I don’t even answer with words. I just walk straight into his arms and hold on tight.
“That good, huh?”
“She planned it,” I say into his chest. “All of it. She knew about us before we even met.”
“What are you talking about?”
I pull back and look at him. “Mavis. She left me another letter. She said she saw two broken people who needed each other and decided to put us together in the same place and see what happened.”
He’s quiet for a moment, processing this new information. Then a slow smile spreads across his face.
“That crafty old woman.”
“The craftiest. So we were just puppets in her grand scheme.”
“Apparently.”
I reach up and touch his face. “Do you mind?”
“Mind that the woman who saved my life also managed to guide me to the love of my life?” He turns his head and kisses my palm. “No, Eleanor, I don’t mind at all.”
He pulls me close and kisses me softly, right there on Main Street in front of Harlan’s office, where anyone walking by can see.
I don’t care. Let them see. Let the whole town talk.
I’m home.
EPILOGUE
One year later, the first Fall Festival since I officially became the owner of The Rusty Spur is everything I dreamed it would be. The weather is perfect, crisp and clear, with gold and red leaves dotting the mountains.
The crowds are bigger than last year, and the pie contest is fiercer than ever. I place third with my apple crumble. I consider that progress.
The Rusty Spur is thriving. Revenue is up forty percent thanks to some changes I’ve made and the reputation we’ve built. Gary Allen disappeared into oblivion when every property owner in town declined his repeated offers. Last I heard, he’d moved on to developing some resort in Tennessee. I sure hope those communities fight as hard as we did.
Wyatt and I are taking things slow, the way we promised we would. Sunday dinners at Meredith’s. Saturday mornings in the garden. Long walks through town where we hold hands and talk about everything and nothing. We’re building something real.
The festival is winding down when Wyatt finds me near the pie booth.
“Come with me,” he says, taking my hand.
“Where are we going?”
“It’s a surprise.”
I let him lead me through the thinning crowds, past the craft booths and the stage, up the hill toward the overlook where they threw my welcome party over a year ago. The sun is setting, painting everything gold. The whole valley is spread out below us. Copper Creek is glowing in the last light of day. I can see The Rusty Spur from up here, just the neon sign starting to flicker on.
“It’s beautiful,” I say.
“You’re beautiful.”
I turn to look at him and find him on one knee.
My heart feels like it stops in my chest.
“Eleanor,” he says, his voice shaking a bit. “A year and a half ago, you walked into my bar in a pencil skirt and pearls, and I thought you were the most annoying woman I’d ever met.”
I laugh through sudden tears.
