No-he wouldn’t ask it of her. Wouldn’t do that to her. The tears he could see shimmering in those green-gold eyes of hers were hard enough to bear. He was so busy denying himself happiness, denying it so vehemently, it was a moment before he realized what she was saying, in her husky, shaking whisper.

“Roan…don’t you know? There’s nothing of that life I want. Not anymore. That life…was my past. My future?” She hitched one shoulder, and a tear spilled over and ran down her cheek. She brushed it away with a little laughing sob. “I’d like to think that might be here…with you. And Susie Grace.”

“Really?” He felt exhausted, suddenly…wracked with pain and a sort of dazed and wary hope, the way he imagined a marathon runner must feel when he staggers across the finish line…unable to grasp the fact that the long race is finally over, and that he’s won. “I’m just a small-town sheriff, Mary, all I’ve got-”

The tears in her eyes seemed to sizzle, now. “Maybe a small-town sheriff is what I want.”

He frowned down at her, still not ready to believe. “You’d really stay with me? Marry me?” She nodded, vigorously, touching her fingers to her tear-drenched lips. He let out an exasperated breath. “Then I’ve really got to ask you, why?”

“Because I love you,” she burst out, laughing and crying again. Fire and rain. “I really love you. So much I’m willing to marry you in the hopes that someday you’ll come to love me.”

“Come to-” He stared at her, stunned, then reached for her with shaking hands. “My God, Mary,” he whispered as he pulled her to him, “don’t you know? I do already. Love you.”

“I know,” she murmured with a long sigh as she snuggled joyfully against him. “I just wanted to hear you say it.”

On the day Boyd Stuart was arraigned on murder charges for the shooting of Jason Holbrook, and the charges against Mary Owen were formally dismissed, Roan paid a visit to the cemetery. He went there fairly regularly, especially in the spring and summertime, when there were fresh flowers to put on Erin’s grave. On this particular day, though, he found he wasn’t there alone. When he saw the tall figure standing beside his wife’s tombstone, head bowed, hat in his hands, expensively cut Western-style jacket hanging loosely from stooped shoulders, he checked and hitched in a breath before he went on.

“Mornin’, Cliff,” he said as he joined him.

Senator Holbrook looked over at him, nodded, then shifted his hat to one hand. “Roan… Uh, listen, I’ll be getting out of your way. I just…” He waved a hand, cleared his throat and said gruffly, “They set Jason’s marker today. I wanted to stop by before I left town, you know…just to check-make sure everything was right.” He paused…gestured with his hat toward the simple granite block that bore the words, Erin Elizabeth Stuart Harley-Beloved Wife and Mother-Beloved Daughter. “I hope you know how sorry I am.”

The pain in the other man’s voice made Roan look at him, much as he didn’t want to. The man who was most likely his father looked haggard…a hundred years old. Roan tightened his jaw and nodded, knowing the senator wasn’t asking for his sympathy, wouldn’t want it if it was offered.

“Jason was my son,” Holbrook said in a voice like tearing cloth. “But I never would have-” His voice broke, and he finished in a harsh whisper. “You have to believe-I didn’t know.”

“I know,” Roan said, with a tightness in his own throat. He held out his hand. After a brief hesitation the senator took it in both of his, his politician’s handshake.

“Son…” For a long moment the man’s glittering blue eyes gazed back into Roan’s. Then he squeezed his hand once more-hard-and went striding away across the grass.

Roan watched him go, then huffed out a breath and reached to lay the sprays of lilac he’d brought on top of the tombstone. A few minutes later Mary came to join him, holding Susie Grace by the hand-his two red-headed women. Tears misted his eyes as he lifted Susie Grace up so she could add her sprig of lilac to his, then took Mary’s hand and held it while she put hers there, too. Then they all turned and walked back to the car together.

Something stirred through his hair like warm breath…caressed his cheek with loving fingers. The wind? Perhaps…it could have been. But Roan knew better; his Spirit Messenger’s touch was familiar to him now.

This time, he had the strangest feeling she was saying goodbye.

Epilogue

Joy gave the bridal veil one last twitch, then leaned down to lay her cheek alongside Yancy’s-no, Mary-she must remember to call her Mary from now on. “It’s just perfect-you look absolutely beautiful, sweetie pie.”

She straightened up to look out the windows, checking on the girls. She saw her daughter Carrie prancing across the Hartsville United Methodist Church lawn, showing Susie Grace exactly how she was supposed to scatter the rose petals in her basket. Susie Grace looked absolutely perfect, too, in her frothy yellow flower-girl dress and blue cowboy boots, a wreath of daisies in her red hair.

“Okay, now, stand up,” Joy ordered, turning back to the bride. “Let me have a look at you…okay, no wrinkles…oops-you’ve got a smudge of lipstick…” She stood back, hands on her hips. “Darlin’, have you been kissin’ the groom ahead of time? Now, shame on you.”

Mary gave a guilty giggle. “Guess I just couldn’t help it. You should see him-he looks so adorable in his black Western-style suit-kind of like a riverboat gambler.”

Joy reached for her hands and gave them a squeeze. Her throat was tight with emotion. “Oh, honey-you really have found it, haven’t you? That rainbow you were chasing? The fairy tale…happiness.”

A laugh burst from her dearest friend’s lips, along with a sob. Her lovely green-gold eyes sparked fire…streamed rain.

“Yes,” Mary whispered, and her smile was like the sun breaking through. “Oh, yes.”

KATHLEEN CREIGHTON

has roots deep in the California soil but has relocated to South Carolina. As a child, she enjoyed listening to old-timers’ tales, and her fascination with the past only deepened as she grew older. Today she says she is interested in everything-art, music, gardening, zoology, anthropology and history, but people are at the top of her list. She also has a lifelong passion for writing, and now combines her two loves in romance novels. Her book The Top Gun’s Return won the 2004 RITA® Award for Best Long Contemporary Novel.