When she still didn't reply, he found himself stretching for topics of conversation. Anything to keep her in front of him and maybe lead up to what he'd come here to say in the first place. And then he thought ... why not get right to the point? Tell her what was on his mind and let the cards fall where they may. Even if she slapped his face and told him to go to the devil, she couldn't be any colder toward him than she was at this very moment.

  He stopped worrying his hat against his leg and stuffed the Stetson back onto his head, tamping it down tight. “Listen, Regan,” he said shortly, “the reason I told you about the offer to take over as sheriff of Purgatory is that...” He stuffed his thumbs into his pants pockets. “Well, because I was thinking about sticking around. Turning in my Ranger badge and settling down here."

  Oh, God, this couldn't be happening. Regan had bitten down on her tongue, keeping her body rigid and her emotions in check while he'd been talking. But now her nerves were screeching in agony, her mind shrieking in denial.

  How could he stay? God in heaven, she would never survive. Bad enough she'd had to see him almost every day this past month, both loving him and hating him at the same time; never wanting to be near him again and yet craving his touch; wishing he would disappear, but not sure what she would do if he did.

  And now he was telling her that he intended to stay in Purgatory, put down stakes, and live within walking distance of her every day for the rest of her life.

  Well, that was easy enough to remedy, she thought with no small amount of bitterness. She would simply have to either die or move away. And while neither of those solutions seemed ideal, there was no way she could continue to live so close to him. Not if what she'd started to suspect turned out to be true.

  Clay shifted, cocking one hip and then the other in front of her. “Aren't you going to say anything?"

  "I would rather you didn't.” The words squeaked out before she'd even thought them through.

  He frowned. “Didn't what? Say anything?"

  Of course, now that she'd gotten wet, she might as well jump in with both feet. “Stay. I'd rather you didn't stay. You're a Ranger, Clay, not a small-town sheriff. Go back to Sweetwater and be a Ranger.” With her skirts bunched in her closed fists, she turned toward the barn and stalked away.

  "Regan. Damn it to hell,” she heard him mutter. And then he was beside her. “Hold up a minute,” he said, taking hold of her arm. “If you don't stop walking away from me, I swear to God I'm going to nail your shoes to the ground."

  She turned back to face him, chin high, mouth held firm. She would let him have his say, if she must, and then she would go on with her life as though he'd never been a part of it.

  "I don't want to argue with you, Regan. And I sure as hell don't want to go chasing you all over creation just so I can tell you what's on my mind."

  Pulling away from his grasp, she crossed her arms beneath her breasts and faced him full-on. “Fine. I'm listening. But be quick about it. I have a lot to do today."

  One side of Clay's mouth spasmed into a half-smile. “Did anyone ever tell you you're as stubborn as a two-headed mule? Must be that Irish temper."

  Then he muttered, “Maybe this will get your attention,” and pulled her flush with his frame, wrapping his arms around her as his mouth swooped down on hers.

  Chapter Thirty-five

  The kiss was long and deep and as warm as she remembered. So comforting that she leaned into it rather than pulling back the way her brain told her she should. She kept her hands to herself, fighting the urge to flatten them against Clay's broad, solid chest.

  He lifted his head and she stared up at him, slightly dazed. Oh, yes, it would be easy to get over this man. And maybe tomorrow when she woke up, the sky would be green and the grass would be blue.

  "Now that your sharp tongue is sheathed,” he told her, slightly out of breath himself, “maybe I can finish what I started."

  Regan wished he would. Maybe then she could go back into the house and work to return feeling to her lips.

  "I've been thinking about things these past few weeks. The burglaries you committed and how I felt about them, the time we spent together before I found out. And then this offer to take over as sheriff came up, and I had to consider that, too. Mostly, I kept coming back to what Aunt Martha said about deciding between love and duty."

  He sighed on an exhalation of air. “The long and the short of it is, I love you, Regan. I don't care anymore what you stole or why. Especially since you don't plan to do it again, thank God.

