He wasn’t stranded. Cherry, the bright-eyed and sweet waitress from Mama Melly’s restaurant, was standing by his side. She held his hands in her own, and her expression was one of pure devotion. Russia knew then that Cherry loved Ben. She suspected also that Ben would soon succumb to Cherry’s affections.
With that in mind, she turned her attention back to Santiago. A million questions played on her lips, but she asked none of them. All that mattered right now was that she was with him again. For how long she didn’t know, but she’d make the very most of that time. Wrapping her arms around him, she breathed deeply of his wonderful scent and listened intently to the soothing sound of his heartbeat. The heartbeat of the man she loved.
Once in the street, Santiago searched for Little Miss Muffet and soon spied her tied in front of Lotty’s mercantile. He wasted no time in going for her.
People poured out of the church just in time to see the ebony stallion gallop out of town, a black mare in tow. They watched in stunned silence as the infamous Santiago Zamora departed with the girl he’d come to claim. White satin swirled about his black clothing. Red-gold tresses flowed all around him.
And a long alabaster wedding veil swept behind him.
* * *
Santiago didn’t slow Quetzalcoatl until Whispering Oaks was miles behind them. When he finally did pull on the reins, the mellow colors of dusk glimmered in the sky.
He dismounted, his boots lost in a mass of black-eyed Susans. Gently, reverently, he lifted his treasure from the saddle. His princess, Russia Valentine.
Love igniting every part of her, Russia raised her hand, her finger trailing slowly down the jagged scar on his cheek. “Why’d y’come back, Santiago?”
He bent, burying his face in her soft, clove-scented hair. The words he’d never told her burst from his lips. “Because I love you.” Straightening, he pulled her closer, smoothing whisper-soft kisses upon the slight splattering of freckles on the bridge of her nose. “Santa Maria, Russia Valentine, I love you.”
The words seeped into her, filling her to the very brim with warmth, joy, and deep astonishment. She turned her face up to him.
Tenderly, and with all the love he felt for her, he slanted his mouth across hers, knowing again her sweetness. “Princess,” he murmured, his lips still clinging to hers. “My lady. Marry me, Russia. Marry me, paloma.”
The longing to accept was the strongest thing she’d felt in her whole life.
Santiago saw uncertainty flash through her incredible blue-green eyes. “Russia,” he entreated softly. “Please—”
“The cookies.” He stared down at her. “You made them for me. Was I wrong to think you’d made them for me because you love me?” He couldn’t move while he waited for her answer.
“No, Santiago. You wasn’t wrong.”
Relief soared through him. “Dear God, Russia, why didn’t you tell me? Why did you let me leave you in Whispering Oaks with Ben? Why—”
She covered his mouth with her hand. “What I was,” she began. “Nothin’ in the world can change it. What I had to do…with my body. Santiago, you tole me you wanted a lady. A proper lady. How could I tell you I loved you when I knowed I weren’t nothin’ a’tall like the lady o’ your dreams?”
He took her hand from his mouth. “But you made the cookies. You knew I’d understand what they meant.”
She nodded. “Some part o’ me— Even though I didn’t think I’d ever see you again, somethin’ inside me wanted you to know that I loved you. But I never believed you’d come back fer me.”
He held her closely for a long while. “I was wrong, Russia. I saw the woman on the outside. But it’s inside…it’s what’s inside that makes a lady, a decent lady. Beneath the soiled dove dwells an angel with a heart of gold. Russia, you’re the most decent woman I’ve ever known. You touch a part of me that I forgot existed.”
“But I—” She broke off, her heart beating wildly. “Santiago,” she murmured achingly, “what about—I cain’t have children. I—I cain’t never give you none. You said you wanted—”
“We head for Misericordia,” he told her softly. “It’s not what’s outside,” he reminded her again. “It’s what’s inside.”
She struggled to understand what he was trying to tell her, fought to comprehend his point.
He smiled gently. “I was a hard and bitter man when you met me, Russia. You saw beneath that. You found what was inside me. Do you have any idea how long I’d wanted to be gentle with someone? How hard I wished I could show someone the man behind the gunslinger? No one would let me. No one, Russia, except you.”
