Waiting For Spring Part 24

"Warren did wear a mask," she said firmly. "He wore a real one when he visited Sylvia's girls, but I think the one he donned when he was with you was even thicker. He didn't plan for anyone to see through it, and we didn't. He fooled us all." Even she, who should have known better, had dismissed her concerns, telling herself that she was mistaken.

They had reached the front of Mr. Yates's store. When a woman came out of the shop, Barrett raised his hat and greeted her. In another month, she would be one of his customers. In another month, he and Charlotte would be wed. But first he had to heal.

"I should have realized what was happening. I should have stopped it."

Charlotte heard the anguish in Barrett's voice and knew he was berating himself for the loss of a man he had once considered a friend. She slowed her steps, then stopped, forcing Barrett to stop too. What she wanted to say was best said when she had his full attention. She looked up at him, hoping he'd understand.

"We can't change the past. It took me a long time to accept that and realize that all I can do is make the present the best it can be."

Barrett nodded slowly, and the corners of his mouth started to twitch. Though she hadn't thought she had said anything funny, Charlotte would not quibble if her words amused him. Anything she could do to lighten Barrett's mood was good.

"You told me something like that the first time we met." There was no doubt about it. He was smiling now, the lines of pain receding, his eyes brightening. "At the time, I thought you were an impractical idealist."

On another day she might have feigned indignation over the description, but not today. "And now? Have you changed your mind?"

"Now I know you're the woman I love, the one who's seen me at my worst moments and who still wants to marry me." His expression sobered. "I suppose I should ask you the same question you asked me. Have you changed your mind? Now that you've seen what a poor judge of people I am, are you sure you want to marry me?"

Tightening her grip on his arm again, Charlotte smiled at the man she loved. "More than ever." Barrett's face might be battered; his hands might be bruised; but to Charlotte he had never looked more handsome. The wounds he bore were wounds of honor, sustained defending her and David. They were visible proof of Barrett's love, and though she might wish he had not had to incur them, she could not help but be moved by them.

The momentary doubt in his eyes vanished, replaced by the sparkle of happiness. "I love you, Charlotte."

"And I love you."

As his lips started to curve into another smile, he flattened them, and for an instant Charlotte thought he would scowl. She couldn't imagine what had changed his mood so suddenly.

"Is something wrong?" she asked.

Barrett appeared startled. "No. Yes. Maybe." He refused to meet her gaze. Instead, he stared into the distance as he said, "I suppose I ought to thank you for not giving Warren the ransom money, but you've created a problem."

"A problem?" He was making no sense. Charlotte had heard that people who sustained injuries to their heads could be confused for several days. Perhaps Warren had hurt Barrett more seriously than she had realized. Perhaps they should be on their way to see a physician, not a minister. "How can there be a problem?"

Barrett's lips quivered again, and once again Charlotte had the impression that he was trying to fight his smile. "Now I can't collect the payment," he announced.

"I don't understand."

Barrett's eyebrows rose in what appeared to be astonishment. "How could you forget? Don't you remember that when you insisted I should not sacrifice my savings, I told you I'd ask for payment when David was safe?" Charlotte nodded as the memory resurfaced. "That's the payment I want to collect. The problem is, your son is safe, but it doesn't seem quite fair to ask for anything when I still have all the money."

Though Barrett's voice was solemn, his eyes sparkled with ill-concealed mirth, and Charlotte realized that he was neither serious nor injured. He was in his right mind, trying to bring a little levity to a day that had had more than its share of tragedy.

"What kind of payment did you have in mind?" Charlotte tried to match Barrett's solemnity, though the twinkle in his eyes told her that the payment he wanted couldn't be onerous.

"A huge one."

"How huge?"

"Enormous."

She pursed her lips, pretending to be annoyed. "But you said I'd be able to afford it."

Barrett nodded. "You can. The question is whether you will want to pay it."

This was a side of Barrett Charlotte had not seen today, playful and joking, and-oh!-how she liked it. Living with a man like this would never be boring.

"Unless you tell me what you have in mind, I'll have no choice but to refuse. My mother taught me never to buy a pig in a poke."

"A what?"

"A pig in a poke." When Barrett did not seem to recognize the term, Charlotte explained. "Poke is an old-fas.h.i.+oned word for a sack. Not buying a pig in a poke means you shouldn't take something without looking at it. If it's still in the sack, you don't know whether it's a healthy pig or whether it's a pig at all."

"I a.s.sure you, the payment I have in mind is no pig." Oddly, the m.u.f.fled noise that accompanied Barrett's words sounded like a pig's snort.

"Then what is it?"

"It's simple and yet complex."

"Sounds like a pig in a poke." Charlotte shook her head in feigned indignation. "Just tell me, Barrett."

"All right." As the sun dipped behind a cloud, Barrett's lips curved into the sweetest smile Charlotte had ever seen. "The payment I want is a kiss."

Her smile matched his as she thought of the kisses they had shared last night. The prospect of a lifetime of those kisses broadened her smile. How glorious it would be to be married to this man!

"That's all?" she asked, pretending disbelief. "You were prepared to give up your entire fortune, and all you want is a kiss?"

"Not just any kiss. I wanted a kiss from you."

"One kiss?" He'd given her many more than that last night.

He nodded. "That's all."