  "That's why I went to Sweetwater last week,” he confessed. “I turned in my badge. Told them I'd gotten a better offer.” He shot her an uncertain, lopsided grin. “The question is: Have I got a better offer here in Purgatory? Or should I head back to Sweetwater and beg the Rangers for my old job?"

  Regan stared at him, her mouth open in incredulity. Her heart was pounding, the blood rushing in her ears. Had he said what she thought he'd said? No, it couldn't be. She was hearing things. Because she wanted so much for him to love her, she'd created a situation in her head and was now imagining it to actually be happening.

  "Regan?” His voice reached her from very far away. “Aren't you going to say anything?"

  To test reality, she reached out and pinched him.

  "Ouch!” He scowled and rubbed at the spot on his arm. “What was that for?"

  All right, so this was real, she thought numbly, ignoring his question altogether. “Could you ... start over? I don't think I heard you correctly."

  He looked at her with raised eyebrows. “Start over?” he asked with a harsh laugh. “Jesus, green eyes, I had enough trouble getting it out the first time."

  Her head was spinning, the world lurching viciously, tossing her almost literally upside down. “Just ... say it again so I can be sure."

  "Say what again?” His voice seemed lower this time, like he might know exactly what she was talking about, but chose to tease her.

  She glared at him, eyes narrowed. “You know what. If you meant it, say it again."

  He dropped all pretense of misunderstanding and grasped her face in both of his hands, tilting her gaze to better lock with his own. “I love you, Regan Doyle. I've been an ass these past few weeks, I know, but that doesn't change how I feel about you. It just took me a while to figure out what was what. Aunt Martha is right: My principles aren't going to keep me warm at night.” He closed in until his forehead rested against hers. “Only you can do that, sweetheart. I just have to convince you to forgive me."

  Regan blinked rapidly, fighting back tears. But they were tears of happiness. She'd never been so happy. “Forgive you for what?” she asked in a watery voice.

  "For being such a jackass. You accused me of it once, and you were right. Then I went and pulled the same trick again.” His lips brushed over her closed eyelids, then moved to her cheeks and jaw. “I'm guessing I might need regular reminders not to stick my foot in my mouth. Think you might want to accept that responsibility?"

  When she looked into his slate-gray eyes, she saw them twinkling with mirth. She smiled back at him, almost giddy with relief and excitement.

  "I might,” she told him. “After all, I am rather good at it."

  Throwing his head back, he let out a loud guffaw, then squeezed her tight, his legs widening to span the volume of her skirts.

  "Clay,” she began, trying to think straight. “Were you going to ask me to marry you?"

  He leaned back, looking her over with a slight frown on his face. “I was thinking about it,” he said. “But I was kind of hoping to be the one to bring it up.” The lines around his mouth deepened in disappointment.

  "Well, you should probably bring it up soon,” she told him. With her confidence restored, she had no problem asserting herself once again. In fact, she rather liked the idea of shocking him into a marriage proposal.

  One eye narrowed, he studied her closely. “And why might that be?” he asked.

  She shrugged a shoulder, the epitome of carelessness as she lowered her lashes. “Only because it seems I might not be as barren as I thought."

  Shock brightened his dark eyes and rippled through his body. She felt his reaction in her fingertips and bit back a grin.

  He pushed away, holding her at arm's length. “Are you serious? You think you might be ... are you sure?"

  She shook her head and let her happiness show in her smile. “I'm not sure. Mother Doyle's the one who suggested it, otherwise it probably wouldn't even have crossed my mind. But now, I think ... maybe."

  "Holy shit!” A look of wonderment came over his rugged face. “Imagine that. I'm gonna be a daddy. Hot damn!"

  Regan laughed. “You're happy then?” she asked. “I was a little afraid you wouldn't be."