“Oh, Santiago, I—”
“Inside. It’s what’s inside that matters. And so,” he continued, sprinkling kisses on her cheeks, “we head for Misericordia. There, palomita, is an infant. Blind on the outside. But inside—inside is a tiny baby boy with much to give.”
“Manuel,” she whispered, memories of the sweet baby making her smile. “You’re gonna adopt him.”
“He’ll be my son, but only if you’ll be his mother. Marry me, Russia.”
She wound her arms around him, embracing him tightly. Beneath her ear beat his heart. A heart that was hers for the taking. “Yes.”
Her acceptance wafted toward him on a long, sweet sigh. She was his. Now and forevermore, Russia Valentine was his. He crushed her to him.
Lost in the happiness of having all her dreams come true, Russia could not speak for a moment. When she thought of what she would say, she grinned. “Russia Zamora,” she pronounced. “Has a nice sound to it. But y’know? Russia Valentine ain’t my real name, Santiago. Reckon I oughta tell you what—”
“No,” he replied immediately. “I met Russia Valentine. I came to love Russia Valentine. Russia Valentine is who you will always be, querida. Russia Valentine Zamora.”
He bent and buried his face in the slight crook of her shoulder. “I’m hanging up my guns, love.”
She inhaled sharply. “Ferever?”
“Forever.”
Her hands on his cheeks, she raised his head and looked into his eyes. “What will you do?”
He grinned. “Capture, train, and raise horses. It’s what I’ve always wanted to do. And what about you?”
She gave him a splendorous smile. “Spend the rest o’ my life tryin’ to be ever’thing you always wanted.”
“You already are, Russia. Santa Maria, you already are.” He let go of her for a moment and knelt to the ground. One by one, he picked a bouquet of flowers for her, then rose to hold them out to her.
As she accepted them, she noticed loose dirt clinging to his fingers. Slowly, she brought his hand to her mouth, smoothing her lips across each callus she found. And then, smiling lovingly, she kissed each of his stained nails. “My Prince Charmin’,” she whispered. “Dancin’ dreams o’ dazzlin’ delight, I’ve got him at last.”
Epilogue
And they lived happily ever after.
The End
* * *
Read Chapter One of Rebecca Paisley’s delightful novel Diamonds and Dreams
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About the Author
Since her debut novel was published, bestselling author Rebecca Paisley has become known for creating her very own unique brand of magic on the page.
She decided early in her career to write the sort of books she wanted to read. Her determination earned her a slot on the Publishers Weekly bestseller list and the Romance Writer's of America Honor Roll. She's been a RITA finalist, won the Romantic Times’ “Lifetime Achievement Award” and “Career Achievement Award,” a Reviewers’ Choice Award for “Historical Romance Fantasy” and a “Best Love and Laughter” Award.
Rebecca currently lives in North Carolina with her menagerie of beloved pets, still believes in magic, and still relies on the “pixie voices in her head” to inspire her as she works on a brand new book.
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Amber House Books by Rebecca Paisley
The Barefoot Bride
Diamonds and Dreams
Rainbows and Rapture
Coming Soon
Midnight and Magnolias
Moonlight and Magic
Diamonds and Dreams
Sneak Peek
Chapter One
“You’re going to find a plain man and turn him into a duke?” Big repeated incredulously. “Goldie, you’re an American, and you’ve only been here in England for nine days! What do you know about the English nobility? How can you possibly make some commoner into this…this Royal Lordship Duke Tremayne, or whatever the hell it is he’s called! You’ve never even seen the fellow!”
Goldie looked at the tiny man and smiled. Big Mann was her very best friend and a dwarf. And it was in that order that she saw him. His real name was Beauregard Irwin Grover Mann, but ever since she’d noticed his initials spelled “Big,” that’s what she’d called him. She slid her hand across his whisker-studded cheek, then spooned more oat mush into her toothless nag’s mouth. “You like this, don’t you, Dammit?” she asked the old horse, watching him gum the food.
