The corners of her mouth lifted. “I am going to need a little time. Two seconds, at least.” She tapped an index finger against her cheek, pretending to think.
He didn’t give it to her. Wrapping her in his arms, he lifted her off her feet and crushed his mouth to hers.
Yet another miracle occurred when all the open wounds inside Tanner magically healed.
Eventually, he ended the kiss. “Don’t ever leave me,” he said into her hair. “I love you, Jewel. You and Ava. More than anything in the world.”
“Oh, Tanner. I was wrong. About so many things. I should have—”
He cut her off. “None of that matters now.”
“We need to talk. There’s so much I have to say to you.”
“We will. Later. For now, this.” He pressed her head to his chest.
“Sounds good to me.”
“First thing we need to discuss is the custody agreement. There’s some changes I want to make.”
She pulled back to gape at him. “Changes?”
“Maybe changes isn’t the right word. I want to get rid of the agreement altogether. And replace it with a new document.”
“What kind of document?”
“Instead of a custody agreement, I want a marriage license.”
Her eyes widened. “Are you proposing?”
“Darn straight I am. And this time, let’s do it right. Have a big wedding at Sweetheart Ranch with a couple hundred people. A reception. Cake. Honeymoon. No elopement.”
She kissed him again, lovingly, passionately, giving him an answer that couldn’t possibly be misinterpreted. “I like that idea. Though, we’ll have to hire someone else to be the photographer.”
Grinning, he swung her up into his arms and twirled her around.
“What’s going on?” his mom asked, although the twinkle in her eyes said she already knew.
“Jewel’s agreed to make an honest man of me,” Tanner said.
His mom shrieked with delight, and everyone came over to wish them well.
“We have to celebrate,” his dad said. “I’ll stop for champagne on the way back to the house.”
“Tomorrow.” Tanner drew Jewel to his side. “Tonight, we’re going back to Jewel’s place and telling Ava the good news.”
“She’s a little too young to understand, don’t you think?” Jewel asked. “And will probably be sleeping.”
“Maybe. But one day, when she’s older, she’ll hear how we couldn’t wait to include her.”
“I like that,” Jewel said and slipped her hand into Tanner’s, where it stayed for the next several hours.
EPILOGUE
Eleven months later
“OKAY, EVERYONE SQUEEZE in just a little closer.” Jewel motioned with her hands. Once the group of ten individuals had done as she requested, she bent and checked the viewfinder on her camera. “Looking good.”
Behind them, the Christmas tree twinkled merrily, the lights blinking and the gold star on top shimmering. Red and green strands of garland hung from the fireplace next to the tree, along with brightly colored stockings—one with her name on it, one with Tanner’s, one with Ava’s and the last one with no name and just a bow.
Jewel had started decorating their new home the Saturday after Thanksgiving in order to be ready for this combined Bridwell–Saunders portrait session. That way, they’d all have copies in plenty of time to include with their Christmas cards.
“Mama!” Ava called from Tanner’s arms and wriggled her fingers at Jewel. “Mama!”
“Be right there, baby girl.” She fiddled with the camera settings.
Jewel was nothing if not a perfectionist. She had a reputation to uphold. Her photos regularly appeared in other publications besides Oklahoma Rodeo News. And in addition to her job at Sweetheart Ranch, she’d developed a growing side business that included portraits.
“You might want to hurry,” Tanner said. “The kids are getting restless.”
He was referring to not just Ava but Daniel and Rosalyn’s two. Their daughter had started kindergarten this past fall, and their son was a rambunctious three-year-old who, according to his mother, terrorized his preschool classmates.
As anticipated, Daniel’s world championship title had been rescinded. He didn’t seem to mind much. As of his last checkup a month ago, his cancer remained in remission. He’d started taking online college classes and, with no lawsuit filed, was spending two days a week at Bridwell and Associates learning the ropes. His mood swings and anger issues were under control. The improvement to his and Rosalyn’s marriage could be seen in their tender exchanges whenever they were together.
“I am hurrying.” Jewel set the camera’s timer, marveling at the amazing changes she and Tanner had experienced this past year. The complete opposite of the previous two Christmases.
News of Tanner’s innocence had spread almost as quickly as the cheating scandal had originally. With his name cleared, he’d returned to bull riding. He’d had a rough start, being sorely out of practice, but as of late November, he’d qualified for the National Finals Rodeo in Vegas. He wasn’t betting on himself to win, claiming he’d be happy just to make it to the final round. Maybe next year, if he didn’t hang up his spurs. Tanner swore he liked being a husband and dad too much to keep leaving home most weekends.
Jewel and Ava would continue going with him when her schedule allowed and if the rodeo wasn’t too far away. There’d always be a few pictures she could later submit with the prospect of selling. Most of her days were spent at Sweetheart Ranch, capturing the happiest day of people’s lives.
The place had become even more special to her since her and Tanner’s marriage last June. She couldn’t help recalling that incredible day with each wedding she photographed. Ava, in her adorable frilly white dress and flowered headband, had been the center of attention, possibly outshining Jewel. Which had been just fine with her.
