Cowboy Enchantment - By Pamela Browning Page 0,84
place as any.
“I think it’s your honeysuckle perfume that made me fall in love with you,” Hank said when he stopped kissing her.
This caught her off guard. “I never wear perfume.”
“But you do. It’s my favorite scent.”
Erica was about to say that he must be imagining things when she caught a glimpse of the driver’s curious expression in the rearview mirror.
“Do you two mind if I ask you a question?”
She and Hank exchanged glances. She shrugged.
“Buddy, how come you’re getting married if you don’t even know where she lives?”
Hank cleared his throat. “She lives in my heart,” he said. “She’s always been there, only I didn’t know it was her.”
“Oh,” said the cabdriver with an air of perplexity.
“Is that true?” Erica asked Hank.
“I had these fantasies about the perfect woman. I knew what she looked like, except for her face. That was always a blank. I would save her from runaway locomotives, shoot rattlesnakes so I could save her…Oh, you wouldn’t believe my daydreams.”
“I might,” Erica said softly.
“I didn’t know that you were the one until that night on the porch outside the rec hall. I had this enormous sense of déjà vu, as if I’d been there, done that before, but the only place I’d done it was in my fantasies. Suddenly the face of the woman I wanted was no longer blank. It was your face, Erica. And you were wearing the same clothes you’d worn in my fantasy. A white peasant blouse—”
“—and a red bandanna skirt,” Erica finished. “In my daydream, you would run your hand up my leg and you’d say—”
“Holy cannoli,” growled the cabdriver, “could you spare me the details?”
They both ignored him as realization dawned. “You mean we were having the same fantasies?” Erica gasped.
“It sounds like it. Could that happen?”
“I don’t know, but did you ever have the one about the Last Chance Saloon? Where you asked me if you could buy me a drink and I ordered a margarita and you asked me if I was up for a little fun?”
“Yes, and when we got to your place you weren’t wearing any underw—”
“Here we are,” said the driver, pulling over to the curb.
Hank dug money out of his pocket.
“You can skip the tip,” the cabbie said. “This was great entertainment.”
Hank gave him a tip anyway, and as they stepped out of the cab, the sky suddenly cleared and the sun came out.
“It’s like magic,” Erica said, awestruck at the suddenness of the rain’s disappearance.
“It is magic,” Hank said, and he wrapped his arms around her and kissed her in front of everyone. In that moment, it was as if they had never left the ranch, as if the air in their vicinity went perfectly still as it did in the desert in the hour before dawn, as if Hank was really a cowboy and she was really his girl.
“Marry me? Let’s make that promise to each other, Erica,” he said close to her ear.
“Yes,” she replied unsteadily, “I’ll marry you, Hank,” and in that moment she saw a cactus garden burgeon in front of the door to her apartment building. As she watched, flowers burst into bloom on the cactus plants, big and bright and beautiful. That wasn’t all; amid the spines and flowers of the cacti stood the rotund figure of a priest, who was smiling at them benignly.
Which was perfectly ridiculous, because everyone knew that there couldn’t be a cactus garden on a New York City street. And as for the ghost of Padre Luis, well, she wasn’t sure if there was a ghost, but she was certain that even a ghost wouldn’t give up the beauty of Rancho Encantado to hang out in front of her New York apartment building.
HER PERFECT COWBOY was waiting in the gallery of the Big House at Rancho Encantado as she approached on the arm of her uncle Steve, who had insisted on walking her down the aisle. Hank’s expression as they approached was one of expectance and joy, not to mention love.
Somewhere toward the front, Kaylie said, “Babababa!” and Justine hushed her gently. Charmaine and Abby, who were her maid of honor and bridesmaid, respectively, wore big smiles as they waited for Erica beside the flower-bedecked bower, and when Uncle Steve placed her hand in Hank’s, Hank whispered, “I love you, Erica.”
It all seemed like another fantasy. But this wasn’t a daydream; it wasn’t wishful thinking. The squeeze of Hank’s hand, his joy as he slipped the ring on her finger—these were real, as real as Hank himself. As real as their love for each other, as real as their future together, and as real as eternity.
Forever and ever, amen.
As they kissed, Erica could have sworn she heard someone say those words, yet she knew it wasn’t the priest who’d just married them. Nor was it Mrs. Gray, whose whereabouts had been unknown for the past few days.
“I love you, wife,” said Hank.
“I love you too, husband,” she replied softly.
“Mamamama?” said Kaylie.
Hank scooped her up from Justine’s arms. “Now you’re really talking,” he said approvingly, and everyone laughed as the three of them embraced, ready to begin their new lives together.
Padre Luis Speaks…
THANKS BE TO GOD! He is merciful and He is good.
Have my prayers not been answered? Have Erica and Hank not found true love? Has Erica’s soul not expanded to a rich, robust red, the exact color of fine wine from the cellars of my friends, the Franciscan brothers? Is Hank not happy to have found a woman capable of loving his child? I ask you further, have I not done an excellent job of the task set before me? I am but a humble priest, but if God chooses me His wonders to perform, I do not question His judgment.
Do you realize that I am speaking to you in my own voice? The cat has run away with a tom who lives up at the old borax mine. She does not need my voice for yowling her pleasure at the tom’s attentions. It is love, after all. I approve. The best thing is that before long, there will be more kittens. I am very fond of kittens.
I would have liked to officiate at the marriage of Erica and Hank, but she asked her own parish priest to come to this place and marry them, and that is good. I got in the final words, however. Forever and ever, amen. I think Erica might have heard me, too.
Now I am given another problem. A woman has occupied the rooms of Erica, and she is so transparent that I can barely see her. Her name is Brooke. She is troubled. Furthermore, she is with child.
Again I have my work cut out for me in this special place. Madre de Dios, is there no rest for a poor humble priest?
ISBN: 978-1-4603-6875-6
COWBOY ENCHANTMENT
Copyright © 2003 by Pamela Browning.
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*Rancho Encantado
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen