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  During the trip back she might as well have been sitting next to a robot. He didn’t speak to her. For that matter, she didn’t have anything to say to him, either. The situation was dreadful and destined to grow worse. Until this weekend misadventure, they’d at least been cordial with each other. Now even that was gone.

  It was clear to her, if not to him, that they couldn’t both stay in Hard Luck. One of them had to leave. Leaning back in her chair, Chrissie tried to think rationally about it. Since he’d only recently returned and was now a partner in the family business, it didn’t seem right that Scott should leave.

  She was the one who’d have to go. Tears threatened again, but she refused to give in to self-pity. She’d move to Fairbanks, she decided. Get out of Scott’s way.

  That decision made, there was only one thing left to do.

  Tell Tracy, and then Scott.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  SCOTT HADN’T SLEPT all night, and he suspected Chrissie hadn’t, either. He was bushed. After a visit to the office to drop off his flight bag and chat briefly with Mariah, he headed home. He genuinely sympathized with Chrissie, having to work all day. But the sad fact was, she didn’t want his sympathy or, unfortunately, anything else to do with him.

  When he made a quick stop at the Hard Luck Lodge, Matt and Karen were openly curious about what had happened between him and Chrissie, but they accepted his vague explanation. Once in his cabin, he stood under a long hot shower and then collapsed on his bed, falling instantly asleep.

  A pounding on his door woke him. Light bore into the bedroom’s one window and he glanced at his clock radio, astonished to see that it was already midafternoon.

  “Just a minute,” he growled. Grabbing a pair of jeans, he hurriedly pulled them on, along with a sweatshirt. He padded barefoot to the door, yawning as he went.

  Finding Chrissie on the other side was a shock. He froze, his yawn half-completed.

  “Do you have a minute?” she asked stiffly.

  “Sure,” he said, and stepped aside. From the tight lines about her eyes and mouth, he could tell she hadn’t had a good day. There were dark shadows beneath her eyes, and she looked in desperate need of sleep. He wondered what was so important that it couldn’t wait.

  Chrissie peered inside the small cabin and shook her head. “Not here.”

  “Where, then?” he asked, not quite concealing his irritation.

  “Can you meet me at the Hard Luck Café in fifteen minutes?”

  He hesitated, thinking this probably wasn’t the best time for them to discuss anything. Not with her so tired she could barely keep her eyes open and with him feeling so on edge. Despite that, he was curious. “I’ll be there,” he said briskly.

  “I’ll get us a booth.”

  He closed the door, then rubbed his face. Something was up, and he was about to learn what. It took him the full fifteen minutes to find his shoes, socks and gather his scattered wits.

  The September wind cut into him as he hurried toward the café. As promised, Chrissie was sitting in a corner booth, her hands clutching a mug. The lunch crowd had disappeared, with only one or two stragglers. Ben and Mary stared at him, their curiosity as keen as his own.

  “She’s been here all of five minutes,” Ben whispered when Scott stopped to collect his own coffee.

  “Looking at her watch every few seconds,” Mary added.

  “She wants to talk to me,” Scott muttered.

  “We’ll see that you have as much privacy as you need,” Mary assured him.

  “You settle this matter once and for all,” Ben said. “You’re both miserable, and the whole damn town with you.”

  Scott had to grin. “I’ll do my best.”

  He carried his coffee to the booth and slid in across from Chrissie. “You have something to say?”

  “I do.” Her back was ramrod-straight, her arms unbending as she held her coffee away from her, both hands clamped around the mug.

  Scott waited for several minutes, his patience wearing thin when she still didn’t speak.

  “Are you aware,” she finally said, keeping her gaze focused on the tabletop, “that we have a problem?”

  “What do you mean?” He wasn’t being sarcastic, just inquisitive.

  “Did you notice how everyone gathered at the airfield?”

  He’d noticed, all right.

  “How did that make you feel?” she asked.

  He shrugged, wondering if there was a correct answer. “Uncomfortable, I guess.”

