Home by Nightfall (33 page)

He shushed her again. Susannah waited, completely baffled by where this conversation was going.

He took her face between his work-roughened hands—hands that could control a stallion, soothe a nervous horse, or hold Susannah prisoner on a razor edge of anticipation before pushing her into a rapturous abyss of ecstasy. “I know I asked you to marry me.” He released her and rummaged around in his coat pocket to produce a small velvet box. He pushed the button that opened the lid and she had a brief glimpse of a sparkling jewel. “Now I’m asking you to be my wife.”

He slid a ring over the knuckles of the same finger that bore her wedding band.

Susannah stared at the diamond through the tears that welled in her eyes. “Oh, Tanner…it’s so much more than I ever would have expected. It’s…”

He gave her a sweet smile, one that pierced her heart as nothing else ever had. She flung her arms around him.

“I know you wouldn’t want me to just load you down with presents to make up for keeping my feelings to myself. But if you ever start thinking that you aren’t in my mind and heart, I hope you’ll look at that ring and remember it’s not true. You’re
always
there. And I promise to keep working on letting you know that.”

“I wish I had a gift for you,” she said.

He smiled and shook his head. “Believe me, you’ve given me more than I ever dreamed I’d have. You gave my poor old heart a home.”

• • •

Christophe climbed the last hill that led to the Raineau farm. Although it was spring and the grasses had turned green and sprouted up in many places—Nature making a good effort to heal herself as he’d expected—he knew exactly where to look to see the rusting remains of the ambulance that had brought him here almost three years earlier.

The landscape was still wounded and scarred, and trees hadn’t yet had the chance to replant themselves. But here and there, life had returned. He heard a few birds twittering as they flew past. As he neared the farmhouse, he saw not only sheep in a pen but a donkey as well. Things must be improving because of the relief efforts. He even saw a new room rebuilt onto the house. The shadows were growing longer and the afternoon light fading.

He picked up his pace. Even his cranky leg was giving him a break today, and it didn’t hurt despite the distance he’d walked with his valise. He had arranged to have the rest of his belongings delivered. Just outside the house he saw a woman in a print
housedress with russet hair taking laundry from the line that he had strung for her two years earlier. Beside her in a basket he saw something else. It moved but it wasn’t an animal. It began crying—a baby? What—was that a
child
?

Slinging a white towel over her arm, she bent down to pick up the infant and hoisted it to her shoulder, patting its back and jogging it soothingly.

Suddenly a brown-and-black dog came running up to him, barking but smiling too, to jump around his feet.

“Chien! Veins!”

Now she looked at Christophe and the towel fell from her arm. For a moment she froze and stared at him. Then comprehension flooded her expression.

“Christophe!”

In the last of the day’s golden light, he lifted a hand in greeting. He raced toward her and she flung herself into his open arms.

Christophe, the man who had first come here with no name, was home again.

The End

Photograph by Elena Rose Photography, 2011

Alexis Harrington is the award-winning author of a dozen novels, including the international bestseller
The Irish Bride
. She spent twelve years working for consulting civil engineers before she changed track and became a full-time novelist. When she isn’t writing, she enjoys jewelry-making, needlework, embroidery, cooking, and entertaining friends. She lives in her native Pacific Northwest, near the Columbia River, with a variety of pets who do their best to distract her while she is working.