by Jane Archer
Alexandra laughed. "No, I'll bet he won't."
She took a deep breath, then walked across her bedroom toward the door. Ebba followed, her heavy silk skirts rustling.
Downstairs, Stan awaited them in the parlor, dressed as befitted the occasion. Now that the wedding was at hand, he had become nervous. What if Alexandra decided not to go through with it? What if she became sick? What if something unforeseen happened? He'd waited so long for this moment that he simply wanted to grab Alexandra by the hair, drag her to the altar and have done with it. If there needed to be niceties, they could have them later. All the preparations had made him anxious, and Alexandra had been even more remote since that black woman had joined her.
That was one woman he'd get rid of immediately after they were married, he told himself as he paced the room.
He looked up to see Alexandra walking toward him, the dark woman behind her, and he forgot all the waiting, all the nervousness in her presence. He didn't think he'd ever seen her so lovely, but then he always thought that each time he saw her anew.
He walked over to her, and kissed her hand. She was cold. He sensed her nervousness and complete withdrawal. Well, no matter. She was going to marry him one way or another. He'd gone through too much, killed too many men to lose her at this point. She was merely frightened by the thought of marriage. He'd take care of that. He would give her no more time to think.
"Come, Alexandra, it's time," he said, extending his arm, and they were on their way.
The carriage moved swiftly down the street, carrying the trio rapidly toward the chapel. Somehow it didn't seem quite real to Alexandra, even though she could feel Stan's hands heavy on her own. The streets were crowded with people bustling around, absorbed with their own business. They could not know, or even care, that she was on her way to be married to a man she didn't love, or that her heart was breaking for love of a man who was dead, killed by her own fiance. But she cared—desperately! Oh, Jake, why couldn't it be you by my side?
The carriage moved relentlessly on, pulling closer and closer to the chapel. It would not wait. Stan would not wait. Only Alexandra wanted to stop the quickly approaching moment when she would stand by Stan Lewis in front of the altar. And as she sat there, her mind searching for escape like a butterfly fluttering against a window-pane, the carriage rolled to a stop in front of a small stone building near a large, magnificent church.
Stan turned to her, smiling.
Unable to face his triumphant expression, she looked away, down the street. Her tormented green eyes widened, softening, as she stared at a solitary male figure some distance away. Her heart seemed to catch, then began pounding rapidly and with each beat one word reverberated in her mind—Jake, Jake, Jake.
Her hand automatically covered her mouth to stifle the word that wanted to burst forth. There was no Jake. He was dead. There was only Stan Lewis!
She jerked her head around, her eyes bright with tears and pain, her heart close to bursting. She could not breathe.
"Alexandra, are you coming?" Stan asked impatiently.
She tried to stop her reeling mind. Stan stood on the ground, his arms extended toward her. It was time. She had to go to him. She willed herself not to look back at the lone man watching her, his legs spread wide, his arms at his sides. Jake was dead.
"Alexandra."
"Yes. Yes, I'm coming, Stan," she whispered.
She felt Stan take her arm. If she turned around, would the man still be there watching her? She must not look. She must not!
The high, elaborately carved, double doors to the chapel opened, and Stan led her inside. It was cool here, and intimate. It was all smooth woods and deep, rich velvets. They walked side by side down the aisle, Ebba behind them. An aisle had never seemed so short.
The minister and his wife were happy, smiling, gray-haired people, who nodded encouragingly as they came closer. Flowers appeared. Alexandra could smell them as she held the delicate blossoms in her hands. How long would they live?
They spoke in whispers. She couldn't seem to hear their words. Was the solitary man still outside?
Stan held her hand. His was hot. Hers was cold. She could feel Ebba's nearness on her right. She could not feel Stan on her left. He did not exist for her. The minister's wife was smiling at them, her eyes warm. The minister had opened his Bible. He was speaking. What did he say? She couldn't seem to hear him.
There was a noise behind them. The doors opened. Steps rang out momentarily in the chapel. Her heart gave a tiny leap. She forced herself to look at the minister.
