by Caroline Lee
Her hands shook slightly as her fingers tightened on the paper. Who…?
Draven walked in, holding a piece of paper of his own. She recognized it as one of the wanted posters from his office.
“I was right,” he said, waving the paper. “Peter Abernathy is wanted in Nebraska, and his bounty should be enough to keep us— Oh.”
He broke off when he saw what she was holding. If she hadn't been looking directly at him, she would have missed his wince. He dropped the wanted poster on the table and reached for her, but must have thought better of it at the last moment, and his arms fell back to his side.
“Are you—? What do you—?” He took a deep breath. “Are you angry?”
“Did you do this?” Her voice shook slightly. “Did you take my work and change it?”
For the first time ever, she saw Draven look... unsure. After a long moment, he nodded hesitantly. “Yes.”
“How? Why?”
He ran one hand over his hair. “I used Horatio's hectograph. He’d been storing it and using it in my office for a year now, so I paid attention.” He shrugged. “When I saw that sketch of yours, I was struck by... Look,” he said with a sigh, “it's like you managed to capture all of the best parts about living in Noelle. The mountains, the buildings in the snow...you even added touches that made the whole thing look so...” He shrugged again. “Welcoming. I knew the other women would appreciate that. And they did! They’ve already told me so.”
Now her whole body began to tremble, the paper in her hands flapping wildly. She couldn't manage more than a whisper when she said, “No one knew. No one knew I liked to sketch, not until Birdie arrived. No one has ever seen any of my pictures. But you shared this one with the whole town?” She was half hurt, half flattered, and completely confused. “Why?” she wailed, desperate to understand.
Not an hour ago he’d run to her rescue, saving her from Abernathy’s murderous intentions. Right after that, Draven had proposed marriage to her. And last night, he’d told her his real name. None of that was a confession of love, but surely it meant he cared for her, just a bit? Surely it meant he cared about her feelings? Or had he wanted to marry her just so he could have sex with her guilt-free?
Oh, God. Tears were pooling in her eyes. Why had he done it, if he didn’t understand how special and private her drawings were to her?
She watched as his hands reached for her, then curled into fists and drop once more to his side. His expression was oddly blank, as if he didn't know how to react to her outburst.
He took a deep breath as she watched intently. What excuses would he make?
“I'm sorry, Pearl. I am very, very sorry.” All the air whooshed out of him and his shoulders slumped as he looked away. “My mama tried to raise me right. One of her lessons was about never hurting a woman, and apologizing when you did. So I'm sorry I hurt your feelings.”
He didn't say it to her, but to the kitchen table. Still, it was the most heartfelt apology Pearl had ever received in her life, so she could forgive him for not meeting her eyes. Besides, hers were so filled with tears, it wouldn’t have made a difference.
The last few years of her life had taught her many things about men's intentions and their passions. She knew that an apology was rare, and such a beautiful one, even rarer. She reached for him, intent on telling him so. Intent on thanking him. But before she could, he stepped out of her reach, pretending great interest in the Christmas candles she'd left on the table.
“I want you to know that I didn't do it to hurt you.” His attention remained on the candles. “I would never do anything to hurt you intentionally. I knew that you'd never shared your artwork with the people in town, but I didn't stop to think why, or how you might react if I did that for you.”
She was about to ask him why he’d done it in the first place, but he beat her to it.
He took another deep breath, still not looking at her. “I was just so sick of you thinking of yourself as nothing more than a whore! You are so much more than that, Pearl, and I wanted you... I wanted you to see yourself the way I see you.”
How much had it taken for him to express himself that way? In the last few days, she'd seen a side of Draven no one else in town ever had. He was thoughtful, well-read, and had a deep respect for his mother that made Pearl love him even more. But this confession, his words, the way he was opening his heart to her...it meant the most of all.
She moved up behind him, placing her hand on his arm. He didn't acknowledge her presence, but she watched his shoulders straighten.
She had to ask, or she’d always wonder. “And how is that, Draven? How do you see me?”
“As a beautiful, talented woman,” he whispered without looking at her. “One who can make a crusty old badger like me celebrate Christmas once more. A woman who makes me contemplate future Christmases with her, and look forward to them. A woman who has opened my eyes, and my heart, to the beauty around me.”
She startled when he twisted around and grabbed her hand as his dark gaze caught hers.
“You are an amazingly talented artist, Pearl. I know now I shouldn't have taken your work and shared it without your permission, but I hope you'll forgive me. I wanted everyone else to see that about you.”
You're more than a whore.
His claim from earlier in the week had never been far from Pearl's thoughts.
You're more than a whore.
Whether it was true or not, it had meant so much to her, because he thought it was true. Could he be right? Could the people of Noelle, Colorado come to think of her as anything other than what she’d been for so long?
Slowly, she nodded, a tiny glimmer of hope blossoming in her chest. “I forgive you, Draven. It's not how I would have done it, but the fact that you care enough about me and my reputation to do something this crazy...” She lowered her eyes. “Well, it means the world to me.”
