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  Clint continued his story as they ate.

  “According to William’s journal, after he dug the hole, he returned to the house and bathed her with warm water scented with lilacs. Remembering that scent had helped him overcome the battleground stench of rotting flesh and blood during those war years.”

  His voice had taken on a distant, faraway tone, making Sunny wonder if he even remembered she was in the room. “He brushed her hair with the ivory-handled brush he’d given her before they were married. She’d brushed her long black hair with that brush and he’d watched her as he lay on the bed in her room on the second floor of the Golden Belle Dance Hall and Saloon. When she smiled at him in the mirror, William knew he was in love.”

  “She worked there?” Sunny asked. Although the documents in the file she’d been given had referred to William’s wife’s tragic death, it hadn’t mentioned her being a prostitute.

  “That’s right. William’s wife was a whore.” His challenging gaze dared her to criticize his ancestor.

  “If you’re trying to shock me, it’s going to take more than that,” she told him mildly. “Tell me the rest of the story.”

  He gave her another long look. Then, since she seemed genuinely interested, he shrugged and continued. “It took some convincing, but Annie finally agreed to marry him. And although life in Arizona Territory proved a lot harder than her pampered existence as the most sought after working girl in San Francisco, if William’s journal can be believed, she never complained. In fact, he wrote that not a day went by that she didn’t assure him in words and in bed, how much she loved him.”

  “That’s a lovely story,” Sunny said. “And you’re so fortunate that your great-great-grandfather left behind the journal for you.” It was, she considered, a much nicer legacy than that deadly gun lying beside his plate.

  “William was reputed to be an outspoken man who didn’t bother censoring his words. He was every bit as frank in his journal,” Clint stated.

  “He even wrote about how he’d wept like a baby while he dressed her in the lace-trimmed nightgown he’d so enjoyed taking off her. Wept as he’d held her in his arms one last time. Wept as he’d put her in the casket that was to be her final resting place, then lowered the pine box into the ground and covered it with earth.”

  When he fell silent, his face set in a granite mask so full of pain that it was all Sunny could do to keep from weeping herself, she knew he was thinking about another woman’s death. A woman he’d never been allowed to love openly. A woman he’d been deprived of holding one final time in his arms, of kissing goodbye before she was buried on the neighboring land.

  Clint dragged his hand down his face and let out a long, pained breath. “He said the only prayer he knew,” he con tinued in a low gruff monotone, as if determined to get through the story. “It was one he’d heard the chaplain use over too many men on too many battlefields—The Lord’s Prayer. Then he went back into the house where he proceeded to get very, very drunk.”

  “A not uncommon reaction,” she said.

  He gave her a sharp look, but her tone and her expression held not an iota of censure. “I suppose not.”

  “What happened next?” Sunny prompted.

  “The next morning, he saddled up and rode off to join the cavalry. No longer having anything to live for, he figured that at least if he died in the Indian wars, he’d be reunited with his Annie.”

  “But he didn’t die.”

  “Nope.” He shook his head. “Fate proved a damn fickle mistress yet again when he was mustered out of the 7th Cavalry three days before General Custer led his troops into the Little Bighorn.”

  “He was lucky.”

  “Perhaps. Or, maybe he had a fairy godmother looking after him.”

  “That always helps,” she agreed, once again ignoring his obvious sarcasm.

  Clint gave her another long steady look. “Hell, it was probably your great-great grandmother.”

  “You never know,” she said mildly.

  She was either nuts, or the smoothest scam artist he’d ever met. Clint, who’d always considered himself a pretty good judge of both horseflesh and people, couldn’t decide which.

  “So, what happened after he left the army?” Sunny asked.

  “Since he didn’t have anywhere else to go, he returned here to Arizona Territory and married a young widow who bore him three children, one of whom—the son-reached adulthood.”

  “Your great-grandfather.”

  “Yeah.”

  “How wonderful that he was able to fall in love again,” Sunny said encouragingly, hoping he’d see this parallel between his great-great-grandfather and himself.

