Nora Roberts: The Pagan Stone

“It’s going to take a while to get used to. But I’m all about trying.” He took her hand. “I figure this. We stick around for a couple of days, until everything settles down. Then we’ll take off for a couple of weeks. The way my luck’s running, I figure I can win enough to buy you a ring the size of a door-knob, if you like the idea.”

“I do, if that’s an actual proposal rather than a hypothetical.”

“How’s this for actual? Let’s get married in Vegas. We can talk everyone who matters into going out for it.”

“In Vegas.” She cocked her head, then laughed. “I don’t know why, but that sounds absolutely perfect. You’re on.” She took his face in her hands, kissed him. “Happy birthday.”

“I keep hearing that.”

“Expect to hear it more. I baked you a cake.”

“No joke?”

“A seven-layer cake-as promised. I love you, Gage.” She slid into his arms. “I love everything about you.”

“I love you, too. I’ve got a woman who’s ready to get married in Vegas, bakes cakes, and has brains. I’m a lucky guy.”

He laid his cheek on the top of her head, holding on while he looked out to the woods where the beaten path led to the Pagan Stone.

And at the end of the path, past Hester’s Pool, where the water flowed cool and clean, the once-scorched earth of the clearing greened again. On the new ground, the Pagan Stone stood silent in the streaming sun.