His hand came up and cupped her cheek. “Do you still love me?”
How could he even ask? She flicked her gaze up to his, then away once more. “Of course. I...I don't think I'll ever stop.”
The unscarred side of his mouth twitched upward to match the other. How she loved this crooked smile of his he never showed anyone else!
“Then marry me, Pearl,” he implored gruffly. “Marry me—for real this time—and let me spend the rest of my life showing this town who you really are. Let’s— I don’t know. Let’s continue publishing Horatio’s newspaper or something, but with your sketches this time. Let me show Noelle how talented you are.”
Her heart sank, and she tried to pull away, but his hand on her cheek stopped her.
“Why, Pearl?” he asked softly. “Would I make that bad of a husband?”
“No.” Her voice caught on a sob. “You'd be a wonderful husband, but I'd be a terrible wife!”
His eye widened in surprise. “What do you mean?” With his free hand, he gestured around the room. “The last few days have shown me you're exactly the kind of wife I want.” A twinkle of humor returned to his expression, just for a moment. “And trust me when I tell you, I've never considered what kind of wife I wanted before now.”
They’d been through this before, and Pearl was frustrated he was making her say it again. “I can't be your wife, Draven,” she said with as much patience as she could muster, “because I'm a—” Remembering what he tried so hard to convince her of, she changed her sentence slightly. “I've been a whore.”
She took a deep breath. “You're a respected man, a respected bounty hunter, and now a respected sheriff in a town that will be booming again soon. What would it be like—what would people think—how would you maintain respect from the men in this town... if you were married to a woman they’d all—well…a woman like me?”
Slowly, she watched his expression change. He was never an expressive man, but she knew him well enough. Realization, understanding, and acceptance flickered through his eye after her little speech. And with each change, her heart grew a little emptier.
Without his touch, she felt lost, so she stepped away from him and the table, pretending a need to straighten the already perfect blankets on the bed. Maybe, despite what she’d just told him, he'd allow her to stay here with him in a more informal capacity. No one would judge him then, surely?
His voice startled her out of her maudlin musings. “Last night,” he began gruffly, “ and this morning... were you thinking of another man?”
What?
She spun around “No! How could you ask that?”
He was still standing beside the table, holding the printed copy of her drawing in one hand, while he watched her.
“You think of yourself as a whore.” He shrugged. “That means what we did last night—what we've done dozens of times since I met you—you've done with other men. Right?”
What…?
Why was he doing this? Was he trying to humiliate her?
Pearl lifted her chin. “Yes,” she said as smoothly as possible. “That and more.” She hated admitting it, but he had to understand.
“So the other men in this town, the ones you're worried about thinking poorly of me...were you imagining their touch last night?”
As if she could! “No.”
“And when I'm making you scream my name, when you're panting, and begging for me...” His grin turned downright devilish. “Are you thinking about those other fellas?”
Her cheeks burned, half at his crude words, and half at the memories they evoked. But she answered truthfully. “No.”
He carefully placed the copy of her sketch on top of her folder and began across the room towards her. She stumbled backward slightly, feeling uncomfortably like his prey again.
“I want you to know, regardless of whether we're married or not, I still plan on doing all those things to you for many more years.” He shrugged. “And I guess it's up to you if we do those things here in our home, or in the cathouse.”
Pearl’s heart was beating so loudly, she wondered if he could hear it. She swallowed, not sure if she was nervous or not…but when he stopped in front of her, she didn't back away.
“And what I want to know is, when I'm making you feel that way—when you're making me feel that way—are you going to be thinking about other men? Will you be thinking about the other men in this town?”
It was time for her to confess. She sucked in a deep breath, raised her chin, and tried to ignore the pounding of her pulse in her ears.
“Draven, from the first time you touched me, I have not thought of a single other man. It's always you I'm thinking of. Always.”
That slow grin pulled up one side of his mouth. “Well then,” he drawled, “I think that's about all the answer I need.” He nodded, but made no move to reach for her. “I don't care what your past is, Pearl. You're the one that taught me to quit thinking of myself as the man I used to be. Since I met you, I’ve started thinking of my future, and I want you in it.” His chest expanded with a deep breath. “I want you to start thinking of a future with me. One that doesn't have anything to do with any of the other men in this town, any other man anywhere, and what you might have shared with them.”
It was... it was everything she'd ever hoped to hear. “But your reputation—” she began tentatively.
He grabbed her hand, interrupting her. “Do you think I honestly care? Do you think it matters to me? I'm confident enough in myself, and my feelings for you.”
Feelings? Did that mean…?
She squeezed his hand. Not because she needed the comfort, but because she felt like she might be drowning, and his grip was the only thing keeping her afloat. “What kind of feelings?”
He stared at her a long moment, not speaking. His expression was unreadable again, and she didn’t like it.
Finally, he asked her a question in response. “Who am I?”
Was he trying to trick her? She thought over the last minutes. “You’re Draven. The most-feared man north of Texas. You probably don’t care what anyone else thinks about you, do you?”