  “Spoken like a true romantic,” Clint replied in a remote voice. He pushed away from the table, stood up and without another word, walked out of the room. Taking the gun with him.

  Unwilling to leave him alone to try to commit suicide again, Sunny was right on his heels.

  He stopped in front of the open bathroom door. “I’m going to take a shower. If you insist on following me, I suppose I could always use a little help with that spot in the middle of my back that’s so hard to reach.”

  He was so tall. So strong. So threatening. So compelling. Sunny swallowed. “If that’s supposed to frighten me away, it’s not working.”

  “What if I’m not trying to scare you away?” His eyes on hers, he trailed a fingertip down her cheek. “What if I was inviting you to share my shower with me?”

  “Thanks, but I’ve already showered.” The smile she flashed him was bright and as false as fool’s gold.

  He looked down at her for a long silent time. Sunny stood her ground, refusing to flinch. Finally she was rewarded when she caught sight of the twitch at the corners of his lips.

  He might refuse to admit it, but he was softening. She could sense it. Emboldened by the knowledge, she reached up and patted his stubbly cheek.

  “You might think about shaving while you’re at it,” she suggested sweetly.

  That said, it was her turn to walk away.

  5

  “I CANT BELIEVE you did such a thing!” Andromeda stared in amazement at the most famous fairy godmother of all. To think that the normally unflappable Harmony would lose her temper and make a bet that she could successfully match two woefully incompatible individuals was astonishing.

  “Sometimes, I can’t either,” Harmony admitted as she finished up her story. “But I was younger then, and unfortunately possessed of a flash-fire temper.

  “And Merryweather was so irritating, always going on so about how she’d managed to rescue Sleeping Beauty by changing Maleficent’s death sentence to merely sleeping until she was awakened by a prince’s kiss, that I wanted-no, I needed—to show her up.”

  “By pulling off the mismatch of the century.”

  “Well, you have to admit, I succeeded.”

  “No one has ever topped you,” Andromeda agreed.

  “Believe me, I’m all too aware of that. And, although I rather enjoy the adulation of our young romance godmothers, and the statue in the contemplation garden is quite attractive, I do regret not being able to keep my hand in, so to speak.”

  Harmony’s merry eyes turned wistful. “Unfortunately, there weren’t any matches I could have made that would have lived up to the impossible standard I inadvertently set for myself.”

  “Matching Sunny with Clint Garvey could do that,” Andromeda said. “If it works.”

  “It is a risk,” Harmony reluctantly agreed. “Which is why you’re the only one who knows I’m attempting it. If Sunny and her cowboy live happily ever after, then you can announce it at our monthly awards dinner. If the match doesn’t work out, no one will be the wiser.”

  “You know,” Andromeda suggested, “it might have a better chance if I could talk to Sunny face-to-face. Explain what was happening.”

  Good manners and tradition, going back to the beginning of time, decreed that one fairy godmother never interfere with another’s chos
en assignment. Yet, knowing Sunny as she did, Andromeda couldn’t share Harmony’s confidence about the plan.

  “Surely you don’t want to reveal that she’s her assignment’s chosen mate?”

  “Of course not. But she’s bound to be feeling a little unsettled right now. Perhaps if I could just reassure her—”

  Harmony laughed. “If there’s one thing Sunny has an abundance of, it’s self-assurance. Even when it’s misplaced.

  “However,” Harmony added, “given Sunny’s past history, I can certainly understand your concern. Perhaps it might be a good idea to calm any fears she might have. Goodness knows she’s unpredictable enough even without this extra burden.”

  More than a little relieved, Andromeda folded her hands together in front of her and imagined herself in Clint Garvey’s kitchen.

  Sunny was whistling an off-tune rendition of “Jingle Bells” as she managed to tidy up the kitchen. Outside the window the snow had finally stopped and the afternoon sun slanting through the white-flocked pine trees made the landscape sparkle like diamonds. The scene, which could have come straight from the front of a Christmas card, glittered as brightly as the hope in her heart.

