in position.
That dizziness was why she thought she was seeing things. It was why she thought she was seeing Dylan step inside the cell and shut the barred door behind him.
She blinked. He was still there. "What are you doing?"
One of his hands slipped through the bars. "What does it look like I'm doing?"
Kitty forcibly retrieved her drooping jaw. "It looks like you're locking us both in."
"Got it in one." Mission accomplished, he turned to face her. Smiled.
Then he tossed the cell key over his shoulder. It flew through the bars and landed on the floor, yards out of reach.
Staring at him, she backed away. "What's this about?"
"It's about you and me, Kitty."
"There is no you and me."
He raised one eyebrow and came toward her. "I know it looks that way, but - "
"You're scaring me, Dylan."
He stopped. "I know."
"You want to break me, break my heart," she said, the words coming straight from her soul. "Maybe you're still mad about the secret marriage, maybe you think you want me right now. But I know where it will end, the same place every other Wilder-Matthews relationship has ended. Nowhere."
He took another step forward. "Kitty..." She put out a hand to stave him off. "'Wilder Women Don't Wed And They Don't Run.'"
"You've done one and you're planning on doing the other. Don't let some antique label you've allowed Hot Water to place on you stick."
She swallowed. "A Wilder never gets a Matthews."
"For someone who saw through me so very clearly, you're a pretty dim bulb when it comes to your ancestors, Kitty."
She huffed. "I know everything about the Wilders. Seven summers in their bordello and a lifetime living with their legends have been a darned good education."
"But you missed the whole point of all the stories. They weren't supposed to keep you down or box you in."
He came toward her again, and she tried to stand her ground, but her feet scurried backward. He sighed, as if she disappointed him. "Kitty, the Wilders did what they wanted, they were their own women. That's what that stupid motto means. You're not supposed to live by its letter, but by its spirit."
She shivered. Hadn't she just told herself that? Told herself she was her own woman?
Dylan advanced again, and this time he didn't stop, even when he had her backed into a corner of the cell. He cupped her cheek in his big, warm palm. "Be a maverick. That's what they were, Kitty. Who cares what Hot Water will say, what anyone will think? Take what you want. Take me."
She closed her eyes. Take him for how long? Her heart would settle for anything, but still her soul needed every convention, every promise that could make her believe in forever. To make her believe she was loved. That was what Kitty Wilder had to have.
"Kitty," he said softly.
Her eyes opened. He was unbuttoning his shirt. Her pulse trilled - shallow, Dylan-skin-crazy beat that it was - but then she saw the piece of paper lying between his shirt and his heart tattoo. His St. Barbara medal swung as he lifted it free.
"Judge Tierney was winking at me. He figured out I had pulled a switch."
She frowned, recognizing their marriage certificate in Dylan's hand. "We're not divorced after all?"
"Never, if I can help it."
Kitty thought she heard voices outside the jail, but she ignored them. "What exactly are you saying?"
"That I love you, Kitty. That I want to be married to you, that I want to wash your minivan, that I want to strap our kids inside it and let them watch movies on long car trips that lead to long nights during which we can make long, slow love."
Could this be true? A delicious shiver rolled down her back and curled between her thighs. "But not Pinocchio."
With his forefinger, he made an X right over his barbed-wire-covered heart. "Never that."
"Oh." Tears burned the corners of her eyes. He loved her. Dylan loved her. He wanted to marry her. What would Hot Water think about that?
And why should she care? Dylan had faced up to what people saw in him. He'd moved past it in order to take what he wanted. Why couldn't she? Maybe some people wouldn't be shocked at all, but really happy for them. She thought of Sylvia's approval, and then of Judge Tierney's genial wink, and wondered if she hadn't been half blind all these years.
Then something heated inside her, warming her heart and her soul, changing her. Like alchemy, she thought. Dylan's love and her new clear-sightedness transforming something common into gold. "I - "
The door to the jail burst open. "What's going on here?" The authoritative question lost some of its power when the voice of the person asking it suddenly cracked. Reenactor Jeremy, in his stable-hand costume, skidded to a stop halfway into the room. "Oh."
Several more people crowded through the doorway behind him. Mrs. Shea, Spenser, Pearl and Red Morton. The whole group was bumped forward when Honor, Dylan's father, and Samantha pushed into the jail.
Kitty blinked. The last two were holding hands.
Dylan sighed. "What the hell is going on? Can't a man have a little privacy?"
Looking uncomfortable, Jeremy shuffled his feet. "We heard that a dangerous parolee had taken someone by force."
"Oh." Too late, Kitty clapped her hand over her mouth, realizing she'd given herself away.
Dylan's eyebrows raised. "What's this all about, Kitty?"
She hesitated.
He narrowed his eyes. "Method number six-thirty-three, honey. And you don't want to know exactly what that is."
Kitty swallowed, thinking fast. Well, there were some things that Wilder genes were good for, she decided. Wilder survival instincts.
Plucking the marriage certificate out of Dylan's hand, she threw herself into his arms and kissed him. Kissed him silly.
Once she had him dazed, she lifted her mouth and looked at the small crowd. "Tell them he's definitely dangerous, and I'm definitely a prisoner."
She gazed into Dylan's eyes. He still seemed addled. Oh, good. "A prisoner of love," she said.
But he wasn't addled enough not to give as good as he got. As Dylan lifted her against his body and took control of the kiss, a tinge of roses scented the room. Funny, Kitty thought. She'd never worn that fragrance herself.
But the thought disappeared when she felt herself sliding into delight. The marriage certificate in her hand waved her surrender.