"Yeah," Wyatt said. "I do." He heard hoofbeats and turned to see Marshal Hendricks and three deputies riding hard toward the ranch. They pulled up, dismounted, and Hendricks took in the scene with a grim nod. "Silas Gant," he said.
"You're under arrest again." The deputies hauled Silas to his feet and bound his hands. Hendricks walked over to Wyatt and extended a hand. "Appreciate you not killing him," the marshal said. "Saves us the paperwork."
"Wasn't planning to," Wyatt replied. "Just wanted him to stop." Hendricks looked past Wyatt to where Ayla stood in the doorway, her face pale but resolute. "You two all right?" "We're fine," Ayla said.
"Good. We'll take him back to Clarksville, and this time we'll make damn sure he doesn't escape." Hendricks tipped his hat. "You folks take care." They watched the marshal and his men ride off with Silas slumped in the saddle, still bleeding and cursing.
When they were out of sight, Wyatt lowered the rifle and let out a long breath. "It's really over now," he said. Ayla came down the steps and stood beside him, her hand finding his. "Yeah, it is." They went inside and sat by the fire, even though it was too warm for it.
They needed the light, the sense of normalcy. After a while, Aylas spoke. "I used to think I'd never be free of them." That no matter how far I ran, they'd always find me. But today, when Silas showed up, I wasn't afraid.
Not like before, because I knew I wasn't alone. "You're not," Wyatt said. "And you never will be again." She leaned her head on his shoulder. "Let's go to town tomorrow.
Get married like we planned. I don't want to wait anymore." "Neither do I." The next morning they rode into Clarksville together. The town was busy, people going about their business, and no one paid them much attention.
They went to the preacher's house, a small cottage on the edge of town, and knocked on the door. Reverend Talbot was a kind man with gray hair and a gentle manner. When Wyatt explained what they wanted, he smiled. "I'd be honored," he said. "Do you have witnesses?"
Wyatt looked at Ayla and she shrugged. They hadn't thought that far ahead. We can find some," the reverend said. "Give me a moment." He disappeared into the house and came back with his wife and a neighbor, an older woman named Mrs. Calhoun.
They all gathered in the small parlor, and the reverend opened his Bible. The ceremony was short and simple. Wyatt and Ayla stood facing each other, their hands joined as the reverend spoke about commitment and partnership. When it came time for the vows, Wyatt's voice was steady. "I promise to stand by you, to protect you, to work with you and build a life together for as long as I live."
Ayla's voice wavered slightly, but her eyes were clear. "I promise to trust you, to fight beside you, to make this ranch our home, and to never give up on what we're building, for as long as I live." The reverend pronounced them married, and Wyatt kissed her, brief and chaste, but full of promise. Mrs. Calhoun clapped, and the reverend's wife produced a cake she'd baked that morning. They all shared it, talking and laughing.