onto the stool, brushing his hand against the spot where their second child grew. Grace looked up at him and smiled a secret smile. For a moment, Reese wished he hadn't brought Sam Weissman home with him to record the moment, for he could think of a hundred other ways to celebrate in private with this woman in his arms.

"So are you going to tell me what this is all about? You're up to something." Grace held her arms out for the baby and tried to decipher the expression on Reese's face. "It's not my birthday. Or yours."

"Nope."

"It's not our anniversary." She looked suddenly unsure. "Is it?"

Reese deposited Lucas in her lap and grinned. "Uh-uh."

Her eyes went wide. "You got a letter from Luke?"

Luke's letters were too few and far between to satisfy Grace's concern for him. Last they'd heard, he had gotten a job working for the railroads out west, but they knew little else. If she weren't with child again, Reese felt sure she'd be tempted to climb aboard one of those trains and find out for herself how her brother was faring.

"Did you?" she repeated.

"No. Not today, but you're getting warmer. Here's part one of the surprise." He withdrew a letter from his pocket with a Tucson, Arizona, return address.

She gave a little gasp along with Brew's name.

Tearing open the letter, she scanned it quickly. As she read, a smile tugged at her mouth. "Oh! They're coming for a visit at the end of August." She touched her belly. "In time for the baby. Reese, isn't it wonderful?"

"Aye. Go on. What else do they say?"

"Elena says that the dry air of the Arizona Territory agrees with Brew and he's doing well. They've seen Luke. He's well, too, but she says they'll tell more when they come. What do you suppose that means?"

"Knowing your brother, it could mean just about anything."

With a sigh, she kissed the top of Lucas's head as he tried to fit his pudgy fingers around a sunbeam. "August. It's so far away."

"I have a feeling you'll have your hands full until then."

She smiled up at Reese. "You said 'part one.' Does part two have anything to do with that box over there?"

Reese glanced at the small wooden crate he'd picked up from the postmaster in town. It lay nestled in the grass at the base of the tree. "Could be."

She was about to scold him for teasing her when Sam Weissman withdrew from under the black cloth and rubbed his hands together.

"Eh-hum. Are we ready? Mrs. Donovan, if you'll just try to hold the young lad still. And Mr. Donovan, a somber, dignified expression is always in order."

Reese regarded the photographer with bland disbelief. "Dignified?"

"Yes, there's the ticket," Weissman replied.

Reese held up one hand. "Wait. Grace, close your eyes. There's only one thing missing from this picture."

"What?"

"Just close your eyes, you'll see."

Dutifully, with a smile of anticipation, she did. He was only gone a few seconds, and, after fiddling with the lid of the small crate, he returned to her side. Lucas reached for Reese's secret with wide-eyed curiosity.

"Ready, Sam?" Reese asked with a wink. Sam nodded.

"It's hard to look dignified with my eyes squeezed shut," Grace said impatiently.

He leaned close, his lips brushing her ear. "Did I mention that with eyes open or shut, you're the most ravishing woman I've ever seen?"

Grace's cheeks flushed with color. "Hmm. Flattery will get you everywhere."

"Go on, then," he told her, "take a look."

With a flourish Sam removed the lens cover in time to catch the look of joy on Grace's face as she caught her first glimpse of the small hardcover novel,
The Lady Takes a Hero.
And big as life, in bold letters below the title was her name—Grace Donovan.

And after the daguerreotype appeared in the
Front Royal Gazette
that week, there wasn't a single copy of Grace's book to be found in all of the county. Nor was there was any doubt which hero in particular had inspired the romantic adventure about which Grace had written.

If Reese Donovan heard the wistful sighs of the ladies of Front Royal who passed them on the street, he showed no outward sign of it. For the ex-Texas Ranger who'd come so close to losing it all only had eyes for the scrapper of a girl who made him laugh and taught him that there were some things a man just shouldn't question.

And one of those things was her.

The End

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Want more from Barbara Ankrum?

Here's an excerpt from

THE RUINATION OF ESSIE SPARKS

The Wild Western Rogues Series

Book Two

~

Essie followed Blackthorn's gaze down the mountain. Sure enough, a handful of men on horseback—who, from this distance, looked like ants—had returned to scour the banks of the creek—searching for their tracks. Still nearly a day behind.

Only when she slid her gaze back to Blackthorn did she notice that his bronze skin had gone pale and he looked as exhausted as she felt. Leaning her forehead against the Aspen sapling he'd tied her hands around, she said, "How long do you think you can go on this way? With that bullet in your leg? You need rest and a doctor."

He walked—half-staggered, really— to his grazing horse, pulled a water-skin from a saddle and drank thirstily. "
They
won't rest," he said, with a tip of his head in the direction of the men chasing them. "And I don't see a doctor anywhere, do you?" He surprised her by holding the water skin to her mouth and letting her drink next. When she'd stated her thirst, he sank down beside a tree a few feet away from her and leaned his head back against the bark.

Essie rubbed her damp mouth against her upper arm. Sometimes, his gentleness with her was a surprise. "I could help you," she suggested. "Untie me.
I'll
take the bullet out."

For the briefest of moments, those steely gray eyes of his flicked up to hers. He seemed to actually consider her offer, whether out of desperation or, more unlikely, hope, she couldn't tell. She could not read the man, which was probably just as well because she had no desire to understand him or, worse, to care about him.

Still, when the moment passed, and it quickly did, he laughed. The sound was peculiarly without humor. "Let me understand," he said slowly. "I give you my knife so you can finish what the bullet didn't?"

Essie snorted and looked away. Of course, she wouldn't have killed him. She was not a murderer, no matter the circumstances. Unlike... possibly, some people she knew. But, heaven help her, the chance to make him pay, in some small measure—with the sharp tip of his knife—for all the torment he'd put her through since the day began, wouldn't break her heart, either.

Ugh.
That she'd even contemplated such vulgar retribution shocked her almost as much as finding herself tied to a tree in the middle of the Montana wilderness. It was all
his
fault. He had brought her to such low imaginings.