  “Embarrassed?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Me, too.” Her look softened perceptibly.

  “Everyone was expecting something from us.”

  “They weren’t interested in your American Express card,” he said in a weak attempt at a joke.

  “No,” she told him, with not even a hint of humor. “What they were looking for was some sign from us.”

  “True,” he admitted, refusing to sound defensive, “and we gave it to them, don’t you think?”

  “Oh, we sure did,” she returned.

  “So what’s the problem?”

  She glared at him as though he should have figured it out long ago. “The problem is, we’ve disappointed the whole town.”

  His friends and family weren’t nearly as disappointed as Scott himself was, but he didn’t mention that. In his view, he’d laid his heart on the line already. He’d told Chrissie he loved her and she’d laughed in his face. His pride had reached its quota for abuse, and he wasn’t willing to accept more.

  “I feel that we can no longer both remain in Hard Luck,” she announced.

  “What?”

  “Just as I said. One of us has to leave.”

  So this was what her meeting was all about. She wanted him out of Hard Luck. Well, it wasn’t going to happen. This was his home, his life, and he wasn’t going to let Chrissie screw it up. Not when he’d done such a good job of that himself. He wasn’t going anywhere; he’d only recently found his way back.

  His face hardened right along with his heart. “You’re asking me to leave.”

  Chrissie’s eyes widened. “No!”

  Her answer perplexed him. “What do you want, then?”

  “I…I’d never ask that of you, Scott. I’ll be the one to move. I’ve been thinking about it all day, and it makes perfect sense that I should leave town. I have connections in Fairbanks and then there’s Joelle and…”

  She rattled on, but the longer she spoke the more Scott realized how close she was to tears.

  “Chrissie,” he said, stopping her, “why are you doing this?”

  She stopped abruptly. “Isn’t it obvious?”

  Tears glistened in her eyes now, and she blinked several times in an effort to hide them. Scott’s frustration and anger melted away, and he resisted the impulse to reach across the table and touch her cheek, comfort her somehow. What prevented him was knowing she would resent any display of affection. He clenched his hands into fists and said, “You’re not thinking straight. Listen, go home, get some sleep, and we can talk about this later.”

  “No. My mind’s made up. One of us has to leave, and it has to be me.”

  “You’re overreacting.” After a good night’s sleep she’d see that and regret this entire conversation.

  “This is an important decision. Let’s sleep on it before you—or I—do something rash.”

  “No,” she argued again, her voice gaining strength. “You don’t understand.”

  “What I understand is that you’ve gone thirty hours without sleep, and now isn’t the time to make a critical decision.”

  “But I know exactly what I’m doing,” she insisted.

  “Why should you be the one to move?” he demanded, completely losing his patience now.

  “You’ve lived here your entire life. This is your home. If anyone goes, it should be me.”

  Chrissie closed her eyes and shook her head. “I can’t let you do that.”

  “Why not?”
r />   “Because I love you,” she whispered. “I refuse to let you leave.”

  Scott was sure he’d misunderstood her. “You…love me?”

  Her eyes flared as though she didn’t realize what she’d said. “You’ve just come back. It’s been a long time, and…and you can’t. You’re a partner in Midnight Sons. The papers have already been drawn up and…” She shrugged. “It just makes sense that I be the one to go.”

  “What has any of that got to do with you loving me?” He wasn’t about to let the subject drop, no matter how hard she tried to talk around it.

  She ignored the question and continued. “I’m getting to the point in my career where my practice is growing. I fly into Fairbanks regularly on business. It’s logical that I live there, so I’ll go.”

  “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “It…was a slip of the tongue,” she said through gritted teeth. “I didn’t mean it.”

  Scott relaxed against the vinyl cushion and then slowly smiled. “You never were much good at lying.”

  Her eyes grew wide and her face reddened as she sputtered, “But…but—”

  “You love me, Chrissie. You’ve always loved me.”

