Chapter 33

“I’m so relieved you’re all right,” Clare said, taking Ben from Grace and cradling him in her arms. Ben sang and blabbered in her ear, and Grace laughed. Oh, how freeing it felt to laugh when she’d thought she never would again.

Ben pushed back with his hands and with a serious look on his cute round face said to Clare, “Mama, mama, mama.”

Clare chuckled and tickled his cheeks. “I’m not your mama. I’m Clare. Say ‘Clare.’”

“Mama, mama, mama!”

Clare ruffled Ben’s hair. “I guess that’s the only word he’s learned so far.”

Grace shrugged. “I can’t get him to say anything else.” She kissed Ben’s cheek, and he squirmed in delight.

“Someday he won’t like those kisses,” Clare said, tickling Ben under the arms.

Grace sighed and took in the sight of her precious healthy baby boy. “I’ll rue that day. I hope he’ll always want kisses from his mama.”

Clare’s expression turned serious. “I know you probably don’t want to talk about what happened. When I heard you’d been kidnapped—” She paused and pinched her lips together. “I’m just glad they found you in time.”

Grace nodded. She would tell Clare the whole dreadful tale someday. But right now, she just wanted to feel the warm sun on her shoulders and revel in her freedom. But where was Monty? She’d caught a glimpse of him entering the sheriff’s office. Maybe the sheriff needed him to make a statement.

She kept trying to think of how she would tell him all the things she wanted to say to him. And everything she came up with led her back to the same questions: What would he do? Would he believe her?

What if she could never prove they’d been married? Then Monty would never leave Stella, for he was an honorable, God-fearing man. Even though he’d kissed her, she could never expect him to sin against God. And it would be wrong for her to press him. What would happen if she told him about their marriage—and that Ben was his baby—and he thought she was lying?

Yet, anyone could see Ben’s resemblance to his father. He had his father’s chin and jaw. Even the one hazel eye. How could Monty look at his son and not see she was telling the truth?

Grace’s gut soured with worry. Had he only declared his love to her up in the mountains in a moment of passion and relief in the aftermath of his near-death ordeal? Or did he truly love her? Did he love Stella more? If he did, why had he risked his life and joined the posse?

She should just go home, back to the Franklins’. She wondered if they were all right; she didn’t spot them here in the crowd. If Monty wanted to see her, she supposed he knew where to find her. Maybe after he’d had some time to recover from his new head injury, she would find the nerve to talk to him. If she could get him away from Stella. Oh, this was all so complicated and disheartening.

She stood and reached for Ben.

“Where are ya goin’?” Clare asked, still cuddling Ben. “You’re not still thinkin’ of leavin’ town now, are ya?” Clare narrowed her eyes at Grace in a playful way. “Ya still have to make my weddin’ dress—or have ya forgotten?”

Grace smiled, but her heart felt heavy and her limbs weak. “I’ve not forgotten,” she said. “Maybe tomorrow we can—”

Her words stuck in her throat as she caught sight of Monty hurrying down the street toward her, his face lit up like a Christmas tree.

“Monty!” Grace called out. Clare looked at her in surprise when she said his name.

He descended upon her in a whirlwind of joy, causing the breath to whoosh from her lungs. He swung her up into the air with his strong arms, then pulled her into his chest. She sucked in a shocked breath as he searched her eyes, as if looking long and hard for something he had lost.

“Grace, oh, Grace,” he murmured, drinking her in. Grace’s blood ignited with desire as he stroked her cheeks, which had flushed in embarrassment at all the eyes turned toward them.

“Monty, I . . . I . . .”

Before she could finish her sentence, he smothered her words with his mouth, and kissed her deeply and passionately, pressing her close and wrapping his arms around her. Grace heard shocked gasps and whispers erupt around her, but she didn’t care. All she wanted was to feel Monty’s lips on hers, the heat of his skin, his hands claiming her as his own.

After his long amorous kiss, he pulled back and smiled at her—with the same smile that had won her heart so many years ago. It was a smile full of unbridled love, running free and wild, like an untamed river. Like a herd of wild horses running roughshod over her heart.