  A faint sound, like the silver bells in the Christmas song, captured her attention and she spun around. “Oh, I’m so glad to see you!” she exclaimed.

  As serious as things were, Andromeda couldn’t help smiling. So many of the community complained about Sunny’s mismatches. Unfortunately, none of those naysayers seemed to realize that her boundless enthusiasm was contagious. Their world was going to be a slightly darker—not to mention duller—place without Sunny in it.

  “I’m always with you,” she remarked calmly. “You should know that.”

  “I’d hoped you were,” Sunny admitted. “But then, after I foolishly made that wish to be mortal…”

  “That was careless of you,” the older woman agreed in that faintly chiding tone Sunny had become accustomed to hearing.

  “I know.” Sunny’s soft sigh ruffled her curly bangs. “But I was so worried about Clint that I just didn’t think.”

  “You were leading with your heart again. And not your head.”

  “True.” Sunny’s smile faded slightly. “But it’s so difficult not to open my heart to Clint. He’s such a special man. And he’s suffered so horribly.”

  “You knew that when you accepted the assignment,” Andromeda reminded her.

  “I know.” The light momentarily left Sunny’s bright eyes, like a candle being snuffed out by an icy wind. “But I believe I’ve found the answer to my dilemma.”

  Andromeda arched a brow. “What’s that?”

  “This.” Sunny held out the letter she’d found lying beside the kitchen wastebasket. It looked as if Clint had wadded it up into a ball and tossed it in the general direction of the wicker basket, but missed. Undoubtedly, because of all the alcohol he’d been drinking.

  Andromeda gingerly plucked the letter from Sunny’s outstretched hand, and frowned at the coffee ring in the center of the paper. “This is a notice about a rodeo.”

  “In Tombstone! Clint is being invited to defend his bull-riding championship.”

  “So it says.” Andromeda’s frown deepened. “I don’t understand what this has to do with you—”

  “Don’t you see, women love cowboys! All I have to do is get Clint to agree to take part in the contest, then find a suitable mate—a woman with interests similar to his—and get them together.”

  Sunny’s smile was back to full wattage and warm enough, were she so inclined, to melt all the snow that had fallen.

  “I suppose that’s one way to handle things.” Poor dear. She was as clueless as ever. Didn’t she realize that she didn’t have to convince the man to go anywhere? That destiny—and, more importantly, Harmony—had decreed that she was the perfect match for Clint Garvey?

  “It’s the best way,” Sunny assured her. “There is just one little problem.”

  “Oh?” Andromeda tilted her head and tried to appear curious as she wondered how much of all this she should explain.

  “I seem to have lost my powers.”

  There was a long, drawn out pause. Despite her regrettable romance record, Sunny was an intelligent young woman. She’d eventually figure things out.

  “I know, dear,” the older woman finally said. “And believe me, it wasn’t my idea, but…”

  Sunny felt her heart plummet to her stomach. “The committee has taken away my powers?”

  “I’m afraid so.” All right, so it wasn’t exactly the committee, but there was no point in making the poor girl feel worse by telling her the truth.

  Sunny wrung her hands as she began to pace the shiny kitchen floor. “But how am I supposed to save Clint if I don’t have any powers?”

  “You’re a clever girl. You’ll think of something.”

  “I don’t believe this.” Sunny sank defeatedly down onto a chair by the kitchen table and dropped her head into her hands. A long silence settled over the room. When she finally lifted her gaze, her eyes were bleaker than her superior had ever seen them. “They want to ensure that I don’t succeed.”

  “Oh no, dear, that’s not it at all.”

  “Of course it is.” Sunny sighed, then began thoughtfully tapping a fingernail on the tabletop. It would take a miracle to pull this off without her powers. “Someone is bound and determined to drum me out of romance,” she concluded. Which wasn’t surprising, considering all the failure slips in her permanent record. “But you know what?”

  “What?” Andromeda asked cautiously, fearing the answer.

