Page 35 of Brian and Cora (The Bachelors of Three Bend Lake #2)

In the inner office, Ant and Delores were bent over his manuscript on the large desk, already absorbed in the first pages.

"I need to know where the Bellaire house is located," he said desperately. "Now."

Ant looked up, took in Brian's wild expression, and quickly rattled off directions. "Two blocks north, three west. Go left. Big pinkish-brown stone house with the tower. Can't miss it."

Brian dashed out the door before the man finished speaking.

Marshal, patient despite the cold, stood tied to the hitching rail. He swung into the saddle and urged the horse through the snowy streets, his mind racing faster than the gelding's hooves.

What should I say? How should I explain? All those months of silence when he could have written, could have sent word through Hank, or could have done something to let her know she haunted his every thought.

The Bellaire mansion rose before him like something from a fairy tale—all pink-brown rough-cut stone, copper trim and elegant windows. Brian tied Marshal to the post and took the steps two at a time. "Cora Collier!" He pounded on one of the double doors. "I'm not leaving until you hear me out!"

The door opened to reveal a dignified Negro butler with white hair and an impassive expression. "Miss Cora is unwell and not accepting visitors," he intoned.

Brian's heart sank, but he refused to slink away.

Before he could plead his case, from within, a man called. "Now, Rufus,” he said in a Southern drawl, “let's hear what the man has to say."

The man appeared, who with his flowing white-and-amber streaked hair and elegant clothing, could only be Andre Bellaire.

He surveyed Brian with shrewd hazel eyes.

Even in his desperate state, Brian was aware of how much he owed this man—the cabin improvements, the furnishings, and Cora's presence in his life.

He stepped forward, palm up in entreaty.

"Mr. Bellaire, Cora is operating under a misunderstanding—one that's causing her distress.

" The words tumbled out. "Please, let me talk to her.

Let me try to fix the hurt I've caused. I thought I was doing the right thing by planning the perfect moment, but I see now?—"

"You see now that grand gestures mean nothing if the lady isn't included in the planning.” Mr. Bellaire said with a knowing expression.

"I was about your age when I made the same mistake about not talking to Rose before I made plans.

Cost us twenty years of happiness." He pointed to the stairs.

"First door on the right. A window alcove is down the hall—perfectly appropriate for courtship.” His eyes twinkled.

“I charge you with doing better than I did. "

"Thank you," Brian breathed, already moving toward the staircase rising from the entry. "Thank you."

He took the steps three at a time, his heart hammering. At Cora’s door, he knocked softly, not announcing himself for fear she'd refuse to see him.

The door opened and she peeked around—handkerchief in hand, eyes red from crying. She looked so woebegone he wanted to gather her into his arms.

"Brian?” She shifted, as if to step back. “What are you?—"

"I can do better," he said quickly, gently taking her hand and tugging. "Please, Cora. Just listen."

She sniffled but nodded, allowing him to lead her to the cushioned window seat Andre had mentioned. Snow fell steadily outside, blanketing the world in white.

Cora sat but kept her face turned away. "I thought we were friends. I thought you'd visit, talk about the book, and maybe even let me read parts." Her voice broke. "Silly me."

"I did come to town," he said urgently. "Every time I interviewed someone. I stopped by the doctors' office, but you were never there. Dr. Cameron always seemed distracted and couldn't tell me where you were. Patient confidentiality, he said."

She turned slightly toward him, wariness replacing hurt.

"I had this grand plan." He swept out an arm.

"Write the book, polish every word until it gleamed.

Then polish myself—new clothes, proper grooming, and manners that you've never seen from me.

Only then would I place the perfect book and, hopefully, more-perfect-than-before me in your hands.

" He managed a rueful smile. "You were to be my first reader. The only one whose opinion mattered."

"I didn't need a polished book or a polished you," she said in a low voice. "I thought I'd already proved that."

"You did. Cora, you did." Brian squeezed her hand. "My editor calls authors’ books 'works in progress.' Well, I'm definitely—” he made quotation marks with his fingers “—a work in progress. But I promise to learn from my mistakes. To do better. To love you as you deserve to be loved."

At the word love, her eyes widened. But she shook her head. “A relationship between isn’t possible.” Her shoulders slumped. “As much as I love Three Bend Lake, my work is here. I won't give up being a nurse."

"Then I'll move to town," he said simply. "I can write anywhere. We'll keep the cabin and buy a house in town. I’ll stay in Three Bend Lake when you’re away on a case. Or we can go together when you're between cases. There’s Torin and Jewel to consider. But home will be wherever you are."

Hope dawned in her eyes.

"Here." He pulled the crumpled dedication page from his pocket. "Proof that you were always meant to be my first reader."

With trembling fingers, she smoothed out the paper. Her lips moved as she read silently. Then she looked up with misty eyes and read aloud: "To Cora Collier, my nursemaid and my salvation. With everlasting thanks for healing my leg and my heart, so I can love you for the rest of our lives."

She drew a shaky breath. "I might just love you too, Brian Bly."

Her proclamation came in that tart tone he'd missed so desperately. With a laugh of pure relief, he cupped her face and kissed her—once, twice, then longer and deeper, pouring all his longing into their sweet contact.

Voices rose from downstairs, and they broke apart, breathless.

"I believe the entire household is awaiting your news." Cora smiled, her cheeks a becoming pink.

"Then let's not keep them in suspense." He stood and offered his hand. "But first—one more kiss. I have four months to make up for."

"Just one more?" An eyebrow winged up.

"Well…" He pulled her close again. "Maybe we'll start with one and see where it leads us. After all, we’re a work in progress. We, my darling Cora, have our entire future to get the book of our lives just right."