He shook his head once, curtly. “Who else am I?”
Without breaking eye contact, he flipped her hand over in his, and began to rub small circles on her palm. Slowly, she felt her grip—all of her—relax. This was the man she’d fallen in love with.
“You’re Gilder Draven,” she said quietly. “You honor your mother’s memory, even if no one else knows that. You’re well-read, and have opinions on all sorts of subjects. You’re thoughtful enough to come up with a scheme to give me value in the eyes of the new townswomen. And you’re gentle enough to make me fall in love with you.”
His smile built slowly, but when it came, she knew she'd said the right thing.
His free hand rose to brush against the scarring at what had once been his eye socket. “You're the only one who has ever seen beyond the damage, Pearl Shelby. In the last twenty years, people have only seen one side of me. You cared enough to see the rest of me, to make me see myself. To make me think about who I was, and who I wanted to be.”
He dropped her hand, but only long enough to wiggle his mother's gold ring off his smallest finger. “When I heard the reverend’s plan, I thought this was the dumbest scheme I'd ever heard. But now?” He snorted slightly with laughter. “If you say yes, Pearl, I'm going to march over there and shake Hammond’s hand.”
He held the gold ring up between two fingers. She knew he’d worn it for many years, and she thought about what it meant to him. That little ring wasn't just a piece of jewelry, wasn't just a memory of his mother. For twenty years, it has been a reminder of his hidden self. The man his mother had died believing him to be. Who he wanted to be.
And now, he was offering it to her.
Could she do it? Could she take the sheriff—the man—as her future? He'd met all of her objections and countered them with reasonable arguments. If he really didn't care about her past, if he really wanted to just focus on the future, then who was she to tell him no?
So her throat was dry when she asked him, “If I say yes to what?”
“Somewhere in the last five days—hell, it's only been five days?—you showed me what love could be.” He lifted the ring a little higher. “I love you, Pearl.”
I love you. How long had she yearned to hear those words again? How many times had she dreamed of hearing them from him, but dismissed it as impossible? I love you.
She wanted to scream, I love you too! But her heart was stuck in her throat, and she couldn’t make a single peep.
His smile was back. “Marry me, Pearl. Build a future with me. Not as Draven, but as Gilder.” He scowled threateningly. “Although you better not ever tell anybody that's my name.”
She felt the laughter bubbling up inside of her, like a spring of joy she couldn't contain, even if she wanted to.
“If you're willing to trust me with that kind of secret” —she took the ring out of his hand, and slipped it on her fourth finger— “then I suppose I should trust you with my future.”
He captured both of her hands in his and brought them to his lips. She felt his scars brushing against her fingertips as he kissed her skin. But the feeling was pleasant and made her tremble from something not at all like fear. She loved this man. She loved the way he made her feel, and the way he felt under her touch. And now, they would have the rest of their lives to love one another, and be loved.
“Well, Sheriff Draven,” she asked shyly, “when are you willing to stand up in front of the preacher?”
He kissed her fingertips again. “How about right now? Hammond should be down at the Golden Nugget Saloon—either drinking coffee at his table or upstairs in his room with his new wife. I could convince him to stand up with us in front of that dumb Christmas tree.”
Without giving her time to agree, he jerked his head towa
rds the outer room and the jail cell. “Soon, I'm going to have to head to Denver with Abernathy. I could drop him with one of the judges I know, but I was thinking about just letting Maybelle's family know his plans. They could get in contact with Maybelle in San Francisco, and she can press charges. That way you don't have to be involved at all. What do you think?”
“I think you know me better than anyone would have guessed, myself included.” She shuddered slightly, remembering the evil look in Abernathy's eyes. “I just want this whole thing behind us.” So they could get on with their forever.
He nodded firmly and used his grip on her hands to pull her towards him. Wrapping one arm around her middle, he crushed her hand—and his mother's gold ring—between their two beating hearts.
“I'll wait until the real railroad representative arrives,” he whispered against her hair. “I think Mr. Stiles might like to meet his impersonator, and an extra week in my cold jail cell might make Abernathy more willing to talk to the judge. Do you want to come with me?”
The offer took her by surprise, and she leaned back slightly. “To Denver?”
“Yeah. As a honeymoon.”
A honeymoon? Her eyes widened. “You mean it? You’d be willing to take me—?”
His exasperated huff ruffled her hair. “I’m not going to let you out of my sight, soon-to-be-Mrs.-Draven. I love you.”
Would she ever tire of hearing that? “I know it might be a little hard for you to say that, but I hope you understand I’m a little…unsure. Of myself.” She buried her burning face against his neck, and mumbled the rest. “I hope you don’t mind reminding me once a month or so?”
She felt, rather than heard, his rumble of laughter. “Pearl, I’ll tell you three times a day if it’ll help.”
His laughter made her feel less awkward. “Only three?” she asked against his shoulder.
“Yeah,” he drawled. “So you better choose when to hear them wisely.”
“Maybe…” She pulled back, tilting her head to look into his face. “Maybe right now?