  She shook her head, refusing to respond.

  “I should have known it when I kissed you. I would have, too, if I hadn’t been so caught up in what was happening. It was all I could do to keep from making love to you right then and there.”

  “As if I’d let you,” she sniffed.

  She seemed ready to slide out of the booth, and Scott reached across the table and grabbed her hand.

  Chrissie’s gaze shot to his.

  “I have a better suggestion about how to settle this. A compromise.” He had her attention now. “One in which neither of us has to move away from Hard Luck.”

  She didn’t ask what he meant, but he sensed her interest. He hesitated, debating the wisdom of what he was about to do. Experience had taught him to be wary with Chrissie—but then, she had a right to mistrust him.

  “Marry me,” he said simply.

  She didn’t say anything right away. “Marry you?” she repeated at last.

  “I love you.” He wouldn’t add any embellishments, nor would he offer her unnecessary compliments. If she couldn’t already see that he was speaking from his heart, then anything else he had to say wouldn’t help his cause.

  “Scott…like you said, we need to sleep on it. We’re both tired. It was an exhausting night—”

  “I don’t need to sleep on it. I love you, Chrissie. I want to make you my wife. I want us both to live right here in Hard Luck, to raise our children here, to grow old here. Together.”

  She swallowed hard.

  “There’s no one else waiting in the wings, either. Only you.”

  As though she didn’t trust her voice, she shook her head again and slipped out of the booth. Without a word, she started to walk away.

  So that was his answer. The burden of his disappointment seemed too much to bear. He propped his elbows on the table and covered his face with his hands.

  “I’ll pack up my things and be gone by morning,” he told her, his voice raw.

  She stood with her back to him, but at his words, she whirled around. “I told you I’ll move.”

  “No, I said I’d go.” He took his first and last sip of coffee, left the mug on the table and slid out of the booth, too. He hadn’t gone more than a few feet when Chrissie stopped him.

  “All right!” she cried. “All right.”

  Frowning, he faced her. “I’ll be out of Hard Luck by morning.”

  “I…I wasn’t agreeing to that. I meant, I’ll marry you.”

  Mary stood in the background, both hands over her mouth as though to keep from shouting with glee. Scott cast her a warning glance, and her eyes twinkled with sheer delight.

  “Why would you marry me?” he demanded.

  “Other than the fact that I asked you to.”

  “First…” She lowered her gaze to the floor.

  “I…love you. I’ve loved you for as long as I can remember.”

  “I want a woman’s love and not a schoolgirl crush.”

  “Give me a chance, and you’ll see how much of woman I am.”

  He grinned. “Any other reason?”

  She nodded. “I couldn’t stand to let you walk away from me again. It nearly killed me the first two times.”

  “It’s not going to happen, sweetheart.” He held open his arms, and not a moment passed before she was in them. His hold was so strong he practically lifted her from the floor, then her lips were on his. She kissed him in a way that left him in no doubt of her feelings. And in no doubt that she was every inch the woman she’d claimed.

  “This is wonderful news!” Mary cried from behind them.

  Scott heard the honking sound of Ben blowing his nose and recognized that his friend was shedding a tear of shared happiness.

  Scott broke off the kiss, afraid to believe Chrissie was actually in his arms. “You aren’t going to wake up tomorrow morning and change your mind, are you?”

  Her smile told him there was no chance of that. Her expression sobered and she sighed. “I promised myself I wouldn’t let this happen, but, Scott, oh, Scott, I’m so happy it did. I’ve always loved you.”

  Still he held her. “Don’t make any more promises to yourself, all right?”

  Chrissie laughed softly. “All right,” she whispered. “I won’t.”

  And then she kissed him again.

  From the Hard Luck Gazette

  By Lani O’Halloran, Editor

  It’s official! I don’t suppose I’m the only one who’s noticed that Chrissie Harris is sporting an engagement ring. I spoke with the soon-to-be-mother-of-the-bride, Bethany Harris, early this afternoon and Bethany confirmed that Scott O’Halloran and Chrissie have set the wedding date for New Year’s Eve.

