“You heard what I said.”

“You said . . . you said you loved me. Do you mean it?”

“No, I’m lying.”

“I . . . I’ve already knocked one person down today. I can do it again.” Just then, she thought she could do anything. Anything at all. It didn’t matter if there was fury in his eyes, if his fingers were digging into her arms. If he looked fit to kill. She could handle this. She could handle him. She could handle anything.

“If you meant it,” she said, her voice admirably cool. “I’d like you to say it again. I’ve never heard it before.”

“I love you.” Calming, he touched his lips to her brow. “I want you.” To each temple. “I need you to stay with me.” Then her mouth. “Give me more time to show you what we’ll be like together.”

“I know what we’ll be like together. I want what we’ll be like together.” She let out a shuddering breath, resisted the urge to close her eyes. She needed to see his face, to remember it exactly as it was at this moment, with the sun sinking, the sky going peach and rose, and a flock of birds winging overhead. “I love you. I was afraid to tell you. I don’t know why. I don’t think I’m afraid of anything now. Are you going to ask me to marry you?”

“I was about to muddle my way through that part.” On impulse, he pulled out the simple white band holding back her hair and tossed it over her shoulders where the dogs gave loud and delighted chase. “I want your hair in my hands,” he murmured, threading his fingers through the thick, rich brown. “All my life I said I would never do this because there would never be a woman who would make me need to or want to. I was wrong. I found one. I found mine. Marry me, Sybill.”

“All my life I said I would never do this because there would never be a man who’d need me or want me, or matter enough to make me want. I was wrong. I found you. Marry me, Phillip, and soon.”

“How does next Saturday strike you?”

“Oh.” Emotion flooded her heart, poured into it, out of it, warm and smooth and real. “Yes!” She leaped, throwing her arms around him.

He spun her in a circle, and for a moment, just for a flash, he thought he saw two figures standing on the dock. The man with silver hair and brilliantly blue eyes, the woman with freckles dancing over her face and wild red hair blowing in the evening breeze. Their hands were linked. They were there, then they were gone.

“This one counts,” he murmured, holding her hard and close. “This one counts for both of us.”