Never return to the past of bandits, tyrants, outlaws, prisons, and cornfields? "I understand."
"You're okay with skipping 1853 California?" His question was careful, gentle as if he extrapolated the answer but couldn't believe it.
Her bag was packed with essentials and food, ready for whichever path awaited her, and this was the moment she made her choice: Mathew or California. He'd told her it was one or the other, since he declined to accompany her across the country. Her current life left her two options and the first of which was simple unfathomable only a few weeks ago—waiting for Jonathan to kill the outlaws hunting her and stay on the farm while sharing her kitchen with a future bride, or traveling across an unknown terrain to seek a fortune of her own at the Gold Rush. Mathew's offer left her one option—helping people and animals with a generous and kind man, who loved her as his equal, treated her with respect and dignity, and showed her the world. His world, where food was delivered and laundry was easy, and the biggest danger was whether to eat the salad or the burger. The choice was simple. Her eyes misted. "I've already found my fortune. I love you."
"You do?"
Verity nodded and the tears wavered her vision.
"Well, that's good news. Because I love you too." His hand reached for her chin and his fingers caressed her cheek.
"I know," Verity said, quietly.
"Is it that obvious?" Mathew chuckled.
"You told me. Back at Jaime's estate. I think you were delirious though."
Mathew inhaled and blew out a long breath as if steadying himself for something. "I have something else to ask you then. I didn't screw up when I fell for you. We were meant to be, like peanut butter and jelly. Cookies and cream. Beer and cheese."
Verity crinkled her nose, understanding the meaning without understanding all the words.
"Will you marry me?"
Her mind blanked. Had she heard him correctly? Was the one thing she wanted from him the same thing he'd just offered? Her whole body hummed with excitement. There was only one answer. "Yes. Of course yes!"
His smile was broad as hers, and she crashed against him in a fast embrace. Their lips locked, and carefully, Verity helped her fiancé undress and settle under the sheets. She explored every inch of his skin under a new—albeit, delicate—light. A light of a promise of respect and wanting, of a future of wonders and excitement.
How had she gotten so lucky?
Chapter Twenty-Four
IN THE MORNING, Mathew was sore all over again but this time for all the right reasons. He hadn't had so little sleep in a night since college, but he regretted nothing. Mathew promised her the world, and now he had the rest of their lives to fulfill that promise. A growling stomach woke him.
"Here," Verity—his fiancée—said, wearing only a bed sheet while she crossed the room to her bag. She tossed him an apple, and she bit into another.
"Let's go home," Mathew said. "But we need to get outside first. Kiko warned me about tunneling back to the future and ending up inside walls or furniture of future buildings."
"Home sounds great, as long as we arrive safely." She helped Mathew slip into his pants, shirt, and cloak. Mathew laced up her dress. Each morning the aches and pains receded, and he was now certain the damage was more bruised ribs rather than fractured, since his ego hurt more than his body.
Verity hugged his arm while he carried her bag downstairs. He felt ten feet tall now with his fiancée by his side. In a few moments, they'd return to the future, leaving the chaos of the past behind forever. Near the bottom of the carved wood railing, he froze. Verity kept moving and tried to tug him to continue.
"What's the matter?"
"There," he whispered. "That's a stick up. Back up the stairs and they might not notice us."
Men crowded around the hostess. The scruffy man in the lead aimed a pistol at the frightened woman's face. They were filthy, rugged, armed, and sure-footed. Mathew was none of those things.
Verity craned her neck and did the exact opposite of what he asked. "Butch?"
Five heads turned their way, and Mathew's ten-foot invincibility shrunk back down to ten inches. A tall waif of a man with a crooked nose and hard black eyes turned his head. How did Verity know him?
The leader's eyes squinted in their direction, and Mathew tugged on her arm to retreat. She stepped down two steps and pivoted, taking her bag from his arms. What was she doing? Who were these people? This had bad news written all over it.
Verity unzipped her bag and fisted something. She tossed it through the air and the waif caught it. He inspected her offering, bit off a chunk, and nodded with a smile. "Howdy, Verity! How've you been?" The waif lowered the gun, and the hostess darted for safety.
"I've been better. Jaime got his hands on both of us." She waved her hand to include Mathew. At least she hadn't forgotten him already. "But we survived. Rob Bertrand is dead."
The waif named Butch nodded his approval. "Excellent work, my dear."
"It wasn't me. Johnny did it."
His smile widened, and he bit off another hunk. It flaked off in his palms and Mathew recognized a raw onion. He wondered for a moment what the man's breath was like, and then pushed the thought away before he gagged.
"I'll pay him a friendly visit then. After all, he did us a solid favor."
The thugs robbing the defenseless hostess weren't enemies. That thought made Mathew squirm.
"He might like that, Verity said. "Be cautious though. Trigger finger."
"Any good man would be."
Mathew cleared his throat, wanting to know what was happening here.
"Oh, Butch, this is my fiancé, Matt. Matt, this is Eddie Butcher, leader of the bandits."
The warmth he felt at being introduced as her fiancé whip lashed against the sudden fear of who stood before him. Butch nodded and tipped his hat. Mathew's jerky motions tried to mirror his, sans hat.
"What are you two doing in these parts?" Butch asked.
"We are on our way home to celebrate our impending nuptials."
"Well, congratulations. Where's the celebration, if you don't mind my askin'?"
Mathew tried to cut in, but Verity answered too quick. She glanced at him with a look that said she had this handled.
"Stanton's Spirits."
Wait, she wanted to stick around to celebrate? This was madness. Butch smiled and several of his followers grinned and smacked each other on their shoulders. What the hell just happened?
"Hello there, lass," a familiar friendly voice said.
Every head turned and Sam Hartley stood just inside the front door, alarm and caution in his demeanor. If it were possible, even more than in Mathew's. His local brother-in-law must know more about these men than Verity had led on.
"Sam!" Verity said. "How are you?"
Sam cleared his throat. "Mighty well, thank ye. I have yer order ready."
"Brilliant." Verity fished in her bag again and made the purchase with the watchful eyes of bandits next to them. Mathew would rather have fleas than stand here any longer.
Sam and Verity completed their transaction, and she inspected her custom blade. "Sam, meet Butch. Butch, this here is Sam, the finest blacksmith in the tri-village area."