Eventually, Tanner would join his dad’s company alongside his brother. Or teach bull riding. He hadn’t dismissed that idea entirely and, when he wasn’t rodeoing, spent a lot of weekends at the Cave Creek Rough Stock Rental Company.
They were both planning on taking six weeks off this coming March and April. Before they returned to work, Jewel would need to hire an assistant. Or a full-time nanny. She hadn’t decided yet.
“Okay!” She scurried out from behind the camera and tripod. “We’re ready. Everyone say cheese.”
She rushed to join the others, which included her parents and Tanner’s, and settled in beside Tanner.
His arm came around to circle her expanding tummy, his hand resting directly above where their baby nestled. Another little girl. Tanner was elated, and Jewel couldn’t have asked for a better Christmas gift.
Just as the camera flashed, Tanner lowered his head and whispered in her ear, “I love you, Jewel.”
“Oh, you,” she teased. “The picture’s ruined.” She didn’t need to look to know they were in for a retake.
Returning to the camera, she reviewed the display and smiled to herself. She’d be keeping this picture and looking at it whenever she wanted to remember just how lucky she and Tanner were to have found each other again.
* * *
Keep reading for an excerpt from The Firefighter’s Thanksgiving Wish by Anna J. Stewart
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The Firefighter’s Thanksgiving Wish
by Anna J. Stewart
CHAPTER ONE
“I’M SORRY, FRANKIE. But you didn’t get the job.”
In the days that would follow, the fact that Fire Chief Bud Granger struck Francesca Bettencourt speechless—a feat long considered impossible—would be the talk of the town. Whispers would turn to murmurs of disbelief, which would add to the legend of Frankie Bettencourt that had been building in Butterfly Harbor for the past three decades. Of course, years down the road, Frankie would argue it was her stellar control of temper that was the real accomplishment of the day. That’s what happened, Frankie supposed as she considered sinking into the familiar worn leather hardback chair across the desk from her boss, when one was blindsided.
Her knees shook. Her fists clenched. Inside, deep inside where her dreams had waited sheltered, nurtured and protected, she cracked. But she didn’t crumble. Instead, Frankie did what she always did in the face of adversity: she stood.
She cleared her throat, knowing her speak-first, think-later mentality had gotten her into more trouble than anything else. Now was not the time to lose her cool.
“Frankie?” Bud shifted in the squeaky office chair behind the old, scarred desk and winced ever so slightly. “You did hear me, right?”
“Mmm-hmm,” Frankie managed to say through numb, pressed lips. She nodded, tucked an imaginary loose bit of hair behind her ear and scrunched her toes in her worn work boots. When the tightness in her throat eased and she felt she could speak without spitting fire, she cleared her throat again and clasped her hands behind her back. “May I inquire as to whom the town council has promoted to the position?”
Bud’s wince became a full-on flinch, his small eyes almost disappearing in the wrinkles of age and experience. The chair creaked under his significant weight as his fingers tapped the file folder on the side of his desk. “Frankie—”
“I’d like to know. Sir.” Frankie loathed the tremble in her voice; she loathed any sign of weakness that slipped past her control. But she loathed the pity she saw on Bud’s round face most of all.
“Cut the sir stuff, Frankie. I used to bounce you and Monty on my knees when you were nothing but specks in this world. You think I don’t know when you’re ticked off?”
Ticked off? Frankie arched a brow. Was that how one should feel when everything she’d worked for, everything she’d ever wanted in her life, disappeared with—what had it been? Nine words?
“Sit down.” Bud gestured to the chair she’d ignored earlier. “Please.”
She sat. Not because she suspected he’d order her to if she refused, but because she wasn’t entirely sure her legs would continue to support her.
“Who did they promote?” Frankie asked. “There aren’t a lot of qualified people for the job in town.” Not that Butterfly Harbor ever paid much attention to protocol. A small-town department that ran mostly on volunteers didn’t have the luxury of falling in line with other departments. Of those half dozen volunteers, all of them, as far as she knew, were quite happy with their current employment, and none would have gone behind her back. As far as she knew, no one else had expressed any interest in becoming the new chief once Bud’s retirement became official next week. Everyone had assumed, Frankie included, that her eleven years with the department, a good portion of which she’d served as captain, meant her succession to the position was a given.
“No one’s being promoted over you, Frankie.” Bud’s jaw tensed as if he were gnawing on a particularly tough piece of jerky. “They’ve hired from outside the department.”
Outside the... Resentment collided with anger, ready to back draft its way out of her system. She’d worked her butt off to get where she was, and she took inordinate pride in her accomplishments. Knowing she was a lot of people’s first call when they needed help wasn’t a weight she carried; it was a badge she wore proudly. Not only that, she’d purposely gone to each and every town hall meeting since she’d joined the department, keeping her face in front of the town council, always happy to be the walking advertisement for the Butterfly Harbor Fire Department.
