forward into the grass. She lay still and willed her head to stop spinning long enough for her to enjoy the simple pleasure of still being alive.
AARON COOPER DROVE HIS BOAT into the mouth of Papermouth Cove just in time for Riley to witness Kyle Layton’s blitz attack. He yelled in horror as the tackle box made contact with the side of Hannah’s head.
Aaron poured on the speed. “Hold on!”
They were within fifty yards when Layton tackled Hannah and they both flew into the water with a booming splash.
The next thirty yards seemed to take forever to traverse. Guiding the boat closer, Aaron howled out a stream of profanity that would put even a roughneck cowboy to shame.
The struggle continued in the water, until Hannah suddenly broke free and started racing toward the shore, her swimming strokes growing increasingly sluggish and erratic as she neared the bank. In the water, Kyle Layton started paddling away from the crappie boat, his movements jerky and slow.
For a moment, Riley couldn’t take his eyes off the man, all the rage and grief of three long years focusing like a laser on the man’s feeble escape attempt. The urge to grab his Ruger and end the struggle was almost more than Riley could resist.
Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hannah make it to shore and immediately crumple to the ground. All thought of Layton, of the sweet siren call of revenge, dissipated like smoke in the wind.
“Hannah!” A hissing stream of fears ran through his mind like a litany, threatening to drown out rational thought.
“I’ll get Layton,” Aaron shouted.
Riley threw off his jacket and jerked at his boots, cursing when one stuck. It finally came free. He tossed it aside and plunged into the cold lake water.
He covered the remaining distance to the shore in a few frantic strokes and pulled himself on to the bank, his heart pounding like a bass drum in his chest. Scrambling over the rocks, he reached her still, crumpled form. He felt for her carotid pulse, praying silently.
At his touch, she jerked away. Her eyes opened, wildly fighting for focus. It took a second for her to react to what she was seeing.
“Riley?” Her voice, raspy and weak, rang with surprise.
He found himself laughing at her shocked expression, so grateful she was alive that the whole world suddenly seemed like a bright, beautiful place.
She didn’t resist when he grabbed her up and crushed her to him, pressing kisses over her cheeks, in her hair, and finally hard and sweet against her lips.
The fingers feebly clutching his arms tightened, their grip strengthening. Beneath his mouth, her lips moved, parting with invitation.
He threaded his fingers through her hair, holding her face steady as he poured into the kiss all his pent up fears, longings and hopes. When he finished, he drew his head back and gazed into her beautiful, liquid gaze.
“Why aren’t you in Wyoming?” she asked.
“Because I love you,” he answered with a laugh.
A glorious smile curved her kiss-stung lips. “I didn’t think you’d ever figure that out on your own, cowboy,” she drawled, running her thumb over his bottom lip.
He dragged her closer, heat flooding his belly. “Cowboys always need a sidekick, darlin’.” He tangled his hand in her hair, drawing her head back to give him access to the bruised skin of her throat. Anger coiled like a rattler in his chest, but he killed it. There’d be time to sort out justice later.
Right now, he wanted Hannah to know just how damned much he loved her.
A long, thorough kiss later, they came up for air. “Just to be clear,” he murmured against the curve of her ear, “you love me too, right?”
She nipped at the tendon on the side of his neck. “From the top of your Stetson to the soles of your ratty old snakeskin boots.”
When he laughed, he realized that it was the first time in three years that he felt truly, unreservedly happy.
Epilogue
“People around here call you my cowboy,” Hannah murmured in Riley’s ear as he led her slowly across the pavilion that had turned into a dance floor for their wedding reception.
He tucked her hand against his heart and smiled down at her from beneath the brim of his Stetson. “Why ever would they do that, darlin’?”
“Maybe it’s the boots,” she murmured, reaching up to tip his hat back a notch. “Or the horse trailer hitched to your truck. Or-”
He shushed her with a kiss that would have made her toes tingle even if her feet weren’t stuffed into pointed white pumps. “I’m sorry Luke couldn’t make it.”
She tried not to let a thread of sadness taint the happiness of her wedding day. “He’ll come back, sooner or later. We all do.” She looked into his happy, blue eyes. “Are you sure you’re okay relocating here? Won’t you miss Joe and Jane?”
Riley looked over his shoulder at his friend, who sat at one of the tables flanking the dance floor. Joe was holding his newborn son in his arms, while Jane chatted happily with Hannah’s sister-in-law Mariah, who held her own little boy, Micah, on her lap. “He has his own family,” Riley said with a smile. “And now I have mine. They’re as close as a phone or e-mail. We won’t lose touch.”
She closed her eyes and relaxed into his embrace, setting aside any lingering worries. He’d miss Wyoming, even though he swore he wouldn’t, but life was a series of choices with consequences. She’d make sure he never felt that trading Wyoming for Alabama was a bad bargain.
Riley cleared his throat. “There’s one other thing.”
She looked up, a little concerned by the frown lining his brow. “What?”
“Kyle Layton was convicted last week. They gave him life without parole.”
“Oh.” She hadn’t thought about Layton for a couple of months. He’d pleaded guilty to assault in an Alabama court, perhaps hoping he could avoid prosecution in Wyoming, but once Joe, Riley and Sheriff Tanner had his identity confirmed, they’d been able to piece together enough physical evidence against him to bring him up on multiple murder charges in Wyoming. Alabama had waived extradition and sent him to Wyoming for trial.
“Does that mean he’ll be jailed up there instead of here?”
“Yeah, that’s the latest.”
“Then it’s really over.”
He nodded, pressing his lips to her forehead. “How about we stop talking about that and start talking about what naughty, naughty things you’re going to do to me when you get me alone?”
She laughed, rising up to bite his earlobe. “How about we get the hell out of here and let me show you instead?”
He looked down at her, love and hunger shining from his blue eyes. “On the count of three. One. Two. Three!”
Joining hands, they raced off the dance floor together, the whole wide world in front of them.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Alabama native Paula Graves wrote her first book, a mystery starring herself and her neighborhood friends, at