Big stomped his foot. “Did you hear me, Goldie Mae?”
“I heard you, Big. Great day Miss Agnes, folks back in America probably heard you. Y’know, when you scream like that, you remind me of Elvin Moots back in Green As a Gourd, Virginia. Uncle Asa and I lived in Green As a Gourd about two years before we met you. Anyway, Elvin Moots never talked soft, but only yelled. One day he opened his mouth to scream, and no sound came out at all. I’ll swannee, not even as much as a low murmur, Big, and I’m not makin’ that up. Daddy’s honor. He—”
She broke off and cocked her head. “Did I ever tell you why I say ‘Daddy’s honor’? Most folks swear on the Bible, but see, my daddy—God rest his soul—was the most honest man in the world. So when I say ‘Daddy’s honor’ it’s the same as swearin’ what I say to be the Gospel truth. I never lie against Daddy’s honor, Big.”
“Goldie, I’ve been with you for four years. Don’t you think that’s time enough for me to learn why you say ‘Daddy’s honor’? Besides, we’re discussing the duke.”
“No, we’re discussin’ Elvin Moots,” she corrected him, still spooning mush between Dammit’s smacking lips. “Leonie Bradshaw said he’d busted up his throat from so many years of hollerin’. He was the preacher, y’see, and loved the sound of his own voice. Sundays came, and we all brought dinner and supper with us to church. Nobody thought it’d be proper to faint from hunger in the Lord’s house. Reverend Elvin Moots didn’t mind us eatin’ durin’ the sermons, but heaven help the poor soul who went to sleep.
“Anyhow, after he lost his voice, we didn’t go to church anymore because there wasn’t a minister. Duncan Gilmore tried preachin’ for a while, but nobody in town trusted a man who wore a skirt and went around with naked knees. He said he was Scottish and that his skirt was part of his heritage, but folks didn’t believe that for one minute.”
She looked at Big from the corner of her eye. “So you better watch that screamin’, Big, or you’ll turn into another Elvin Moots.”
She picked up the tin bucket, slid the handle into the crook of her elbow, and proceeded down the meandering path that led to her newest home, an ancient stone cottage. “Uncle Asa and I left Green As a Gourd soon after that,” she continued as Big trailed along behind her. “Myra Carney caught Uncle Asa tryin’ to steal her corset right off the clothesline. See, Uncle Asa had had too much to drink, and when he saw the corset he wondered if it would make him look thinner. He didn’t mean any harm.”
She stopped for a moment to examine a spiderweb floating from a wooden post. A small moth was caught inside it. With a gentle touch, she freed it. “Anyway, we packed up and left that night because the townsfolk said they were gonna string him up for what he did to Myra Carney. It near about did her in to look out her window and see a man wearin’ her corset. Doc Burpy had to stay with her all afternoon. But I’ll tell you the truth, Big—I think Myra Carney and Doc Burpy were more than just doctor and patient, and that the only reason he stayed at her house for so long was because they were lovin’ up on each other.
“Uncle Asa and I went to Tennessee after that. Little town called Pickinsville. I liked it there. Thought maybe we’d finally found somewhere we could send down some roots, y’know, Big? But we didn’t fit in there either. Hadn’t been there even a month when Uncle Asa got drunk and proposed to Hank Cooper’s wife, Nellie. I don’t think Hank would’ve run us out of town if Nellie hadn’t accepted Uncle Asa’s proposal. After Pickinsville…well, you know the story. I’ve been everywhere.”