  "Happy, hell. I'm ecstatic.” He hugged her to him, nearly bruising her mouth with the power of his kiss. “You have to marry me now,” he said when he finally pulled away. “You know that, right? I don't need to ask?"

  "You don't need to ask,” she said carefully, “but it might be nice if you did. After all, you have been quite the jackass these past few weeks."

  He shook his head at her, but his even white teeth belied any annoyance he might be trying to convey. “Don't even have a ring on your finger and already you're harping at me. Something tells me you're going to make an ideal wife."

  "I will try,” she replied primly.

  "I'll just bet,” he said on a laugh. And then his tone softened, his eyes burning into hers. “So, Widow DoyleRegan. Will you marry me?"

  She nodded, tears once again brimming on the tips of her lashes. “I'd better. Folks might not mind me breaking into their houses, but I'll definitely get a reputation if they find out I'm in a family way without the benefit of a husband."

  "Mmm. That could be a problem. Good thing you won't be without one much longer than it takes to ride into town and fetch the padre.” With his hands locked tightly about her waist, he lifted her off the ground and started backing her toward the barn door. “'Course, I was thinking we might get an early start on our honeymoon. The cart having already gone before the horse and all, it can't matter too much, can it?"

  She wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist. “It's certainly not proper, but ... I don't suppose it would hurt all that terribly."

  "Good. ‘Cause I've been meaning to take another trip up to the loft, see if things up there are as good as I remember."

  "I'll bet they are,” she whispered, nibbling at the lobe of his ear.

  When he answered, his voice was raspy and choked with sensation. “I'll bet they are, too."

  He started up the ladder to the loft, letting her scuttle ahead of him in a flurry of skirts and petticoats. As he set his boot on the next rung, he caught a glimpse of bright red amidst the otherwise snow white ruffles.

  With a shake of his head, he climbed the rest of the way up the ladder, patting himself on the back for falling in love with the greatest woman in the world. Burglary skills, red drawers, and all.* * * *

  Kneeling on the settee, Martha pressed her nose to the front parlor window, watching her nephew and daughter-in-law out by the barn.

  Things hadn't looked good at first, and she'd nearly worried herself right back into her invalid chair. But then Clayton seemed to come to his senses and whatever he said put a smile on Regan's pretty porcelain face.

  Only moments later, there was no mistaking the youngsters’ intent as Clayton picked Regan up and headed straight for the barn.

  Martha almost rubbed her hands together in glee. It had worked. Not exactly as she'd planned, given Regan's unknown hobby as a thief and Clayton's obstinacy when it came to breaking the law, but it had worked nonetheless.

  If she wasn't mistaken—and she seldom was—things were going to be a mite different around here from now on.

  During all of her matchmaking machinations, she'd never given much thought to what would happen to her if she did manage to get Regan and Clayton together. She didn't know if she would continue living here with them or move to Sweet-water with her sister. Perhaps she would even end up living by herself, be it in the house James had built or elsewhere. The important thing, though, was her daughter-in-law's and nephew's happiness. Everything else would fall into place.

  And, she thought impishly, she might even enjoy being on her own again. Perhaps she could renew her less-than-proper friendship with her dear friend, Virgil. He had to be pushing eighty by now, but she suspected that if she put her mind to it, she could still get him as randy as a sixty-year-old.

  Abandoning her post at the parlor window, she hurried down the hall to her bedroom. She could still see the barn from this part of the house, so she would know when Regan and Clayton started back toward the house.

  Taking a seat at her writing desk, she pulled out an envelope and stationery and began scribbling as fast as her aging hands could move across the paper.

  She needed to tell her sister to pack her best dress and hop a train to Purgatory as soon as possible. They had a wedding to plan.

  Epilogue

  Two weeks later, to the day, the entire town of Purgatory, Texas, stood in the courtyard outside the orphanage awaiting the bride's arrival.

  A lot of changes had been taking place, lately. Changes Martha Doyle was proud to have played a part in—and in most cases, instigated.

