Harper's Bride

by Alexis Harrington

  "Oh, much better. Thank you for your help! Would you like some lemonade before you go?"

  The older of the two said, "No, ma'am, but thanks. We've got two more stops to make before lunch. We'll have to come back this afternoon with that lamp we left at the store."

  "That's fine. Just so I have it by evening."

  They left then, and Melissa went to the doorway to admire the room and its new furnishings. They weren't fancy, but they looked very good in this house. Everything was clean and bright and newly painted.

  "What do you think, button. Isn't this nice?"

  Jenny smiled at her and waved both arms.

  This was a new beginning for her and Jenny, too. Not one that she'd wanted, but given time, Melissa hoped she might stop thinking about Dylan twice an hour. Maybe she'd eventually be able to think about him twice a day, and then once a day. She might even be able to sleep nights without seeing him in her dreams, or feeling as if he still lay next to her. As it was now, sometimes she woke up in the darkness certain that if she put out her hand, she'd find him on his side of the bed. He was the only loose end left in her life. She'd taken care of everything else.

  Thank God Pa didn't know where she'd moved to.

  That was the one fear she had, that he'd somehow find her and try to drag her back to Slabtown, or demand money from her.

  For now, though, her life was as good as it could be without Dylan. She and Jenny were well and happy, they had good neighbors in Mrs. Keller and her daughters, each of whom competed with the others to hold Jenny, and they had money.

  It wasn't until she moved into this house that Melissa had found a poke in Jenny's clothes. She knew Dylan had hidden it there, probably supposing that she wouldn't accept it from him otherwise. And he'd been right. But since he'd left it with Jenny's things, she intended to use part of it to open a bank account for the baby. Added to what she'd already accumulated in Dawson, the gold would keep them comfortable and safe for a good long time.

  *~*~*

  Carrying a bouquet he'd bought from a cart on the street, Dylan walked into the lobby of the Portland Hotel and approached the front desk. Once again, he turned some heads, but he took little note of their rude curiosity. He felt all the nervous anticipation of a boy plotting his first kiss. On the trip downriver, he'd envisioned the scene— The surprise on Melissa's face when she opened her door, and the joy. She'd be so glad to see him that she'd fall into his arms and save him the agony of having to bare his soul to her with words. Or maybe being with her again would make it easy to tell her how much he loved her. He'd tell her whatever she wanted him to if she would only be his true, legal wife. He'd happily spend the rest of his life making up for everything she'd missed.

  He didn't recognize the desk clerk behind the counter—what kind of reception would he get this time?

  "May I help you, sir?" The tone was a bit brittle, but not downright hostile.

  "My wife, Mrs. Dylan Harper, is a guest in the hotel. Could you ring her room and tell her I'm on my way up?"

  The clerk glanced down at Dylan's knife and blanched. "Well, sir, you see, Mr. Harper . . . "

  Foreboding washed over him like a powerful wave. Feeling as if his stomach were trying to grab his ankles, Dylan put both elbows on the countertop. "What's the matter?"

  "I'm afraid your wife checked out yesterday."

  "Checked out! Are you sure?" It never occurred to him that Melissa would leave the hotel so soon. He'd supposed that she'd want to stay there for a month or so and let the staff pamper her a bit.

  The clerk nodded. "She paid her bill and left with your daughter. I handled the matter myself."

  "What forwarding address did she give you?"

  The clerk swallowed hard and looked as if he wished he could crawl into one of the pigeonholes behind him. "None, I'm afraid, Mr. Harper." Obviously, he thought that Dylan was an abandoned husband.

  Disappointed and frustrated, the pain of loss sliced through Dylan with a sharp, ruthless blade. He swung around and gazed unseeing at the guests wandering the lobby. Damn it! Why had fate conspired against him like this? Now that he'd finally realized what a dunderhead he'd been to let Melissa go in the first place, he'd come racing back to Portland, only to lose her completely.

  Rage and the stirring of grief made his heart thump in his chest. He turned to the clerk and demanded, "Doesn't anyone in this hotel know where she's gone? Is she still in Portland?"

  The clerk glanced around the curious onlookers and shook his head. He lowered his own voice to a whisper, as if hoping to suggest to Dylan that he lower his. "No, Mr. Harper, we have no idea. I'm sorry."

  "Goddamn it!" he erupted, then turned sharply. He wished there were someone to place the blame on, he'd love to point a finger at an individual or a group and accuse them of having lost the one true love of his life. But there was no one to blame except himself. "Have you got a wife?"

  "Y-yes, sir, and three children."

  "Here, give these to her," he said, and shoved the flowers at the clerk. "Where's your bar?"

  Like a drowning man spotting a life preserver, the clerk spied a hotel employee, a young man passing by in a crisp, white jacket, and snapped his fingers at him. "Keller, please escort Mr. Harper to the hotel bar immediately."

  "But Mr. Stickle, the dining room—"

  "Now, Keller. I don't care what you were doing."

  "Yes, sir." The young man faced Dylan. "This way—" He studied Dylan for a few seconds as he turned to lead him across the vast carpeted lobby. "Your name is Harper?"

  "Yeah, that's right," Dylan grumped, but at that moment, he thought it should be mud.

