“What?” She dug her fingers into his shirt to hang on, then shifted so he could have access to her mouth.

But instead of kissing her, he released her.

Without his touch, she felt strangely barren and started to grab a fistful of his shirt again to pull him back. But he was already digging in his coat pocket. A second later he tugged out a ring. Her wedding band. The precious one he’d purchased for her.

He held it up and reached for her hand. “Promise you won’t ever take this off, so long as we both live?”

The beautiful gold-leaf design glimmered in the dawn light. “I promise.”

Something in his eyes told her they’d only faced the first of many trials to come. But something else there reassured her that they’d face those future hardships together, side by side, as man and wife, bearing each other’s burdens.

“I’ll always love you.” He slipped the ring on, his eyes brimming with so pure a love it left her breathless.

“And I will always love you.” She rose onto her toes and touched her lips to his, her promise in return, to love him all the days of her life. He was her cowboy for keeps.

Chapter 31

FLYNN MCQUAID
SOUTHWESTERN PENNSYLVANIA
EARLY NOVEMBER 1862

Flynn McQuaid spread his feet apart and crossed his arms, blocking the barn doorway. He wasn’t about to let Brody leave. Not even if he had to tackle his brother to the ground, hog-tie him, toss him in the cellar and throw away the key.

“You ain’t going,” Flynn said again more firmly. “And that’s all there is to it.”

Brody fisted his hands, causing the muscles in his arms to bulge. His dark brown eyes glowered and his nostrils flared. He was like an angry bull about to charge, and Flynn braced for the impact.

“You ain’t my pa.” Brody’s tone was low and menacing. “Stop acting like it.”

Flynn wanted to roll his eyes. If he had a penny for every time he’d heard Brody and Dylan spout that line, he’d be a rich man. The almighty truth was, he was the closest thing the kids had to a pa, and they knew it. If only they’d listened to him.

“Whoa now, Brody.” Flynn forced himself to remain calm. “You don’t have to do this. You’re still a boy.”

“I ain’t a boy!” he roared, causing one of the barn cats to jump and scurry away in fright. “I’m eighteen now and old enough to fight.”

“Eighteen’s plenty old.” Dylan piped up from where he straddled one of the horse stalls, his trousers too short, revealing skinny legs and dirty bare feet. “Don’t matter how old. Matters how well you can shoot, and you know I’m the best sharpshooter around.”