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Aunt Cleo caught them watching and narrowed her eyes. Jesse turned dutifully toward his bride.

“What happens now, Mrs. Pickett?” he asked.

She considered. “Supper. A quiet ride home. Tomorrow, perhaps you can introduce me to that famous bend in the river.”

“On Buck?”

“You promised to teach me. I have witnesses.”

“I’ll need another horse.”

“Then I’d best give you until spring.”

“Good.” He drew her hand to his lips. “Because I mean to spend a good long time keeping that promise.”

Her smile softened. “You have time, Jesse.”

The words were a greater gift than she knew. He would have to give testimony and write letters to Missouri. His leg might never move exactly as it once had. Some nights he would remember the saloon.

Tomorrow belonged to them, and so did the spring after it. He would ride again, in his own time, and one day he would bring Eden to the river bend without a soul fussing over him.

For now, he had her hand, her laughter, and a lifetime in which to learn the rest.

Epilogue

Jesse and Eden had been married a year, and he still stole kisses in the kitchen. Eden was reaching for the cinnamon when he came up behind her. His hand settled at her waist, and his lips brushed her cheek.

“You’re supposed to be bringing in firewood,” she said.

“Did.”

“Then why are your hands empty?”

“Set it by the stove.” He kissed her again. “Had another errand.”

She turned within his arms. The kitchen was warm with the heat of the cookstove, and he smelled of cold air and pine. His hair was damp from melting snow. A year ago, she’d been afraid to touch him for fear of causing pain. Now he bent to kiss her as easily as he reached for his hat.

Not every day was easy. His right hand still stiffened when he worked too long in the cold, and a wet morning could leave his leg dragging before breakfast. But he’d saddled Buck himself that morning and ridden out to check a fence with Beau. When he came home, he’d brought back a bit of evergreen for the window and the pleased expression of a man who had accomplished precisely what he’d intended.

“You were out longer than you said,” Eden told him.

“Fence was down.”

“Was it?”

“Buck had opinions about the way it ought to be fixed.”

“Did you listen?”

“Never pays to argue with that horse.”

Eden glanced at the flour dusting his coat sleeve. “And you somehow found time to come through the pantry.”

Jesse grinned. “A man ought to know what’s cooking on his anniversary.”

She had not forgotten. A ribbon of blue silk lay hidden in her apron pocket, tied around a small package she meant to give him when they were alone.

“Then you ought to know Aunt Cleo says dinner won’t cook itself.”