"Then you shall have it." Though it was clear that Barrett expected his payment later, Charlotte had other ideas. Barrett was the man of her dreams, the one she'd been waiting for her whole life. He was the man who'd filled her heart with love and happiness. He was her hero. And so, in full view of anyone pa.s.sing by, Charlotte wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her lips to his.

"I love you, Barrett Landry," she murmured.

Dear Reader, Research is always one of my favorite parts of writing a book, and this time it was particularly enjoyable, since I was learning about my adopted hometown. If you visit modern Cheyenne, you'll find it greatly changed from 1886. Most of the buildings from that era are gone, and to make it even more confusing, several of the main streets have different names. What hasn't changed is the welcome that residents give to visitors and newcomers. That's part of what attracted me to Cheyenne in the first place. Do I sound like the Chamber of Commerce? Sorry!

One of the questions I'm frequently asked is how much is fact and how much is fiction in my stories. The background to Waiting for Spring is factual. Cheyenne's wealth in the 1880s was based on cattle, but overgrazing and the devastating winter of 1886a87 destroyed many of the cattle barons' fortunes. As the map at the beginning of the book indicates, many of the places Charlotte and Barrett visit were real. As for the characters, anyone who has a speaking role is fictional. I've alluded to real people, notably F.E. Warren and Joseph Carey, who became Wyoming's first U.S. senators and who now have streets named after them, and the territorial governors of that era, but you'll notice that they don't speak.

Since the weather played an important role in the story, I wanted to be as accurate as I could about it. Fortunately, I had access to a diary that mentioned the weather on specific dates, so I didn't have to imagine when it snowed or rained. Other books provided photographs of both the interior and exterior of many houses and important buildings, so once again I didn't have to rely on my imagination and possibly get some of the details wrong. But the story itself is pure fiction.

I hope you enjoyed Charlotte and Barrett's adventures and that you're looking forward to the third of the Westward Winds books. Although it's primarily the story of Elizabeth, the youngest of the Harding sisters, my heart ached for Gwen when she discovered Warren's treachery, and so I'm giving her another chance at happiness in With Autumn's Return. That book should be available in the spring of 2014. In the meantime, if you haven't read Summer of Promise, the first of the trilogy, I hope you'll find the story of Abigail's summer at Fort Laramie intriguing. I have to admit that Puddles the puppy is one of my favorite characters in Summer of Promise, even though he's not human.

As always, I look forward to hearing from you. For more information, including my email address, I invite you to visit my website (www.amandacabot.com). You can also find me on Facebook, and you might be interested in my blog where my "Wednesday in Wyoming" posts give you an insider's look at the state.

Blessings,

Amanda Cabot.

Acknowledgments.

I am privileged to have a team of talented, dedicated professionals working to turn my stories from rough ma.n.u.scripts into finished books. The staff at Revell is, without exception, a true delight. To list everyone who's been part of this book would take several pages, but I would like to single out four women whose efforts have made a huge difference.

Vicki Crumpton's t.i.tle may be Executive Editor, but I call her Editor Extraordinaire. She has an innate sense of what readers want-and don't want-in a book. That, combined with her wonderful sense of humor, makes revisions fun. Well . . . almost fun. Vicki's the perfect editor: part cheerleader, part coach, completely fabulous.

My project editor, Kristin Kornoelje, describes her comments as picky. I find them brilliantly insightful. Kristin's the one who catches inconsistencies, overuse of individual words, and unclear motivation. I thank her, and so should you, because my stories are better as a result of her pickiness.

Michele Misiak continues to amaze me with her innovative methods of promoting my books and her boundless energy. Although her t.i.tle is Marketing Manager, she coordinates so many aspects of the publis.h.i.+ng process that she's become my go-to person whenever I have a question. And, even though her inbox is overflowing and her schedule packed, she's unfailingly quick to respond. Thanks, Michele!

Art Director Cheryl Van Andel is an author's dream come true. She's never content with a merely good cover but keeps working with the artists to make each one great. Since she's given me consistently beautiful covers, I had high expectations for this one. What I didn't expect was that Cheryl would leave me speechless. Those of you who've met me know that doesn't happen very often, but when I received an email from Cheryl saying that the artist couldn't find a suitable gown for the cover model and that she was going to have one made specifically for my book, I was flabbergasted, flattered, and-yes-speechless. As if that weren't enough, Cheryl let me select the gown's design and color. What can I say other than that I was thrilled to be part of the process and even more thrilled with the final product?

I am deeply grateful to Vicki, Kristin, Michele, Cheryl, and the rest of the Revell staff for everything they do to make my books the best possible.

Dreams have always been an important part of Amanda Cabot's life. For almost as long as she can remember, she dreamt of being an author. Fortunately for the world, her grade-school attempts as a playwright were not successful, and she turned her attention to writing novels. Her dream of selling a book before her thirtieth birthday came true, and she's been spinning tales ever since. She now has more than twenty-five novels to her credit under a variety of pseudonyms.

Amanda is a member of ACFW, a charter member of Romance Writers of America, and an avid traveler. She married her high school sweetheart, who shares her love of travel and who's driven thousands of miles to help her research her books. A few years ago they fulfilled a longtime dream and are now living in the American West.

Books by Amanda Cabot.

TEXAS DREAMS..

Paper Roses.

Scattered Petals.

Tomorrow's Garden.

WESTWARD WINDS.

Summer of Promise.

Waiting for Spring.

Christmas Roses.

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