“Grace,” he said breathless, in a whisper, his eyes wide with astonishment. “I remember.”

She stepped back, trembling. “What? Monty, what do you remember?” The question hung pregnant in the air between them, and her pulse throbbed in her throat.

He laid a hand on her cheek and said, “Everything, Grace. I remember everything . . .”

“Oh, Monty!” Grace threw herself back into his arms and sobbed into his chest. She heard Clare’s voice. Then Eli’s, and even Tilde’s. The voices blended together into a murmuring river that flowed past her ears and left her untouched. For she stood upon a rock above the noise and roar of the crowd, in this sacred place of refuge, in her husband’s arms, and nothing now could hurt her ever again.

He released her and reached into his trousers pocket, then pulled out a folded piece of paper.

“Here,” he said, handing it to her.

Grace questioned him with her eyes, but he merely nodded for her to read it.

She gasped. It was their marriage certificate. She looked closer and ran her finger across her partially smeared name.

“This . . . this is our marriage certificate. The original.” How could it be? “Monty, this was in your satchel—the one you were wearing when you fell into the river.”

He nodded. “Stella had it—hidden in the house. With a stack of your letters.” He paused, then added, “And this . . .”

He reached again into his pocket, and then opened his hand to show her.

Her wedding band lay in his palm.

As the tears poured down her cheeks, her heart bursting with joy, Monty slipped the ring on her finger—back where it belonged. She held up her hand and stared at it, incredulous. She never thought she see her ring again—and not on her finger.

“I love you, Grace Cunningham. I always have, and I always will.” He cupped her head in his gentle hands. Then he turned to Clare, who Grace only now noticed was crying and sobbing in joy, standing beside her, with Eli next to her, a simpering grin pasted on his face, his arm entwined in hers.

From the corner of her eye, she spotted Tildie and Charity, staring in shock at the spectacle unfolding before them. Grace smiled, imagining what they must be thinking, seeing her in Monty’s arms. No longer would anyone in town claim she had made up the story about her lost husband—or call Ben an illegitimate child.

Monty held out his arms, and Clare deposited Ben into them. Ben flung himself at his father and grabbed Monty’s face with his little hands.

Grace cried at the sight of Ben laughing and pinching Monty’s cheeks. Oh, it was too wonderful, the sight of father and son laughing together—only hours after they’d both nearly drowned.

“That’s your papa,” Clare told Ben. The baby turned and looked at her, attentive and curious. “Say, ‘papa,’” Clare instructed.

Ben gave a big toothy smile and turned to Monty. “Papa!” he shouted. “Papa, papa, papa!”

Grace gasped in delight, and Clare swiveled to her. “See,” she told Grace. “He was just waiting for the right time to say his next word.”

Grace looked at Monty, whose face radiated with rapturous joy and delight in his son. Monty said, his eyes riveted on his baby, “That’s the sweetest word I’ve ever heard.”

“Eli,” LeRoy yelled over the crowd from the direction of the courthouse. Grace turned with the others as LeRoy ran over to them, holding on to the wide brim of his black hat, his eyes excited in a way Grace had never seen before.

“You’re not gonna believe this,” he said, then looked at Monty and shut right up.

“What?” Clare asked, as Eli narrowed his eyes at him.

LeRoy glanced at the expectant faces, then cleared his throat and said to Monty, “It’s about . . . Lenora.”

“Lenora?” Clare asked. “Who’s she?”

Grace waited for LeRoy to explain, but he only shared an unspoken thought with Monty. Odd.

“I already know,” Monty told LeRoy, his face shifting into a somber expression. “But Grace doesn’t.”

“Know what?” Grace asked, her heart racing. Something bad had happened, but what could it be?

“Grace,” Monty said quietly, Ben hoisted in his arms, “let’s walk.”

Monty nodded at LeRoy, and as soon as she and Monty were out of earshot, walking down College Avenue toward Maple and the Franklins’ house, she glanced back and saw her friends talking in a close huddle in all seriousness.

