Outwardly, not much had changed in Jasper Gulch, South Dakota. But then, it wasn’t the outward changes Burke Kin-caid was concerned about. He pulled in to the last available parking space on Main Street, pushing his car door open before he’d even cut the engine and lights. Snow flurries stung his face as he made a beeline for the diner across the street. He stopped a foot short of the door, one hand on the handle, the other deep in the pocket of his black overcoat. This was it. The moment of truth. The moment he’d been waiting for for two and a half years.
God. Two and a half years.
His arrival was going to be a surprise. Hell, it was going to be a shock. He’d spent many a sleepless night trying to decide how to handle it. He could have called or written. But what could he have said? “Hi, Lily. This is Burke. Burke Kincaid. I don’t know if you remember me or not, but you and I spent one incredibly passionate night together a few years ago, and I was hoping—”
What was he hoping? That she wanted to take up where they’d left off? That she remembered?
He remembered.
Lily’s gray eyes had been filled with dreams, her pale skin prone to blushes that night when he’d hiked into town after running out of gas near the village limits. He’d had every intention of simply using her telephone to call for a lift and a gas can, then continuing on his way to Oklahoma City where he’d planned to visit his half brother. But Lily had smiled at him, and he’d lost all sense of direction, all sense, period. He’d followed her into her tiny kitchen where she was brewing a pot of tea. He supposed that first kiss had been inevitable, being near her in such a tight space. The second had thrown him for a loop, but it was nothing compared to how he’d felt when he’d discovered he was her first lover. She had a body a man could lose himself in, lose his mind over. He would have been back sooner. If only...
No. He’d already spent too much time on “if only.” He couldn’t change the past any more than he could control it. Today was what mattered. Today, and what happened in the next ten minutes.
The bell jingled over the door when he stepped inside the diner. The lights were on, and more than a dozen cowboy hats hung on pegs near the door, but the tables and booths were empty. Following the noise to an open door in the back, Burke entered a room that was nearly bursting with ranchers and cowboys. His gaze immediately searched the handful of women. None was Lily.
A short man with thinning gray hair and intelligent blue eyes rushed over. “Glad you could make it,” Doc Masey said, shaking Burke’s hand.. “Have a good trip?”
“Uneventful,” Burke answered, continuing to search the crowd.
“Good, good.” The old doctor removed his wire-rimmed glasses and painstakingly cleaned them on a white handkerchief he took from his pocket. Holding them up to the light, he said, “My wife used to insist that if she couldn’t see in, I couldn’t see out. Wise woman, God rest her soul.”
Before Burke could do more than nod, the doctor rushed on. “Isn’t usually this much of a hubbub before our town meetings, but tonight our very own rodeo champion is gonna ask one of our local gals to marry him, and a lot of folks have turned out to watch.”
Burke’s second nod was interrupted by a commotion in the front of the room. A man with a limping cowboy swagger strolled to a podium and called, “Folks, would you take your seats so I can get this show on the road?”
Boots thudded and metal chairs creaked as the men and women of Jasper Gulch moseyed to their places. Taking a seat next to Doc Masey, Burke scanned the crowd. There was a lot of whisker stubble, a lot of flannel and faded denim, a lot of indentations in hair where a cowboy hat normally sat. Five rows up and a dozen seats over, a woman with wavy brown hair turned her head slightly.
Lily.
The noise receded and Burke’s thoughts froze. In some far corner of his mind he heard Doc Masey explaining how the town had been dying due to the shortage of women, and how the town council had decided to advertise for women three years ago. The names of some of the gals who had answered that ad meant nothing to Burke; his attention was trained on a woman who had grown up here.
He’d almost convinced himself that his memories had enhanced Lily’s beauty. In reality, his memories hadn’t done her justice. Her skin was as pale as he remembered, her hair was slightly shorter, waving to her shoulders instead of halfway down her back. Her smile was serene, regal. How had so much beauty gone undetected all these years? Were these ranchers and cowboys blind?
He wanted to call her name, imagined smiling as he watched recognition settle across her features. Before he could do more than lean ahead in his chair, the man at the front of the room said, “Louetta, come on up here, darlin’.”
Burke was a little surprised when Lily rose to her feet. By the time she’d wended her way to the front of the room, realization had dawned and any thought he might have had of smiling slid away.
“What’s going on?”
“That’s Wes Stryker,” Doc Masey explained. “He won the national rodeo championship two years running. The last broken bone brought him hobbling home for good. Can’t say I blame him. Trophies and awards aren’t worth a lick compared to the love of a good woman.”
“What does that have to do with Lily?”
“Who?”
Half the crowd shushed the other half. And then Wes Stryker lowered himself stiffly to one knee. Holding his hat over his heart, the former rodeo champion reached for Lily’s hand. Through the roaring din in Burke’s ears, he heard the other man say, “I know I haven’t been around much since we were kids, and I’ve got more aches and pains than men twice my age, but I’m hardworkin’, and I’d be honored if you’d agree to be my wife. What do you say? Will you marry me, Louetta?”
Why was that cowboy calling Lily “Louetta”? Burke swallowed hard and slowly rose to his feet. “That’s going to be difficult,” he called, his voice carrying over the sudden hubbub as all eyes turned to see who had spoken.
“What did he say?”
“Who is that?”
“What does he mean, it’s gonna be difficult?”
Burke’s gaze met Lily’s, and his voice faded, losing its steely edge. “It’s going to be difficult,” he repeated, “because you already promised to marry me.”
“Did he say what I think he said?” one of the old-timers asked.
“Shh,” someone called.
“Shh, yourself.”
Louetta Graham recognized the voices of people she’d known all her life, but she couldn’t drag her gaze from the man in the back of the room. White shirt, wool pants, windblown hair. Burke. With her heart beating against her chest like a sledgehammer on cement, she said, “What are you doing here?”
He stepped sideways into the aisle, his eyes never leaving her face. “I told you I’d be back.”
In two months, Louetta thought, one hand going to her neck. That’s what he’d said two and a half years ago.
“Do you keep your promises?” Burke asked quietly.
Something soft and warm nudged Louetta from inside, something she might have called hope a long, long time ago. Her heart rate quickened, her face grew hot and a traitorous softness drew her attention to the very core of her body. In her mind she saw Burke as he’d been that April night, winded from his trek into town, devastatingly rugged and handsome. She’d slipped into his hazel eyes that night, had fallen into the warmth of his rare smiles. It was happening again. She was losing herself in him, one slow inch at a time.
“What do you say?” Wes Stryker asked, rising stiffly to his feet.
“Yes,” Burke said. “What do you say?”
Louetta couldn’t believe this was happening. She’d