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Hannah couldn’t have been more thunderstruck if the hotel’s roof had suddenly fallen in on her head. “You? You were my—my correspondent—? I picked you from all the other men.”
“Yes.”
She shook her head. “You should’ve just told me.”
“I tried. But then I thought you’d be mad, and we had just started talking and making a friendship. I didn’t want to destroy what we had.”
“I can’t believe this.”
“Hannah, we both want happiness. And that’s why you answered my ad. Because you want it as much as I do.”
“I do.”
“Then give us a chance. We can take this slow as you want. But don’t give up on us.”
“It was really you?”
Back went the hand to the pocket, emerging this time with several envelopes. These he also moved across the small table to her.
Her brows went up. “But these must be a private—”
“Yeah, they are. You should know, toots. You wrote ’em.”
Between these two, a number of emotions had been fluctuating back and forth during the past half hour or so: astonishment, obstinance, speculation, reproach. All color washed out of her face, and her jaw dropped with consternation as the truth was beginning to dawn.
“Your groom is me, Hannah. You have been writin’ to me.”
Watching her with a mixture of caution and delight, he had started throwing around so many flowery terms of endearment he might have swallowed a dictionary. Or possibly his use of such sweet nothings were a long time coming.
“I knew you’d fight me on every turn, bless your little heart, b’cause too often we act t’ord each other like match set to tinder.” He offered her a broad, placating grin.
“But—the telegram...I received another telegram, on Monday, apologizing...How did you—?”
“Remember, Sunday, when you were ready to leave after your visit, and I asked to have Ben come over? Well, I—I reckon I did a sneaky thing...I let him in on what I’d done, and I asked him to hike on over to the telegraph office next day.”
“Ben. Ben—knew—?”
Hannah was feeling almost dizzied with trying to assimilate all these new facts. Like grasping puzzle pieces, one at a time, putting them in order so that, completed, everything fit. Her agitated gaze roved the room—or what she could see of it—as if seeking an escape.
“Hannah. I’m sorry,” said Gabriel in low tones, reaching out to take her hand.
She slapped him away. Only then did he see the tears in her eyes. “You led me on. You lied. You—you made a fool out of me!”
“Oh, sweetheart, I could never do that. It was fate you picked me. Neither one of us could have ever predicted that. Don’t you realize—I love you, Hannah!” Stress tightened up his muscles, and he choked a little, then coughed. A sip of lukewarm tea helped clear his throat to continue in a rush, “Goldang this infernal bandage!”
At that her defenses weakened, and, worried, she urged him to ease up, slow down.
“Hannah, I want so much to come over and pull you into my arms and never let you go. I wanna spend every day, every single one of ’em with you! Do you hear me, Hannah? I love you, my dearest one, and I want you to be my wife!”
“I never thought a man I knew in this town could love me,” she whispered. Then, shaken, she covered her face with both hands and began to weep.
“Why not? You’re beautiful and have a compassionate heart, and you make me laugh.” Gabriel understood now that, no matter his own feelings for this glorious Burton gal, he had done so much damage. How could he repair the hurt he had caused?
Blundering, he pulled himself upright, shifted his chair, and moved so that he could sling his good left arm around her shuddering shoulders and hold her close.
Even through the bulky bandages, Hannah could hear his steady heart beating, feel the warmth and shelter of his big frame, sense an air of utter safeguarding adoration emanating from his every cell. It was enough, as she slightly relaxed, to let her rest her head against his hard collarbone, and begin to revel in what marriage to this man might mean.
“Sssh, Hannah. Hush now, darlin’. It’ll be all right.” He let her cry on for a few minutes, soothing and comforting, then murmured, “Just wanted to make sure you’d be mine, sweetheart. Can you say—do you feel anything for me a’tall?”
