Santa Fe Fortune & How to Marry a Matador

much at all. He could see a man getting used to a balanced measure of them both.
    Dan took a sip of wine, knowing he was letting his emotions get the best of him. That was a dangerous mountain to climb when he understood what was on the other side: a clean downhill slide where his heart would take a tumble. Elena had been quite detailed in enumerating his faults.
    A crescent moon rose as a smattering of stars poured onto the canvas of the night sky above them. Their salads arrived, artfully served and in a timely fashion.
    “So, are you going to tell me the story?” she asked eagerly.
    Dan was happy for the chance to take his mind off his gloomy thoughts. “Ah yes, the story of Loretto Chapel,” he said, setting down his glass. He leaned forward on his elbows and lowered his voice. “And its mysterious spiral staircase.”
    “Staircase?” she asked with surprise.
    “Legend has it the staircase in Loretto Chapel arrived as a miracle. Some to this day may dispute it, but many others do not.”
    “Go on,” she pressed, intrigued.
    “Rumor holds that when the chapel was completed in the eighteen hundreds, the dear nuns who lived there noted there was no staircase to get them to the choir loft on the upper level.”
    “Oh my!”
    “So they prayed for nine days for a miracle. On the tenth day, an unknown carpenter appeared and offered to complete the task. He built the freestanding staircase all by himself without using glue, nails, or any central support. Then, as soon as he was done, the stranger disappeared just as mysteriously as he’d arrived, without ever having identified himself or demanding any payment. The good sisters of Loretto naturally took this as a miracle, and the man to have been Saint Joseph himself. The proof I believe lies in the number of steps of the freestanding structure, made of a wood not even found in this region.”
    “Well?” she asked, her eyes twinkling.
    “Thirty-three. The age of Jesus Christ.”

    Gwen leaned back in her chair with a delighted laugh. “That’s wonderful! What a fantastic story.”
    “It’s not a story,” he said with mock defensiveness. “It’s a miracle.” The corners of his mouth twitched slightly, and Gwen could tell he was repressing a smile. She was finally starting to read him, and for a girl who didn’t like to read, that said a lot.
    Gwen cocked an eyebrow and shot him an impish smile. “Do you believe in miracles, Dan?”
    He captured her with his gaze, stilling her heart for a fraction of a second. “Let’s just say I believe most things in life can be rationally explained.”
    “Most things don’t mean all,” she bantered lightly.
    He raised his glass to hers as their salad plates were cleared and the entrées arrived. “You’ve got me there.” Everything smelled delicious. Gwen couldn’t wait to dig in. She hadn’t realized how hungry she’d gotten subsisting on complimentary inn food these past few days.
    “How’s your filet?” he asked as she took a heavenly bite that literally melted in her mouth. “Cooked all right?”
    He was incredibly handsome in the soft light, flames from the outdoor fire caressing the solid lines of his face.
    “Perfect. Everything’s just perfect. I couldn’t have had a better night.”
    “I’m glad,” he said with a grin. “That just leaves tomorrow.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “You’ve got a bit of time to kill while the shipment comes in. Got any plans?”
    “I thought I’d take in an art museum or two.”
    “That sounds great. I’ve been considering taking the day off myself.”
    Gwen set down her fork. “Are you…asking me on a date?”
    “You mean unlike this one,” he deadpanned.
    She gasped with surprise. “This was a date?”
    “It could be if you wanted it to.”
    Gwen’s heart went fluttering in all sorts of wild directions. Why on earth was he doing this? Surely there was no sense in it. She’d be gone by the week’s end. “I’m not so sure that’s a good idea.”
    “Which one?”
    “This a date… Tomorrow. I…I don’t know.” And she didn’t, she really didn’t. She was feeling all jumbled up inside, like she’d desperately wanted something and now didn’t know what to do once she’d gotten it.
    “How about if we just call it an appointment, then? An arrangement between associates to go and see some art. Besides,” he added temptingly, “I know who serves the best chile rellenos in town.”
    It was patently unfair of him to play the food