A Stranger's Wife

by Maggie Osborne

  “With all my heart and soul,” she said simply.

  “Come inside by the fire. We have a future to decide.”

  * * *

  Hand in hand, they stood on the veranda, watching Paul’s sleigh approach the ranch house. It reminded Lily of that long-ago day when she had stood outside the Yuma Women’s Prison watching Paul’s coach whirl toward her in a trail of dust. She had been a different woman then. Suspicious, bitter, finished with men, a woman with a past and no future.

  She would never be a fine lady. She would always be a little too outspoken, a little too vivacious and boisterous, a little careless with the dictates of etiquette. She would always be a woman who liked her whiskey and an occasional cigar. Who dropped a cussword now and again. She would always be a woman better suited as a gentleman’s mistress than a wife.

  “Any last-minute regrets?” she asked softly, looking up at Quinn and squeezing his hand.

  “None,” he said firmly. His gaze was soft when he bent to kiss her lips.

  The answer was written on his craggy face. He was more relaxed today than she had ever known him to be. The anxiety and anger had vanished from the back of his eyes. The lines framing his mouth seemed lighter. He looked younger, happier than she had ever seen him.

  “I’ll inform Paul that I’m withdrawing from the race while you enjoy your surprise,” he said, turning her into his arms.

  Lily wrapped her arms around his waist and smiled up at him. “Paul is not going to be happy. A Kingmaker needs a king.”

  “Paul will understand. In fact, I doubt he’ll be surprised.”

  “You would have made a fine governor, Quinn.”

  “The system wouldn’t have allowed me to accomplish the things I wanted, Lily. In the end, I would have betrayed my backers or myself. Paul knows that, too.”

  “I hope he’ll understand and be happy for us.” Shading her eyes against the glare of sunlight on snow, she peered toward the driveway and raised her brows in surprise. “He has someone with him.”

  “I believe he does,” Quinn said, smiling. “Someone who’s been waiting several days for this meeting.” He touched her face. “I had planned to explain her as your niece.”

  Lily’s heart stopped and a thrill of goose bumps lifted on her arms. “Quinn! Oh my God!” She would have crumpled if he hadn’t gripped her arms and held her upright.

  Shaking, clinging to him for support, she turned a white face toward the sleigh in time to see Paul lift a small girl to the ground.

  She was blond like Lily, with huge anxious blue eyes and a rosy mouth. A small widow’s peak made a valentine of her face. She wore a red-velvet cloak over a plaid dress and carried a white fur muff that matched her little hat. Tears ran down Lily’s cheeks as she realized her Aunt Edna couldn’t afford to dress Rose so exquisitely. That was Quinn’s doing.

  “I love you so much!” she whispered, her voice choked.

  And then she ran down the stairs, dropped to her knees in the snow, and swept Rose into her arms. When she could bear to break away, she leaned back and smiled at her daughter with swimming eyes. “I have longed for you every day!”

  Rose touched a shaking hand to her wet cheek. “I didn’t believe I had a mama. I thought you were dead.” Rose studied her with shining eyes. “You’re so beautiful, Mama.”

  “So are you, darling, so are you! Come inside, I have so much to tell you!”

  “I’m going to marry Uncle Paul when I grow up.”

  “This wonderful man,” she said, speaking around tears of joy, “is your new papa.”

  Quinn dropped down beside them in the snow and smiled. “When I met your mama, she and I were strangers like you and I are now. But that will change. We’re going to be friends, Rose, and I expect to love you as much as I love your mother. I hope one day you’ll love me, too.”

  Blazing with happiness, Lily watched the two people she loved best solemnly shake hands. And then, she didn’t know what came over her, but she filled her hands and pelted them both with snow. One of her snowballs struck Paul and he, too, jumped into the fray of flying snow.

  At the end, she and Rose were wrapped in Quinn’s arms and they were all laughing, loving, strangers no more.

  April, 1881

  My dearest Paul,

  I love Italy in all seasons, but I think spring is my favorite time of year. The olive trees are in blossom now and the sweet fragrance drifts through the windows of the villa. The sky is a lovely bright blue that often reminds me of Colorado.

  We were so sorry that you couldn’t come to us this year, but we understand that you’re guiding a new king through his first year on the throne. Do come as soon as you’re able. We miss you.

  Thank you for sending the crate of books. I adored the novels you chose for me. Quinn will write separately to tell you how helpful he found your selections. Unfortunately, his book on political reform progresses slowly and with many interruptions. Over the years, the trickle of villagers coming up the hill to seek legal advice has swollen to a stream, and eventually my darling will be forced to quit resisting and acknowledge that he has become the village counsel. Yes, I hear you laughing even from this distance.

  The children are well and happy. At ten, Rose is quite a young lady, my treasure and joy. She asks that I remind you that you promised to marry her when she’s all grown-up. Paul is four now and runs the governess a merry chase. Little Miriam is three and shows promise of being as lovely as her namesake.

  Our sad news is that Miriam died shortly after the new year. To the end, she believed I was her sister and Quinn was her brother. And so it seemed to us. I loved her as if we were indeed the sisters she believed us to be. I miss her terribly.

  I will close by telling you that Quinn and I were quietly married last month. I thought it didn’t matter that we weren’t married. But I have become the woman you set out to make me, my dear friend. I wept with joy when we said our vows. After all these years, the last deception is finally ended. Our joy could have been greater only if you had been with us.

  Dear Paul, I think of you often, more frequently than you would imagine. I remember that first day and hear you telling me that I had so much to gain from becoming a stranger’s wife. I didn’t believe you then. But I look at my beloved husband and our children, and everything you promised came true. Thank you, my friend, for creating a lady and giving me this life. With love and gratitude.

  Lily Westin