A pang of regret hit her square in her chest. Her father’s monogrammed baseball cap she’d been keeping safe for when the promotion came through was going to continue to reside on the peg by the front door. She’d vowed she wouldn’t wear the BHFD hat until she was officially sworn in. Now chances were good that day would never come. “So who stole it from me, Bud?”
“No one stole it, Frankie.” Her friend and boss sounded tired. No, he sounded exhausted, reminding her why he was retiring in the first place, but Frankie couldn’t dwell on that now. She needed answers. “It was decided with Butterfly Harbor going through such big changes, and given what’s coming down the road, that they’d rather have someone with...” Bud hesitated, and again Frankie arched a brow, silently daring him to finish that sentence. She knew what they wanted the chief to have, and she hadn’t been born with that...chromosome. “More pedigree.”
“Pedigree?” Frankie blinked, more surprised at the word than she had been to learn she was being passed over for someone with a... She shifted in her chair, tried to straighten her spine that seemed to have softened in the last few minutes. “You make this sound like one of those dog shows on cable. So what? I’m a prancing poodle and he’s a rottweiler?”
“That’s not remotely amusing, Frankie.” Bud’s disapproval sounded forced. “Besides, aren’t poodles the smartest of the dogs?”
Frankie couldn’t help it. She snorted. “All the more reason I should have the job. And I should have the job, Bud. You know it. Everyone in this town knows it.” And now everyone in town was going to know she’d been passed over for some outsider! As if losing out on the job wasn’t humiliating enough, she was going to come in second place to some...well, she didn’t know just what he was yet. She could see the headlines in the now-defunct Monarch Gazette, see the guarded gazes when she walked into the Butterfly Diner. Everyone was going to be chomping on the gossip rather than Holly Saxon’s famous homemade pies.
“How about you stop dancing around the facts and just hit me with them, Bud?” She was so tired of politics, so tired of unofficially campaigning for a position that was decided on by the town council. Her grandfather and father had both been chief. Not that she’d expected special treatment that would define her as a legacy appointment; she hadn’t, which was why she’d taken every hard road to get here. No one could argue she hadn’t done what it took to wear that badge.
Bud sighed and pushed to his feet, headed to the ancient coffee machine sputtering away just outside his door. The building itself was one of the oldest in Butterfly Harbor and, sadly, was beginning to show its age. Like most things in town, it had stood the test of time and was a testament to the town and its history. But history was fading fast, even in a small town of just over five thousand. She had so many great plans for the department, for this building. For making sure the legacy and history of those who had served the community would never be forgotten or tossed onto the bonfire of the past. Bringing in someone who didn’t know any of it didn’t just seem like an insult to Frankie, but against Butterfly Harbor itself.
She turned her head, felt tears prick the corners of her eyes at the straight, notated gouges on the office’s door frame. F, age six. M, age six. F, age seven. M, age seven... She rolled her shoulders. Monty had always been an inch or so ahead of her growing up. Now her twin brother was more than five inches taller—just tall enough he didn’t bash his head on the roofs of the boats he chartered to tourists and business groups. She brushed her fingers along the back of her neck. To this day she could feel the hard wood pressed between her shoulders, against the back of her head as her father had notched how much she’d grown. It had become a ritual, on
e she noted with a pang of grief, that ended shortly after her and Monty’s sixteenth birthday, when Tybalt Bettencourt had been killed fighting a wildfire just south of Napa.
This firehouse had been her father’s second home, had been her second home. Sure, it needed upgrading and some serious updates, but they were working on it. A bit of polish and new paint wouldn’t hurt. She’d done a few things over the years, here and there. New paint in the workout room, which she’d equipped with her own exercise machines. Upgrades, including a new stove in the kitchen, the only place she cooked. She lived in her grandparents’ old house while Monty had set up in their parents’. She was low maintenance, so whatever spare money she had went to the job she loved. It just...made sense. Especially when most of the department’s operating budget had to go to provide the best equipment they could afford. And that was as it should be, Frankie reminded herself. Protecting this town and its residents was her first priority. She didn’t believe for one second some out-of-towner was going to feel the same. He’d be completely clueless about...everything.
“The decision not to promote you wasn’t unanimous, Frankie.” Bud poured them each a cup of coffee strong enough to boost her immune system for a solid year. “In fact, it was a tie and that deciding vote was cast by—”
“Let me guess.” Now it began to make sense. “Our illustrious mayor, Gil ‘The Thrill’ Hamilton.” She knew she shouldn’t have voted for him on election day.
Bud sighed. “The fact you’re the one who gave him that nickname is probably one reason he wasn’t enamored of the idea of you as chief. It’s no secret you two can’t stand each other, and this job requires you to work with him, not be snarky whenever you get the chance.”
Frankie rolled her eyes. Gil Hamilton had been two years ahead of her in school and encapsulated every possible stereotype as the town’s golden boy. Star quarterback, homecoming king, butter wouldn’t melt in his always smiling mouth. The son of the mayor who was the son of the mayor who... Frankie had long lost track of how far back that line of succession went.
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