IX. Epilogue: March 10th, 1861

Virginia City

Juliet was frustrated. She had inspected more horses than she'd ever had the desire to see in a single day, and yet the right horse hadn't been among them.

She wasn't sure why Sam Clemens had made her promise she'd buy a horse at the Ponderosa—they had lots of mounts here, but none of them seemed appropriate for her and her needs.

Well, knowing Sam, this probably wasn't about horses at all. Juliet still thought she didn't necessarily have to own a horse and that it would be the far better to just rent one whenever she needed it; but she had promised to buy one. She had never broken her promises before, and she wouldn't start that with this one. Not with a promise she'd given Sam, and most certainly not after all he had done for her.

Involuntarily she took a firmer grip on the arm of Mr. Cartwright as he led her from the corral back to the ranch house. She wouldn't think of the past now. Those things were over and done; this was supposed to be a new beginning: a new town, a new job, new people.

New people. She was looking forward to having another friendly chat with Mr. Cartwright, who was a charming elder gentleman, polite and well mannered, and a perfect host. He had just offered tea and apple pie while they took a break from searching for the right horse, and Juliet was looking forward to that, too. Mr. Hop, the Cartwright's Chinese housekeeper, already had proven at lunch that he was an excellent cook, and his apple pie surely wouldn't disappoint.

Not like the horses Mr. Cartwright and his two sons had shown her so far. They had offered her sturdy work horses, versatile Indian ponies, calm draft horses, and at one point the youngest son, Joseph, or Joe, as he'd insisted on being called, had presented to her a snow-white horse with a waving long mane. Well, she wasn't a cowboy, she wasn't a squaw, she wasn't a farm wife, and she most certainly wasn't one of those silly little girls someone like Joe Cartwright would invite for ride-outs, so she couldn't picture herself on any of those horses; and she'd tried to get that across to the men who had seemed more and more at a loss.

But could you explain to men who worked with their horses, for whom a horse was merely a tool, that you wanted a mount that suited you? A horse you would ride to get from one point to another, but also for pleasure only? A horse you planned to train for dressage?

Maybe she could try to discuss that with the older son, Erik, no, Hoss. Tall and broad Hoss, a man like an oak tree, with the friendliest grin she had ever seen and eyes as blue as the sky over the sea at Brighton, as blue as…Henry's. Somehow she was sure he would understand.

But then explanations became unnecessary, when they rounded the corner of the barn and she saw a new horse tied to the hitching rail next to the ranch house: a tall chestnut horse with three white socks. It had a strong chest, an elegant head, and long, delicate legs. Not the typical horse for this terrain, but a proud, strong and noble mount.

"This horse, why didn't you show me this horse? This is exactly the horse I want." She disentangled herself from Mr. Cartwright's arm, crossed the yard to the horse, and gently stroked its muzzle, cooing, "Hey, my boy. Now aren't you a beauty?"

Hoss was next to her only a second later. Taking hold of the horse's head collar as if there was a need to protect her from the animal he said, "Ya shouldn't touch a horse ya don't know, Miss Juliet. Ol' Sport here don't like strangers very much."

"He seems quite friendly, Hoss," Juliet replied in irritation. She couldn't see anything dangerous in this magnificent mount, and she had made up her mind anyway. "He seems to like me; and I like him. How much is he?"

"Ma'am, this here horse is not fer sale. He's my brother's horse."

Of course. She sighed. Things were never that easy. And clearly, this horse had been ridden shortly before, so it had to belong to someone. Well, everything had a price, and she was willing to pay whatever that price was. Within reasonable limits.

She turned to look for Hoss' brother and found Joe, who had caught up with them, right behind her. She fixed him with the stern Barnstoke-glare that usually got her what she wanted. "Joe, you surely don't need two mounts. How much do you want for this horse?"

"No, Miss Juliet, you got that wrong," Joe replied. "This is our other brother's horse."

Now she was surprised—another brother? How many sons did Mr. Cartwright have?

Well, it didn't matter from whom she bought the horse. She tsked and raised an eyebrow. "Maybe he wants to sell it then," she said, just a tad annoyed.

"No, he doesn't," answered a new voice from the porch. A clearly amused voice, a dark, pleasant baritone, warm and soft, and with just a hint of sarcasm that made the man behind that voice interesting even before she saw him.

Juliet turned to face the newcomer but paused when she saw the owner of the voice coming down from the porch and rounding the horse.

He was tall and well built, with olive skin and raven black hair; and he moved with the grace of a wildcat until he stopped in midstride and just stood and gazed at her. His smile created dimples on his five o'clock shadowed cheeks, and his eyes…Oh, his eyes!

Juliet knew she should be scandalised at being confronted by a sweaty man in filthy work clothes, but all she was aware of was that smile, and those eyes that were burning into her soul and kindling a flame there she'd thought long gone out.

Those mesmerising eyes the colour of the dark rich malt whisky her father had favoured…she could get lost in those eyes, she realised; and that thought filled her with warmth and chill at the same time.

After what seemed like an eternity, he offered her his hand. "Hello. I think we haven't met yet, Miss. I'm Adam Cartwright." His warm voice washed over her like a gentle caress, and for a moment she imagined wrapping it around herself like a soft blanket.

She took his hand and smiled. "How do you do, Mr. Cart—"

"Adam, please say Adam."

"Adam." She tested the name, let it roll on her tongue; and it tasted delicious. Suddenly all she wanted was to hear her name spoken in his dark, resonating tone. "I'm pleased to meet you. I am Juliet Heatherstone. Juliet."

"Juliet." It was not just her name: it was a tune.

She beamed at him, Adam. It was all she could do to suppress the urge to ask him, "You don't happen to like Marlowe, do you?" And with amazement, she saw the sparks her eyes were sending him reflected in his amber pools of liquid fire.

Her new life had just taken a very promising turn.

*** fin ***

Be who you are and say what you feel because those who mind don't matter and those who matter don't mind. ~ Dr. Seuss

You know you're in love when you can't fall asleep because reality is finally better than your dreams. ~ Dr. Seuss