  *~*~*

  Glancing at the new mantel clock, Melissa saw that it was almost lunchtime, and she started toward the kitchen. Jenny would be hungry, too. It was wonderful to have a regular schedule and a sun that rose and set at decent hours.

  Just as she brought out a loaf of bread to slice, she heard a knock at the front door. Maybe the draymen had found her lamp in their wagon after all. But when she opened the door, she saw neither the draymen nor her lamp.

  She saw a man in a black suit that fit him perfectly, following the line of his broad shoulders and his long legs. His heavy sun-streaked hair still brushed his shoulders, though, and his clear green eyes considered her as if they could see through her heart to her soul.

  "Dylan!" she whispered.

  "Hi, Melissa."

  She stared at him in amazement, as if he were a dead man come back from the grave.

  "How did you find me?"

  "It wasn't easy. I looked for you at the hotel, and most of the staff knew Melissa Harper, but only one knew about Melissa Logan. I got lucky when I happened upon Tom Keller. Um, can I come in and talk to you?" He seemed nervous and hesitant. Maybe he thought she would order him from her porch.

  "Yes, of course." She opened the door wider.

  He stood in the entryway and looked around. "This is nice, really nice. Homey."

  "Thank you . . . um, please . . . do sit down," she said, motioning him to the new settee.

  Jenny let out a loud noise of recognition then and grinned at Dylan, showing off two little bottom teeth just coming through her gums.

  "Hey, Jenny," he said, and stooped to give her a kiss. Then he settled lightly on the slick fabric of the settee.

  Melissa perched on a side chair, feeling as nervous as he acted. God, please don't let it be bad news, she prayed. She eyed his clothes again. "You look very nice, like you're going to a wedding or a funeral."

  He smiled at her, that sweet, tender smile that she'd seen once or twice before. It went straight to her heart and made it ache. "I'm hoping to go to a wedding."

  The ache turned to sharp pain. She glanced away from him, hoping she could get control of the tears that sprang into her eyes. "Oh, you and Elizabeth patched your differences?"

  "Elizabeth! God, no! Melissa, I want to marry you." He startled her by sliding off the settee to his knees front of her. He took h
er icy hands in his. "But—but isn't that why you went back to The Dalles? To marry Elizabeth?"

  "No, honey, that was never the reason. I wanted to see the property and figure out if there was a way I could get control of it again. It wasn't the house I wanted, it was the land. It's beautiful there." He explained to her what had transpired with the taxes and the condition of the house, and what he'd learned from both Elizabeth and checking around on his own.

  "You want to live in that house?" she asked. "I thought you hated it."

  "I do hate it. I'm going to have it torn down so I can build a new house on the land. Our house." He looked down at their linked hands. "I understand why you don't want to have anything to do with marriage again, and that you want to make it on your own." He leaned forward. "But, damn it, Melissa, we were good together. I love you and I love Jenny. I really do. Tell me there's at least a chance you'll change your mind about living alone."

  Flabbergasted, Melissa stared at him. She could hardly believe what she heard. "You have some idea of how hard life was for me with Coy. I never wanted to be married again," she began, and he sat back on his heels. She went on to tell him about the incident with her father and her brother, and saw anger smolder in his features. "As horrible as that day was, I realized that if not for you, I probably would have let them bully me into going back there. I'd grown up with being ordered around and treated like an indentured servant—I didn't know any different. Until I met you. You proved to me that I was worth more." She smiled at him, but she couldn't stop the tears that ran down her face. "I told my father that I didn't want Jenny to know a man like him, even if he was her grandfather. But I want her to know you and have you in her life, Dylan. And I want my new life to be with you."

  He smiled up at her—it was a grin that lit his whole face. He rose to his knees again. "Does that mean yes? Yes, you'll marry me?"

  She nodded. "It means yes. I love you so much. I loved you long before we left Dawson. And now that neither of us has any family left—"

  "We'll be our own family." He leaned closer to her and kissed her then. His lips, warm and soft on hers, hinted at passion yet to come, and the tenderness that had always been there.

  Dylan broke away and rummaged around in his pocket, relief and bone-deep gratitude washing through him. "I admit I took a chance and hoped things would go my way." He pulled out a small box and opened it. "I never gave you a wedding ring that day in the Yukon Girl. So I figured I should back up and start from scratch with an engagement ring."

  He would have given a day's worth of gold to see that expression on her face—delight and wonder. She reminded him of a kid opening a Christmas present.

  "Oh, Dylan, it's beautiful!" He put it on her finger; lucky for him it fit perfectly.

  "What kind of wedding do you want?" he asked. "Neither of your previous ones were much to write home about."

  She shook her head and stared down at the diamond ring, still smiling. Then she looked up at him with those gray eyes, eyes that had haunted his sleep from the first day he met her. "It doesn't matter what kind of wedding, it's who you marry. The courthouse will be fine. Just as long as we're together." Her smile faded then.

  "What's the matter?"

  "Oh, I signed a lease on this house for a whole year! And this furniture, it was just delivered. In fact, I'm still waiting for a lamp."

  He waved off her concerns. "Oh, hell, that doesn't matter. We can afford to buy out the lease if we decide to. But we can stay here for a while. Have our wedding night . . ."

  They'd have all the nights of the rest of their lives. At last they had found what they'd always been searching for.

  A family of their own.

  ###