Epilogue

The note read "Springfield Hotel, Dakota," and I looked up at the unassuming, two-story, wood building. There was no signage, but it was the only large building along the main street. Only a post office, saloon, and a few merchant shops made up the town. Hammering echoed down the road where new building frames were being erected. Civilians and military on horseback and on foot traveled to and fro, kicking up dust. Curious eyes watched me.

I traveled for days, and I was filthy and weary, but my heart soared at the sight of this whitewashed building. It had been too long, and my heart was beating out of my chest, realizing the waiting was finally over.

"Ella Coburg!"

I turned at my name and nearly dropped my bags.

Seth Mathis dismounted his horse at the hitching post. He had grown an inch or two and filled out with riding muscles. He was dirty and dusty, scruff shadowed his jaw, and his hat sat back on his sweating forehead, but he beamed with the largest, whitest grin I had ever seen.

"Why Seth Mathis!"

"Here, allow me," he said, hitching his horse and hustling to my side to take the bags. "We must hurry, though. John's waiting for you."

My stomach flipped at the mention of John. As promised, we wrote to each other. Three years of writing to each other, detailing our lives, sharing our hopes and dreams, making plans we prayed would come to fruition, and now, here I was. We planned for me to come first, marry, help set up a home, and then send for Katie.

"Where is he?" I asked, following Seth into the hotel.

"You'll see." Seth winked, handing the bags over to the concierge. "The room should be under Captain J. Mathis." The lady in charge nodded and sent the bags up to the room. "Come with me."

Seth offered his arm and led me down the road to a large tent beside the construction. We ducked beneath the flap and stepped into a church. Empty pews lined an aisle, and an altar was visible ahead. At the altar, beside the chaplain, waited John.

My heart skipped a beat. John stood straight, his uniform and regalia pressed and shining, his beard cut close to his jaw, and his wavy, dark hair brushed back with pomade. His smiling lips trembled and his eyes gleamed, and I knew he struggled with the same emotions.

A fiddle started playing. I startled, then giggled through tears seeing a soldier, a fiddle in hand, playing a version of the wedding march. Still on Seth's arm, he ushered me down the aisle to John. Our eyes locked, love beaming.

"I'm sorry, I didn't have time to change," I said, embarrassed by my dirty and tired gingham dress. I patted my hair, brushing stray wisps from my face.

John shook his head, the smile not leaving his face. "You're perfect. Besides, I don't think I could have waited another moment for this."

I knew what he meant. Because neither could I.

"Who gives this woman?" the chaplain interrupted.

"I do," Seth announced. He and I exchanged smiles as he handed me to John.

"Thank you," I whispered to Seth.

He nodded and took a seat on the front pew.

It had been too long since I felt John's hands and I gripped them, wanting to feel every scar and callus. To feel the warmth of them. So many days I imagined the feel of his hands, and it was nothing in comparison to this reality.

I do not know what the chaplain said to us. I barely registered our vows as we repeated them to each other. All I saw was John. His eyes shining, warm and so full of love, and his smile never leaving his lips until we both leaned forward to share a kiss. A chaste kiss, a tentative kiss in front of Seth, the fiddler, and the chaplain, but there was an urgency beneath we knew would consume us.

We were finally alone. After a meal Seth insisted on treating us to using his cattle drive money, and my own soak in the bath, John and I lay in the peacefulness of the hotel room.

"Did we rush it?" John asked, worry creasing his brow as he tucked a strand of damp hair behind my ear. His eyes were so full of love and adoration.

I laughed. "Rush it? It's been three years, John!"

The dimples I had missed so much flickered at the edge of his beard. "I mean the wedding. I barely let you step off the stagecoach before I had Seth bring you to the church."

"I would have come anyway. I wouldn't have stopped to clean up if it meant becoming your wife."

"Wife," he repeated, tracing my lips at the sound of it.

His finger left a trail of heat as it continued its perusal of my face, then my neck. My breath hitched when he reached the tie of my chemise. He looked at me then, his eyes searching mine. The softness of affection, turning into smoldering desire. I gave him permission.

Needing to touch him, I reached out to him, my hand caressing his cheek, his beard coarse beneath my fingers. It had been so long since I felt him beneath my palm, and my heart swelled.

"Oh, Ella," he breathed, not wanting to wait any longer.

He brought me to him, pressing his lips to mine. His hands roamed my curves and swells, gripping my back end and pressing me against him. I felt the length of him, all hardened muscle and heated skin, along my body.

Our kisses became hungry, our tongues exploring and tasting, our teeth scraping, and I could feel the heat quicken in my belly. It felt as if no time had separated us.

"I love you so much, John," I promised between kisses.

My words encouraged him, and his fingers found their way under my chemise, lifting it up and over my head. We paused in our exploration. My skin burned as his eyes racked my body, taking in my breasts, stomach, hips, and apex of my thighs. I did not feel shame or embarrassment at his gaze, only love and admiration.

"You are so beautiful," he whispered, then his eyes returned to mine. "I've loved you from the moment I saw you. But I never knew I could love you even more now."

I grasped his neck, bringing his mouth back down on mine. My heart felt as if it would explode from my chest.

We didn't waste time. I helped him remove his clothes while his hands stroked and explored my body. And when my knees parted, his hand finding the curls between my legs, I gasped at the touch of his fingers.

He swallowed my moans, letting me rock against him, holding me tight while I chased the pleasure.

Before I unraveled, I pleaded with him. "I need you."

John did not hesitate, kissing me tenderly as he lowered himself between my legs. He pressed against me and I held him close, urging him not to stop. And when he entered me, we both stilled, settling with the feeling of my body wrapped around his and our connection pulsing. He rested his hands on either side of my head, and we locked eyes.

Our fate was crashing against the rocks and soaring to the highest peak. The world seemed to right itself at that moment. There was no fear or grief. There was only love and safety.

Setting the pace, John thrust against me and I matched him, following his rhythm. We both were tumbling, absorbing each wave of pleasure that hit us. Not wanting it to end. We waited so long for this. And when we both shuddered, we captured each other's moans in our mouths and held each other close until our hearts settled.

Spent and sweaty, we collapsed beside each other. I thought I would cry for joy, but instead, I broke out in giddy laughter.

John's head rolled toward me on the pillow. A lopsided grin on his face. "What's that all about?"

"Love, John. Love. My heart is so full of it, it just bubbled up."

John smiled back, and as night grew late, we held each other close. Between kisses and love, John picked up where he left off from his last letter, weaving an image of the home he would build for us and the family we would grow with Katie. No longer did grief and fear rule our lives. Love and hope would carry us through.

"I love you, Ella Mathis," John whispered in my ear as we fell asleep in each other's arms.