As they walked, Monty had his arm wrapped around her but said nothing, his thoughts seeming far away, and she recalled the day the tornado had swooped down on them—not all that long ago. Although, it seemed years ago. So much had happened in the last week, her head reeled trying to sort it out. Even though she’d slept the sleep of the dead last night at Whitcomb’s ranch, overcome by exhaustion and relief, she could now hardly keep her eyes open. Yet she couldn’t bear the thought of returning to her little room in the Franklins’ house and closing the door behind her, leaving Monty to go home to Stella.

He wouldn’t now, though, would he? No, of course not. But what would Stella do when she discovered Monty had learned the truth about her deceit? When she learned his memory had returned? Would she retaliate? Grace wouldn’t put it past Stella to do something awful.

Then, Grace stopped suddenly her heart pounding. She looked at Monty. “It’s about Stella, isn’t it? She had something to do with my kidnapping.” Grace’s mind raced. Was it possible? Did Stella hire the outlaws to kidnap her—just to get rid of her and Ben? But why would she do that? Then she remembered Billy and Clayton arguing about a woman named Lenora, and how Lenora wanted Grace dead.

“Lenora is Stella . . .” Grace muttered, more to herself than to Monty.

She looked into his face, and his eyebrows raised. “Yes, she is. Or . . . was.”

Grace’s hand flew to her throat. “Was?”

Monty’s face clouded over. “She’s dead. She came to the cabin to get the gold, hoping the posse would kill Wymore and Cloyd first, getting them out of her way. But Wymore shot her—after he ran out of the cabin. After he stabbed Cloyd.” He fell silent, letting her think on his words.

Grace was speechless. Stella was dead.

“Lenora’s surname was Dutton. She was married to Hank Dutton, the leader of the gang. He was hanged last year in Denver City. Then she rode north and found me unconscious on the bank of the river. She told me she was my fiancée and that we’d come from St. Louis.” Monty looked apologetic. “She told me my name was Malcolm Connors.”

Grace nodded and swallowed past the lump in her throat. “And you had no reason to disbelieve her.”

He took her hands in his and faced her. “If she hadn’t found me, Grace, I never would have found you,” he said, then stroked her cheek. “Likely I would have died, or else ended up wandering off somewhere, picking a name for myself, settling into a town and working at some odd job or other.”

When she didn’t say anything, he touched the pendant hanging from her neck and looked at it. “I remember telling you not to lose hope, when I left you by the river that day—when you lost me. And you held on to hope and didn’t let go. I’m grateful for that, Grace.” He leaned in and kissed her long and passionately, then Ben grabbed her hair and pulled.

“Papa! Papa! Papa!”

Monty laughed as Grace untethered Ben’s little hand from her hair. “He sure is a happy baby,” he said.

“He’s just glad to finally have his pa.” She put a finger on Monty’s lips, and he kissed it. “And I am too.”

“And I also told you not to worry—that the Lord would make a way. And even though it seems an odd sort of way of bringing us back together, well, here we are,” he said, the love burning like a hot fire in his eyes.

Grace looked up the street at the house she’d been living in for more than a year. It had never felt like home—no place ever would without Monty. She then recalled what Sarah Banks had told her—about how she’d have to go over the falls to get to the calm, quiet pool, where everything would be restored to her. And where all her pain and suffering would flow out to the sea. Grace luxuriated in the calm place of restoration, feeling renewed, reborn. Washed clean of her pain and grief.

“Let’s go talk to the Franklins—tell them the news,” Monty suggested. He pulled her in close again, and she wondered at the sparkle in his eyes. “You know that man Marcus Coon—who rode partway into town with us—the one who rode with the posse to save you? He has a fine hotel in Fort Collins. How ’bout we have dinner in his restaurant and stay in his finest suite? Leave Ben with Clare for the night. Have ourselves something like a second honeymoon—since our first got a bit waylaid.” He gently cupped her cheek, then let his hand wander down her neck. Grace shuddered at his sensual feathery touch, so full of promise.

“Whatcha think about that, Mrs. Cunningham?”

Grace’s pulse raced, imagining the long-awaited night of passion ahead of her. The love inside her swelled and overflowed the banks of her heart, and she joyfully let it sweep her away.

“I like it just fine, Mr. Cunningham,” she said. “It’s all I could ever hope for.”