Paul Montgomery said nothing. He watched her straighten her shoulders and dust off her skirt. She didn’t look at him, merely walked from the mine into the sunlight. She never looked back.
Chauncey carefully placed one foot before the other, her eyes seeing the rocky ground, her mind blank. She reached the nickering horses and reached her hand out involuntarily to stroke Dolores’ silky nose. The mare butted against her shoulder and Chauncey moved closer, pressing her face against the mare’s neck.
There was one gunshot. Only one.
She felt tears sting her eyes. She realized they weren’t for Paul Montgomery; she had already cried for him and what he’d done months ago. They were for her husband. What he had been forced to do to protect her.
Suddenly she felt his warm hands clasp her shoulders.
“I’m sorry, love,” he said quietly. He turned her against him and held her close.
“No,” she said in a fierce whisper. “It is not for you to be sorry.”
Delaney cupped her face between his hands and looked deep in her eyes. “It’s over.”
“Yes. I have taken so much from you, Del, so much! Please forgive me.”
His hands tightened about her face. “There is nothing to forgive. You are my wife, the most important person in my life. You will never forget that, never.”
She closed her eyes a moment against the intensity of his gaze. She whispered softly, “No, I shan’t forget.”
He hugged her tightly. “Now, Chauncey, let’s go home.”
Home to San Francisco, to live in joy and happiness, never again to know fear.
“Yes,” she said, smiling now, “let’s go home.”