She arrived at the cracked wooden door of the dilapidated cottage. After setting down her bucket, she picked a handful of bright yellow dandelions, caressed her chin with them, and looked out at the green hills around her. “And now here I am in the royal country of England. I know we’ve only been here for nine days, Big, but I am part English, y’know. On Daddy’s side. I feel bad that Uncle Asa’s runnin’ from just about every lawman in America is what brought us over here, but I’m glad we’re here. And I’m glad you came with us, Big. And I’m glad—”
“Goldie, I’m glad you’re so glad, but about making a duke… You—”
“And just think, Big! This cottage belonged to my great-aunt Delia Mae! I forgot to tell you that a few days ago I found her diaries hidden up in the ceilin’ rafters. I was cleanin’ down spiderwebs, and they were right there in a burlap sack. A lot of ’em have gotten wet from rain seepin’ through the roof, and you can hardly read ’em. But some are all right. Anyway, I read a few of ’em, and Aunt Delia wrote that she was born right here in this cottage. Imagine how nice that would be, stayin’ in one place for your whole life. I bet the roots Aunt Delia sent down here go clear through the earth and out the other side. She must have fit in here real good. I can’t believe she died only a month ago. I…I never even got to meet her. If only we’d gotten here sooner.”
Big watched her eyes mist and waited before continuing. He knew her tears would be gone soon, for she never allowed herself to cry for long. Just as he suspected, she was smiling in the next moment. “Goldie—”
“England.” The word came from Goldie on a long, contented sigh. “Wonder when I’ll get to visit Queen Victoria? Wonder if anyone ever calls her Vicky? I bet you a trillion dollars that’s her nickname. Mildred Fickle back in Sparrow Nest, South Carolina, made it her business to know everything there is to know about royalty, and she said Queen Vicky has a special crown for everything she does. An eatin’ crown, a walkin’ crown, a bath crown…she even has a soft crown to wear to bed. I’ll swannee, I bet the poor woman spends half the day tryin’ to remember which crown she’s supposed to wear.”
Big kicked a rock across the yard and stuffed his hands into his pockets. “Goldie, I don’t know a thing about Queen Vicky or England. Neither did Mildred Fickle, and neither do you. This idea of yours about making a duke out of a commoner is the craziest thing I’ve heard in my entire life.”
“But it’s the only solution to the problem.” She sank to the dirt, her gaze directed at the horizon.
Big squatted beside her and noticed she wouldn’t look at him. His suspicions grew. “Well, would you mind telling me what the problem is, and why this plan of yours is the only solution?”
Her gaze moved from the horizon to a nearby shrub. “I wonder what kind of bush that is, Big? We don’t have that kind in America.”
Big’s eyes narrowed. “Goldie, you’re hedging.”
She laughed. “Oh, Big, how funny! I saw that shrub, wondered what kind of bush it was, and then you said I was hedgin’. Did you mean to make a joke, or was it just one of those lucky things?”
Big won the battle not to smile. He knew if Goldie saw him grin, she’d feel less pressured to tell him about her outrageous plan. He realized also that whatever that scheme was, he wasn’t going to li
ke it. Otherwise, Goldie would have told it to him from beginning to end. “Goldie,” he said, forcing a note of warning into his voice, “I’m waiting.”
She finally looked at him, blinking several times and wondering how to explain things to him. “I—Well, y’see, Big…last night, Uncle Asa drank too much at the—”
“I knew it! I knew Asa was somehow connected with this wild idea you’ve come up with! He’s done it again, hasn’t he, Goldie? Done something that has made the villagers hate him, and now these people are taking it out on you! It’s always been that way! He makes the trouble, and you pay for it! He—”
“Big, settle down. I haven’t even explained—”
“You’re taking so long to do it, I’m imagining the rest!”
Slowly, she swirled her finger in the soft dirt by her feet. “All right. Uncle Asa drank too much at the village saloon—I mean pub. Did y’know that’s what these English villagers call their saloon?”
Big laid his forehead on his bent knees and prayed for patience. “Your reasons for needing this Royal Tremayne fellow?”
She realized she’d just have to come out with it. “Well, Uncle Asa got fallin’-down drunk last night, and some of the men threw him out of the pub. Uncle Asa worked himself into a snortin’ rage and told ’em a pack of lies.”
Big raised his head and stiffened. “Such as?”
She fiddled with a gold ringlet before answering. “He told the men that when we first got here to England, we went to London and met Duke Tremayne himself, and that we introduced ourselves as Delia Mae’s family from America. He said that when the duke learned who we were, he entertained us in his town house for a few days and promised us his assistance if we ever need it.”
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