As the crowd of well-wishers drifted away, Kris offered his arm to escort Maggie back to the Bittners’ home. “When do you wish to be married?”
She appeared to give his question some thought. “Tomorrow would be fine, I suppose.”
Kris stared at her, shocked. “Tomorrow?”
“Well, it’s too late to find a preacher to marry us tonight.” Her beautiful eyes sparkled with mischief.
He planted a smacking kiss to her lips. “I thought women always wanted to spend weeks planning their wedding?”
“Weeks? Now that I’ve found you, I’m not waiting a moment longer than I have to, Reverend. The rest of that, the dress, the flowers—none of that is important. I’ve found where I belong, and I can’t wait to start our lives together.”
“Tomorrow it is, my love.”
EPILOGUE
Kris paced in his garden, pretending he was interested in the tender shoots of new life that were sprouting around his feet. In truth, he was counting the seconds.
Despite their desire for a quick wedding, it had taken nearly two weeks to reach this day. As they’d walked home the night Kris had proposed, Maggie had asked if her aunt could be invited, and Kris made the arrangements. After the wedding—and the meal his congregation were providing—he and Maggie would travel back to Denver with the older woman. Daisy was accompanying them, to start her employment as a companion to Maggie’s aunt.
“Are you ready, Kristoph?”
He looked up and smiled at his father, who had arrived with Kris’s mother three days ago. The elder Oltmann had surprised Kris when he insisted no one else was going to marry off his son. “I’ve been ready since the moment she said yes.”
His father slapped him on the back and laughed. “She’s beautiful, son, inside and out. Your mother and I are both quite taken with her.”
Together, they slipped in through the side door and took their place at the front of the church. It took all Kris’s willpower to stand still and wait, when he wanted to stride up the aisle and carry his bride to the altar. “Where is she?” he whispered to his father, who only smiled and shook his head.
A murmur went through the full sanctuary and, finally, Maggie was there, smiling at him as she made her way down the aisle at Franz Bittner’s side. Her dress was a soft green, embroidered with spring flowers that matched those woven into her hair. Kris had never seen a more beautiful woman.
As she joined him and then faced his father, Kris was so overwhelmed with joy and gratitude he could barely say his vows. After the final blessing had been spoken, his father introduced them to the cheers and applause of those in attendance. Turning to Maggie, Kris leaned down, intending to kiss her cheek.
But Maggie grinned, tossed the bouquet of flowers she held, and wrapped her arms around Kris’s neck. “Don’t stop until the door is locked behind us.”
With a roar of laughter, Kris swung her into his arms and did exactly as his bride insisted.
About the Author—Tracy Garrett
Award-winning multi-published author Tracy Garrett has always loved to disappear into the pages of a book. An accomplished musician, Tracy merged her need for creativity, love of history, and passion for reading when she began writing western historical romance. First published in 2007, Tracy joined Prairie Rose Publications in its inaugural anthology in 2013. She is a regular blogger on Petticoats and Pistols. Tracy resides in Missouri with her husband and their fuzzy kid, Wrigley. Find out more about Tracy and her books at www.TracyGarrett.com.
GABRIEL'S LAW
Cheryl Pierson
Chapter 1
They're killing me.
The thought slammed through Brandon Gabriel's mind with certain realization as Arnold Smith's arm shot out like a piece of iron pipe. The well-placed blow split the skin just under Brandon's left eye.
From somewhere behind him, Brandon heard the slither and crack of a bullwhip. The whip sang through the air, separating his shirt as effectively as if a pair of scissors had been used to cut it. The blow left a raised welt in its fiery wake, oozing blood into the ragged edges of blue chambray.
He bit back the strangled gasp of pain, letting his breath out on a harsh curse instead.
"Get his gun!" the mercantile owner, Zach Anderson, yelled. He stood at the fringe of the crowd, wiping his hands on his blood-stained butcher's apron. "Get that damn half-breed's gun, Arnie!"
The others circled and moved in.
Bastards. Brandon's hand went to his holster, but they'd been quicker. The Colt was already gone. They'd relieved him of it while Arnold Smith and Harry Tavers took turns pounding his face. Even the knowledge that the gun was missing didn't keep his reflexes in check. He still reached for it.
Evidently, they'd decided killing him would solve everything quite handily. They wouldn't need to part with the money they owed him for ridding them of their 'problem' – the Clayton Gang. And now, he wouldn't be around to become a problem for them.