  The Purgatory Home for Unwanted Children was now called The Purgatory Home for Adoptive Children. And she, Father Ignacio, and the other women of the newly formed Ladies’ Auxiliary were working hard to place as many orphans as possible in kind and loving homes. Martha made sure to drag one or two of the younger orphans along with her to the Auxiliary meetings, quilting circles, and afternoon teas, so people were beginning to realize just how adorable and lovable most of the children were. In her many years on this earth, Martha had learned that a little plucking of the heartstrings never hurt.

  David, who had gotten along so horribly with Clayton early on, now stuck to him like a burr in a blanket. At first, the young man had been wary and quite unhappy at the news of Regan's impending marriage. But once Clayton and Regan had both made it clear they intended to marry with or without David's approval, and once Clayton had welcomed him with open arms, man and boy had become almost inseparable.

  And, miracle of miracles, Regan and Clayton had plans to legally adopt David just as soon as they were legally attached themselves. The boy had already moved into the house and was getting along quite well in the role of son—and soon-to-be older brother, though Martha didn't think he was aware of that small fact yet.

  Regan had met Clayton's mother when she arrived to help with the wedding arrangements, and the two had hit it off immediately. And neither Martha nor her sister said anything about the fact that Clayton slipped into Regan's room each night after he thought everyone else was asleep, and slipped out of her room again in the morning before he thought anyone was awake. The two older women had many a time whispered about these little late-night trysts and decided that, with the horse already out of the barn, so to speak, it really didn't make much sense to run behind and close the barn door. They were just happy the youngsters were tying the knot and seemed to be truly in love with each other.

  And though it had been decided—more by Clayton and Regan than by Martha herself—that Martha would continue living with them, she'd already made plans to return to Sweetwater with her sister for the next few weeks to give the newly wed couple some time alone.

  The piano, which had been moved from the saloon to the churchyard for the ceremony, began its halting notes and everyone's attention turned toward the door where the bride would be making her entrance.

  Clayton stood on the other side of the parted crowd with Father Ignacio, awaiting his bride. Martha and his mother had insisted on a special outfit for the big day, but had only been able to talk him into black denim trousers, a black leather vest over white dress shirt, and a brand-spanking new black Stetson. He looked handsome and dapper and likely made several unattached young ladies in attendance feel near swooning.

  And he appeared only a tad nervous—nowhere near ready to bolt, Martha thought with relief. It had taken so much to get these two together, she hated to consider that anything might drive them apart. God willing, nothing ever would.

  The side door of the church opened and David stepped out ahead of Regan. He was dressed much the same as Clayton, with a black jacket instead of a vest and wearing no hat on his head of straight black hair, which they'd finally talked him into having cut. He held out a hand, waiting to do his duty.

  In the next moment, Regan came into view, looking lovelier than a spring meadow ... or all of the angel babies in Martha's Cherub Room rolled into one.

  She wore a beautiful new ivory gown covered with pearls and lace, and cut in a manner that both accentuated her generous curves and hid the one tiny bulge she preferred not to reveal just yet. Her wild copper curls were caught up at the sides and fixed with a delicate garland of daisies and blue-bonnets.

  But it was Regan's smile that caught the crowd's attention as David led her down the makeshift aisle toward her groom. She looked completely, deliriously happy. Happier, Martha thought, than any other bride throughout history had ever looked.

  Martha's heart skipped a romantic beat and she dabbed at her running eyes with a handkerchief from her sleeve.

  David delivered Regan to Clayton's side and paused to buss her cheek in a mature, gentlemanly fashion before stepping back to observe the rest of the ceremony with everyone else.

  Father Ignacio began the service, his Spanish accent ringing through the air. He asked the bride and groom to love, honor, and cherish, and with an exchange of rings, they both pledged to do just that. From the looks on their faces and the adoration in their voices when they each said, “I do,” Martha had no doubt they would keep the promise for many years to come.