Resurrection by Linda Lael Miller

dreamed that part,” Gil said gruffly, with a grin that wavered on his lips. Hell, he thought, even his mouth was weak.
    Emmeline shook her head. “It was quite real,” she toldhim. She was holding his hand in her lap, her fingers intertwined with his. “Neal Montgomery is dead.”
    “I know,” Gil said, and was surprised to realize that he felt sorrow. He had, after all, intended to kill the other man, in order to save his life and Emmeline’s.
    Her cheeks were pale as parchment. “Everybody knows it was self-defense, so there won’t be any trial.”
    Gil let out a long sigh, because he’d been worried that the incident would be construed as murder, even though he’d taken a bullet in the shoulder himself. He brought his hand to his mouth, and Emmeline’s with it, and brushed his dry lips over her knuckles. “‘Everybody’? Tell me what you think, Emmeline, because that’s all that matters to me.”
    She looked deep into his eyes. “I think we were both fools to spend even one day apart,” she said earnestly. “Why, we acted as if we had all the time in the world!”
    He nodded. “I agree,” he replied, and looked around the room at the bright wallpaper, the solid furniture, the lamps with their colorfully painted glass globes, the silver picture frames on the guest-room fireplace mantel. “You won’t mind leaving the judge’s house and coming back to the cabin with me?”
    Emmeline’s smile nearly blinded him. “Mind? I’ve got my things all packed, and the house is already up for sale.”
    “What about Izannah?” Gil asked.
    “She and Becky Bickham are going back east,” she answered. “They’ll both spend a year traveling in Europe with our aunt. Once we’ve sold the property, Izannah and I will share the proceeds.”
    Gil nodded, but he was weary, and his concentration was flagging. “I believe I’ll rest for just a minute,” he said.
    Emmeline bent and kissed his forehead, then rose and went back to her chair. He heard the comforting sound of the rocker as he drifted off to sleep, away from the pain. Slumberwas a quiet, peaceful realm, no longer haunted, and he rested there, and healed, safe in the constancy of Emmeline’s love.
    One Month Later . . .
    Emmeline stood alone on the veranda, wearing her doing-business hat and carrying her gloves. Gil’s precious letters, retrieved from Neal Montgomery’s desk by the marshal, were tucked safely in her handbag.
    Izannah, dressed to travel, was beside her, tearful and yet eager to set out on the journey east. Mr. Connors, the stage driver, had agreed to bring the coach right to their door, in honor of the occasion, since he had to pass by the judge’s front gate on the way to Missoula anyhow.
    The house, along with most of its furnishings, belonged to a young doctor from Boston now. He and his family would live on the upper floor and use the lower one as a clinic and small infirmary.
    Emmeline heartily approved, her opinion of Doc Blitter being what it was. And she knew she would not miss the many possessions she had sold or given away—Gil’s letters and the brooch he had brought her were all she really cherished.
    Still, the house had been her refuge, first as a child, then as a bride believing herself to be a widow. As eager as she was to go home to Gil and the little cabin beside the creek, she could not turn away from it without sentiment, and gratitude.
    She laid one hand to the whitewashed siding, as if caressing a living creature. Good-bye, she said in the silence of her heart.
    The arriving stagecoach made a great racket and Becky Bickham, waiting by the front gate with her parents and a good-sized trunk, called out to Izannah in an eager voice to hurry up. Emmeline smiled and turned toward the street with one arm around Izannah’s waist.
    “We’ll go forward,” Emmeline said firmly, “and not look back.”
    When they reached the gate, Izannah embraced her. The coach driver and Reverend Bickham were already loading