He was looking past them toward the back of the chapel. His face was confused. He frowned slightly before turning back to his Bible. He cleared his throat, then began reading again.
"And if there be any man present who knows a reason why this man and this woman should not be joined in holy matrimony, let them speak now, or forever hold their peace."
Silence.
Her heart beat faster. The chapel was quiet. Let there be a reason, please. There is a reason, many reasons. I cannot marry this man. He killed my love. How can I marry him? Will no one speak?
Silence.
The minister cleared his throat, glanced to the back of the chapel, waited, then resumed speaking.
"Alexandra?"
Her name. The minister had stopped speaking. She looked at him. What did he want?
"Do you take this man—"
That was it. Her answer. She must agree. It was only two words. Two short words to bind her to Stan Lewis forever. Two small words to make her Stan's wife.
"Alexandra?"
The minister was looking at her. Stan was looking at her. She opened her mouth. What were the words?
"I—I—"
"She doesn't!" boomed a familiar voice from the back of the chapel.
"Jake!" Alexandra cried, her heart almost bursting with happiness, but as she whirled to see her love Stan reached inside his jacket. He had come prepared. But as he drew his gun, swiveling around, the minister saw him and reached out to stop him, the movement prematurely jerking Stan's finger against the trigger.
The gun fired. A bullet tore through the minister's arm, spraying bright red blood over Alexandra's white gown as his wife screamed and reached for her falling husband.
Stan ignored the wounded man and continued to spin, his gun still smoking, holding Jake's life in its next chamber.
But Jake was ready.
His hand was steady, his eyes hard as he squeezed off his shot, the only shot he would need. Jake's bullet smashed into Stan's chest, hurling him backward across the altar where he remained motionless as his life gushed out. His gray eyes were bewildered, then glazed over and saw nothing more.
Alexandra flew to Jake, flinging herself into his arms as tears of happiness ran down her face.
Was it really true? Could he be real? She looked up into his hard, handsome face. A fresh pink scar was etched across his temple and she ran her fingers along it. He was real!
Jake crushed her to him. "I love you, Alexandra. I love you."
She eagerly pressed her lips to his.
Nothing could ever separate them again.
Epilogue
Alexander and Jake stood on the windy hill, the summer sun warming them as they gazed down at the grave of Olaf Thorssen. They had saved it for the last—a tribute to the man who had brought them together.
"I'm sorry you couldn't have known your grandfather," Alexandra said pensively.
"My dear Mrs. Jarmon," Jake said, smiling at her, "I believe that I shall know him quite well after I hear all the stories you're going to tell my son and I about him."
Alexandra returned his smile, squeezing his hand.
"I imagine you're right, if I can get you to leave your cows long enough to hear them."
"Our cows, Alex, and you know you'll be right out there with me."
She laughed. "I don't know if I'd have married you if I'd known—"
Jake jerked her to him, his face hard. "Don't ev
er say that, Alexandra. You don't know what agony I went through, not knowing if Stan had already married you, if you were safe. I thought I'd go crazy until I got to New York and found out about you. The trail drive didn't seem to matter after you'd gone."
He held her tightly, his lips brushing her hair.
"I was only teasing, Jake. You know how much I love you."
"I think it'll be a long time before I can be completely sure about you, Alex," he said, chuckling. "You're like a wild mustang. You may be tamed, but you'll always require your freedom."
"Jake, my freedom is sharing my life with you and our children, sharing the Bar J and the Clarke shipping firm."
"You know, Alex, I'm going to enjoy that business of yours, too. I've already got ideas about the cotton in Texas and the shipping in New York, as well as the cattle, of course."
Alexandra laughed. "You're planning quite an empire for the Jarmons, aren't you?"
Jake grinned down at her. "Might as well think big when you're thinking, Alexandra."
"Well, Texas is big enough for me."
And then it was time to leave the peaceful knoll. It was time to board the ship which would take them to Texas, together at last, forever.