  “It isn’t going to work.” Sunny stood up and resumed her pacing. “I’m not going to leave that poor man without someone to love! It’s not fair. Oh, he’s a little gruff, but he’s a good man, deep down inside. He deserves to be happy.” She spun back toward her superior, her hands splayed on her hips, bright pink flags of determination flying in her cheeks. “And I refuse to allow any bureaucrats in Fairy Godmother Central to keep me from finding him the perfect mate.”

  “Brava, dear.” Andromeda clapped her approval.

  It did not escape Andromeda’s notice that during her impassioned monologue, Sunny had not once mentioned her own motive for succeeding with this assignment. Somehow, when she hadn’t been looking, her focus had shifted from her own agenda to Clint’s needs.

  Perhaps Harmony had been right, after all. Perhaps Sunny’s destiny was here, with this man.

  “I have faith in you, Sunny.” Although physical touch was not a part of their world, some instinct made the older woman run her hand down Sunny’s bright hair. “And now, before I go, I’m going to leave you with a little gift.”

  “A gift?” Hope flooded into Sunny’s eyes. “You’re going to restore my powers?”

  “I’m afraid I can’t do that. But I can give you three wishes.”

  “Three wishes?” Sunny immediately thought of Clint’s earlier sarcastic crack about genies.

  “Yes. That’s truly all I can do. So, you must be very careful to use them wisely.”

  “Three wishes,” Sunny repeated.

  It wasn’t much. Certainly not as helpful as having her powers restored. Then again, she reminded herself, three wishes were definitely better than nothing at all.

  “Thank you.” In a burst of gratitude, she flung her arms around this woman who’d been in her corner for so long, supporting her when others would have given up trying.

  Sunny felt a fleeting sense of loss when Andromeda slipped out of the enthusiastic embrace and began to fade away.

  “I promise,” Sunny called out, “I won’t disappoint you this time.”

  There was no answer. But Sunny didn’t mind. Because now that she had three wishes as backup to her clever rodeo plan, everything should work out wonderfully!

  Her heart light, her spirits renewed, she went into the pantry. When she viewed the shelves filled with far more food than she’d stocked them with yesterday, she looked upward, her face w
reathed in a smile. “Thank you!”

  Her confidence high, Sunny began to plan dinner. Just like a mortal woman might for the man in her life.

  Clint heard her singing as he came down the stairs. Her voice was a pure clear contralto that was horrendously offkey. He felt the unfamiliar tug of his lips trying to smile again.

  She’d put a white chef’s apron over her soft sweater and had pulled her hair back into a haphazard knot to keep it out of the mixture she was stirring. He stood in the doorway and watched her for a time, trying not to think about how often he’d pictured Laura in just this way. As always, the mental image caused a deep low ache in his gut.

  A low sound, like the moan of a wounded wolf, drew Sunny’s instant attention. “Oh, don’t you look nice,” she said encouragingly, ignoring the nicks on his chin. “I like that sweater.”

  He glanced down to see what, exactly, he was wearing; it was the first thing he’d pulled from the drawer and he hadn’t paid any attention. “Laura gave it to me. For my birthday.”

  “The blue matches your eyes exactly. Obviously, she had very good taste.”

  “Of course she did. She picked me, didn’t she?” He crossed the room, took a glass from the shelf and was about to pour a glass of whiskey, but stopped suddenly and exchanged the glass for a coffee cup.

  Sunny noted the change of mind, was pleased, and clever enough not to comment on it. “Don’t look now, Clint,” she said instead, “but I believe you just made a joke.”

  “Damn.” He pulled the pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, shook one loose and lit it with a kitchen match from the box on the counter. “I’ll have to be more careful in the future.”

  And that statement was, Sunny decided, another one. Things were definitely looking up! “I thought I’d bake a cake,” she said as she resumed stirring the dark brown batter. “I hope you like chocolate.”

  “Who doesn’t?”

  She took some pans from a bottom cupboard and greased them with butter. “Would you like to lick the bowl when I’m done?”

  He smoked and watched as she dusted the pans with too much flour, creating a white cloud. “I’ll just wait for the final product.”