in the town where you grew up. A second chance to know Kitty."
She backed up a few steps. And a few more.
He moved forward. "And the baby ... you can't tell me you don't see the baby as a second chance too."
Her next backward step brought her smack against the piano. It burped a sour note, then found its place again. Absurdly cheerful music tinkled around them.
D. B. smiled at her. "What I treasured most about our relationship was the maturity we brought to it. I thought it was so good because we were past all that posturing and jockeying for position that younger couples waste their time on." He shook his head, laughing wryly. "I was wrong about it all."
She wet her lips. "What do you mean?"
"It was so good because I love you."
Samantha jerked, and the piano burped again, then went silent. In the quiet, Samantha could hear the heavy beat of her heart. "No."
"Yes, I do. And I was wrong. I'm not above all that posturing and jockeying, because I was scared as any twenty-year-old about my feelings."
"You can't love me."
"Since maybe the first time I saw you cross the street. Or perhaps that night when we shut down Bum Luck and stayed awake until dawn listening to classic rock. But I didn't want to rush the idea. And I wasn't the least prepared for what your years had been like in Las Vegas."
She nodded. This she understood. "Of course you weren't, you're a judge."
He grimaced. "But not of your past, Samantha." His hand touched her cheek again. "I forgot that for a moment. But the one thing maturity has given me is the guts to hold onto something special. A second chance - another chance - for the both of us for love and family. So forgive me, Samantha? Love me? Marry me?"
Her heart squeezed. She whirled away from him, biting hard on her lower lip to get control of her spinning emotions. Her gaze landed on the framed needlework on top of the piano: Wilder Women Don't Wed And They Don't Run.
But perhaps they'd never had someone like D. B. to love. A man offering a second chance - no, her first, really. A chance for love, for family.
Maybe every shimmy on stage, every piece of clothing dropped, every time she'd filled her veins with ice and pretended for the audience, had prepared her for this moment. Closing her eyes, she breathed deeply, and turned.
Facing him, she lifted her lashes and let all those years of practiced pretense slip away. She let him see straight into her heart, hoping it was that much sweeter because she'd never allowed it before. As she'd never allowed, she set free her love and desire. It rushed through her, warming her blood. Without looking first, which she hadn't done in twenty-six years, she leaped into his arms. "I love you."
D. B. caught her against him and buried his face in her hair, just as the player piano burst into song. "Thank you," he whispered hoarsely.
She rested her cheek against his shirt. "I don't know anything about being a wife," she cautioned.
He ran his hands down her back. "Me neither."
She laughed. "Or a mother. I suppose you don't know a thing about that."
He kissed her cheek. "Not a clue."
She looked up at him and grinned, the piano's lighthearted tune washing over them like sunshine. "I suppose there's a book..."
He kissed her mouth. "We don't need anything but each other."
* * *
"I didn't see Kitty in the brothel," Dylan said, crossing his arms over his chest and bracing his shoulders and one foot against the outside wall of the assay office.
"Nope." Honor gave him a cheerful smile, then went back to studying the crowded streets. "It's just as you described it. It's perfect. The perfect place for me."
He cleared his throat. "What ... what do you think Kitty thought of my decision to return to Hot Water?"
"She said she was surprised." Honor frowned. "No. I think I said I was surprised and she agreed with me."
He gave her a sharp look. During those days in captivity, and even after, when her father was trying to throw them together, Dylan had developed a fraternal fondness for Honor. He respected her courage and her optimistic outlook on life. "You think I'm making a mistake?"
"Nope. I'm only surprised you were smart enough to figure out what you really wanted to do. I listened to you talk about Hot Water for ninety-six hours straight. I