Fair Is the Rose (59 page)

"You crazy Yankee," he whispered, looking deep into her eyes.

"I lied—I don't hate you."

"I don't want to hear any complaining. If you marry me, you won't be living your sister's life, that's for sure."

"Take me to Wyoming. I want to see the mountains. I want to see the water lilies bloom on Lonesome Lake. I want to be your wife. I want you to love me."

His cold, wolf-gray eyes filled with emotion. He clasped her scarred hand and drew it to his chest. "Girl, if you want me to love you, you got it. I don't have anything without you. And I know it."

She smiled and dug into her valise, glad that she'd been able to hold on to it.

"What are you doing?"

She drew out the sky-blue dress. "Do you think this is a good enough wedding gown? We might find some Indian paintbrush to make a bouquet. Who knows, when we get to Noble, Dixiana might be justice of the peace. Then
she
can marry us."

"That'll be the day." He rolled his eyes.

"But we can't take too long."

"And why not?"

She laughed and threw the dress at him. "It ain't gonna fit forever, cowboy, that's why."

He pulled the dress away. "What . . . ?"

She smiled a beguiling secret smile.

"Oh, Jesus . . ." It slowly dawned on him.

"I have it on good authority the Sheridan men will come for a lynching if there isn't a ring on my finger in due haste."

He suddenly laughed and let out a Rebel yell. It echoed beneath the iron and glass canopy of the train shed. Then he kissed her, deep and sweet, as the train broke from the depot. The moon shone overhead, competing against the sparkling gaslights of the city, and the train headed west, to the mountains, where heaven kissed the earth.

God bless Wyoming and keep it wild.

final entry in the diary of
H
elen
M
ettler, age
15,

WHO died in the
T
eTONS