“I don’t suppose you’ll want to stay Mrs. Harper after that?” he said.
She laughed, and before he knew it, she was kissing him again, her hand clutching his shoulder.
He would never let her go, not again. Ruthann knew him through and through, and he would keep her safe until his last days.
With her, he was brave enough to face anything.
Epilogue
THE FOLLOWING SUMMER. . .
Ruthann had to pause to catch her breath. Tommy Robinson and his sister Anna turned around and fell into a fit of giggles when they saw her, leaning against a tree, sweating, and resting a hand on her enormous belly.
“Go on,” Ruthann called to them. “I’ll never keep up with you two.”
The children laughed again, ran back to give her a big hug around each leg, and then tore off down the hill and through the crowd that had gathered for the town picnic.
Ruthann leaned her back against the tree, relishing the small bit of shade it gave on the hot day. The baby was due to arrive in less than a month, and not a day passed lately that she didn’t wish it might decide to come just a little bit early.
This was the perfect vantage point, just high enough to see half the town spread out before her, along the banks of the river. A handful of men had gathered a small band and were playing a lively tune. There was dancing, and games, and a few men were even racing horses, down past the edge of town and back again.
And there was food, of course. More food than Ruthann had ever thought to see in her life. The women in town had cooked up every chicken and potato and vegetable that could be found, and it was all laid out in a long spread with a pretty mismatch of tablecloths fluttering in the occasional, very welcome breeze.
Ruthann continued searching the crowd for one person in particular. She waved to Grace Hill and her sister-in-law Molly, who sat with their babies near the water. Just beyond, Sissy Flagler—still unmarried but no longer in much of a hurry to wed—chatted with several other women. She’d become much more tolerable, and almost friendly, since her fiancé had found himself locked up in the Territorial Prison. She’d even brought Ruthann a set of hairpins she claimed to have ordered straight from New York as a belated wedding gift.
Penny Young, the sheriff’s wife, presided over the food tables. Ruthann could think of no one better for the job, save for her own mother, but Mama was far too busy trying to find the “perfect man”—as she’d put it—for Norah. It seemed that seeing Ruthann so happy had then caused Mama much distress over Norah’s unmarried state. She spotted them both now, poor Norah roped into conversation with some hapless gentleman while Mama looked on, eagerly hoping for a love match.
Ruthann frowned as she reached the end of the crowd and still didn’t see Nate. He shouldn’t be that difficult to find with his photography equipment. The mayor had put him in charge of commemorating the big moments of the event, and Nate took the job seriously, setting up hours ago, before anyone had arrived for the picnic.
“There you are.”
Ruthann turned at the sound of the voice she wanted to hear the most. Nate stood behind her, holding his hat as he drew the back of his hand across his forehead.
“I was looking for you,” she said. “How is it going?”
“Very well. I’ve captured images of the band, of Francis Stiller’s winning horse, and of Mrs. Young and all of that food. The mayor is supposed to give a speech in thirty minutes, so I have time until then.” Nate looked pleased with himself, and that made Ruthann well up with pride.