  Bethany and Mitch proudly claim credit for having brought this couple together as a result of some timely advice to the bride to be. However, this conflicts with what Matt and Karen Caldwell recently told me, which suggests that they were the ones who’d played a major role in the wedding plans—although when pressed Matt insisted their part in furthering the romance would remain his and Karen’s secret.

  The new Mrs. O’Halloran will continue practicing law with Tracy Porter, while Scott’s duties with Midnight Sons will expand, particulary since his father, Sawyer O’Halloran, intends to retire. Sawyer and Abbey have already booked a trip to New York and are looking forward to a second honeymoon.

  As a “Welcome Back to Hard Luck” gift, Sawyer has given his son a purebred Alaskan husky, who is a direct descendant of Scott’s beloved Eagle Catcher, whom many of our readers will remember. Scott and Chrissie have both expressed their delight.

  A bridal shower will be hosted by Scott’s sister, Susan Gold, and will be held at the Hard Luck Community Center the sixth of November. On the same night, Ben Hamilton will host a bachelor party at the Hard Luck Café.

  As a wedding gift, my husband, Charles O’Halloran, and I, together with Mariah and Christian O’Halloran, as well as Scott’s parents, have presented the engaged couple with twenty acres of land—and a cabin. Kind of goes full circle, doesn’t it?

  The Glory Girl

  Judith Bowen

  Other Men of Glory books by Judith Bowen

  HARLEQUIN SUPERROMANCE

  739—THE RANCHER’S RUNAWAY BRIDE

  791—LIKE FATHER, LIKE DAUGHTER

  814—O LITTLE TOWN OF GLORY

  835—THE DOCTOR’S DAUGHTER

  872—HIS BROTHER’S BRIDE

  900—THE RANCHER TAKES A WIFE

  and coming in November, 950—A HOME OF HIS OWN

  GLORY, ALBERTA

  I’ve spent a lot of my life in towns, starting with twelve years of riding the school bus an hour each way to attend school in a small town in Alberta. I’ve lived in small towns all over Canada, from a remote coastal village in British Columbia, where I met m
y husband, to a farming and fishing village in Prince Edward Island, where my oldest child was born.

  Today, I still live in a small town, this one on the banks of the Fraser River in B.C., with my family of five.

  When I started writing romance novels, it made sense to write about the kind of life I knew best. Thus, the fictitious town of Glory was born, set in the beautiful Rocky Mountain ranch land and foothill country of southern Alberta. Glory is small enough for everyone who lives here to know everyone else, and big enough to supply the district’s needs for groceries, doctors, lawyers and so on.

  Over the past seven books, my readers have come to know Glory well. They’ve seen the same characters drift in and out of the novels and have seen children grow and the librarian retire. They’ve sympathized with the landlady who keeps losing her tenants to marriage and they’ve waited in the doctor’s office with creaking oldsters and cranky youngsters.

  I love small towns. Glory’s a hometown like no other—and like all others. I hope you enjoy your stay!

  Judith Bowen

  Other Men of Glory books by Judith Bowen

  HARLEQUIN SUPERROMANCE

  739—THE RANCHER’S RUNAWAY BRIDE

  791—LIKE FATHER, LIKE DAUGHTER

  814—O LITTLE TOWN OF GLORY

  835—THE DOCTOR’S DAUGHTER

  872—HIS BROTHER’S BRIDE

  900—THE RANCHER TAKES A WIFE

  and coming in November, 950—A HOME OF HIS OWN

  CHAPTER ONE

  “EVERYTHING?” THE BARBER paused in the act of retrieving a bowl of hot towels from the old microwave that sat on the shelf, along with the bay rum, the jar of licorice twists, the tin of humbugs and the black-plastic comb card. He caught Jack’s eye in the spotty mirror. “Mustache?”