Winter spoke directly to the preacher. ‘‘Then let it be known that it was I who insisted this wedding take place right away. Anyone who has any objections or raised eyebrows best turn them my way and not my wife’s.’’
The preacher swallowed hard. ‘‘I understand, Mr. McQuillen. I’ll be happy to join you two in wedlock.’’
Staring down a nester’s widow was one thing, but facing a rancher like Winter was quite another. Smiling for the first time in days, Win turned slightly, nodding once toward both cowhands. ‘‘Kora, I’d like you to meet Cheyenne and Logan.’’
Kora faced the two men, fighting the urge to pull up her shawl.
‘‘Logan spends most of his time telling me what to do,’’ Winter said, ‘‘and Cheyenne gets me out of trouble when I’m foolish enough not to listen.’’
Logan’s face wrinkled into a thousand lines as he smiled, but the younger man only lowered his head slowly in a nod much as Winter had done earlier. Cheyenne’s stare was direct and cold. Kora wanted to move away. He reminded her of someone who saw everything in life and liked very little of what he saw. In build, the two men Winter called friends were as opposite as they were in welcoming. Logan was average in height and weight for his fifty years, reminding Kora of old jerky. Cheyenne was as tall as Winter but rawhide thin.
‘‘These are the two men I trust completely.’’ Winter didn’t give the compliment lightly. ‘‘I’d be honored if you’d both witness this marriage.’’
The men agreed.
Winter offered his arm to Kora. ‘‘Are you ready?’’
Kora glanced at his Colt still strapped to his leg. ‘‘Are you planning to wed wearing a gun, sir?’’
‘‘Does my answer affect your decision to become my wife?’’ Winter’s voice was gruff. The gun was a part of his life. He saw no need to remove it now. He’d already unstrapped it once tonight for this lady. He figured once was enough.
‘‘It does not,’’ she answered, realizing that trying to change a man while standing at the altar was probably not the best time.
‘‘Then, if you’ve no further objections, I’d like to get this ceremony over with.’’
When she placed her fingers atop his forearm, Winter said simply, ‘‘Begin, Preacher.’’
Kora had never seen anyone command so much power with little more than a whisper. As the minister spoke, she studied Winter, wondering who this man she was marrying could be. He was so dusty, he could have been little more than a cowhand. But his Colt looked custom-designed, and he’d made the point that it was a part of him. The horse he’d ridden was the most powerful animal she’d ever seen.
The house he kept insisting was hers looked as if it had been totally neglected for years, yet somehow it was a part of him. And his eyes, now staring ahead with a faraway look, as though even during his own wedding he had something more important to worry about than her. She could see a strength in the brown depths and wondered if it would be there when she needed him. Or would he turn away and not even see her as her mother had after Dan’s return?
‘‘I will,’’ Winter said, startling her.
‘‘And you, Kora Adams?’’ The minister waited.
‘‘I will,’’ she answered.
‘‘Then I pronounce you man and wife.’’ The minister closed his Bible with a sigh of exhaustion. ‘‘You may kiss your bride, Mr. McQuillen.’’
Winter leaned down and lightly kissed her cheek. ‘‘Thanks,’’ he whispered.
Kora smiled, wondering if she should kiss him, or whisper back, ‘‘You’re welcome.’’
While Logan and the minister took care of the paperwork, Cheyenne stood a few feet behind Winter as if on guard.
Winter thanked them, then insisted on showing Kora the rest of the house. A big kitchen, a dining room, parlor, and sunroom helped the study make up the downstairs. Upstairs, she found four bedrooms, none of which looked as if they’d been lived in for years. They were all furnished with heavy oak and mahogany, and the beds had been covered with tarps.
‘‘Where do you sleep?’’ Kora asked as Winter climbed the stairs to the third floor.
He paused as he reached the top and set the lamp down on the stair post. One huge empty room welcomed them with starlight from all four sides shining through dusty windows. ‘‘Until a month ago I lived in the bunkhouse. When the captain died, I started sleeping in the study, trying to catch up on all the paperwork. Logan said the captain liked to sleep in the sunroom, and from the day his wife died six years ago, never climbed the stairs to the second floor again.’’
Win looked around the room lined with trunks and boxes packed away long ago. ‘‘Miss Allie told me once she’d built the attic with lots of windows to use as a quilting room. But by the time I knew her, the extra flight of stairs was too much for her.’’
‘‘I thought I’d make Dan’s bed in the sunroom. Then he can slip out for his walks without waking anyone.’’
‘‘Will he get lost?’’
‘‘No,’’ Kora said as she studied the huge attic. ‘‘We’ve moved several times since my mother died and he never does. I think he just walks in a circle, never looking at anything along his way, never stopping. He’s no trouble. He seems to live more with his ghosts than with us. All we have to do is put his chair in the wagon, and he goes with us.’’
She didn’t want to talk about her family. There would be time later to tell Winter of all the treatments they’d tried to help Dan. Right now, she wanted to know more about this man and his house. ‘‘You inherited this place a month ago?’’
Kora walked around the room, loving the way the moonlight played across the wood flooring. All the windows were framed into the roof line, making the ceiling high in places and low in others.
‘‘No.’’ Winter’s voice hardened slightly. ‘‘I worked, or won, every inch of the ranch.
She wanted to ask more, but she could feel the tightness of Win’s stance, as though she’d reached out and touched him and he’d pulled away from her. He had his forbidden topics as well.
Stepping off the room in wide steps, Kora decided to ask about the captain later, when Winter’s wounds were less raw. ‘‘Did you mean it when you said I could do anything I wanted with the house?’’
‘‘Of course,’’ he answered as he leaned against the windowsill, only half listening as he looked out over his land. ‘‘I’ll even move back to the bunkhouse. Or I’ll sleep in the study if you like. It doesn’t matter to me.’’
‘‘Could we have our bedroom up here?’’ she whispered, afraid to hope such a thing was possible.
Winter turned from the darkness outside to her. Though the moonlight was strong enough to highlight her hair, he couldn’t see her face. They’d moved too far away from the lamp for its light to be more than a yellow glow several yards away. But her hair seemed to have lights of its own. Or perhaps the strands had stolen the starlight.
He almost laughed aloud at the foolishness of his thoughts. ‘‘It’s cold up here in the winter and hot in the summer,’’ he said, folding his arms and moving toward her slowly. His words were meant to put an end to the discussion.
‘‘But we’ll have the stars,’’ she countered unexpectantly. ‘‘And the moon. I love seeing the moon. With these huge windows we can watch the sun rise and set and see storms coming in from miles away.’’
Stopping his progress, he tried to see her face once more; but she was looking about the room, as though already moving furniture in her mind. Kora had done it twice more, casually-she’d used the plural to the room as though it were understood that it would also be his. Was she making him a part of this house when the captain never had? Was she offering more than an occasional hour in her bed?
‘‘I’ll have the men move up anything you ask,’’ he said, still not believing she meant to include him. ‘‘If you want this room for a bedroom, you’ll have it.’’ She’d challenged in such a gentle way, he’d surrendered without defense. ‘‘I said I’d give the moon for a wife. You might as well be able to see it.’’
Kora whirled, her hair flowing like a cape around her. ‘‘Thank you.’’ She laughed. ‘‘Finally I’ll be able to sleep without the smell of dirt surrounding me.’’
Winter couldn’t help but laugh as well and was surprised at how much pleasure seeing her happy brought him.
