by Tessa Layne
I give the nod to Alison, and we open the large garage doors, welcoming our VIP guests. The main party will begin in an hour, but these are our closest friends. “You’ve cleaned the place up good,” says Danny with a clap on my back. I turn, hopes rising for one light-filled moment that Emmaline is his plus-one. But just as quickly, they’re dashed when I see the tall, buxom red-head holding his hand. “Dec, meet Roxi.”
“It’s a pleasure.” We exchange pleasantries for a minute before I pull Danny aside. “How’s Emmaline? Have you seen her recently?”
He gives me an odd look, but then frowns and shakes his head. “It’s been nuts. We should catch up after the party’s over.”
I try to hide my disappointment. I thought for sure when Danny said he was bringing a guest that it would be Emmaline. “Meet me on the farmhouse porch later. We’ll have a cigar.”
There’s a brief lull in conversation as our visitors work their way through the buffet line, and I can’t stand it anymore. Emmaline should be here. She should be celebrating. And even if she won’t pick up the phone, I want to hear her voice. Just this once. And I want her to hear me wishing her a happy birthday. I step around the side of the building and press her number, pulse racing like I’ve just sprinted a 5k.
Her phone rings once… twice. My stomach knots. On the third ring, she answers. “Declan?”
My breath leaves my body in a whoosh. I’m flooded with emotion. I kick at a rock, not caring that my shoes will get dusty. If I focus anywhere except on that rock, I’m going to lose my shit, and I’m not going to do that. Not tonight, when we’re supposed to be celebrating. “Em. Hi. Happy Birthday, sweetheart. I wanted to wish you a happy birthday.”
“Oh, Declan.” Her voice melts me. “I love hearing your voice.”
“God, I miss you, Em. So much. Are you doing okay?”
“I’ve loved reading your letters,” she says quietly.
“You should throw them away. They’re the late-night meanderings of a crazy man.”
“I don’t think you’re crazy.”
I want to keep her talking. I want to feel her voice wash over me, soothe all the parts of me that are still banged-up and raw. But I’m running out of time. And hanging up is going to feel like I’m ripping off a scab that’s not ready to let go.
“I want to talk to you more, Em. But I’ve gotta run. Did you get the invitation I sent?”
“I did.”
“I wish you were here to celebrate with us.”
“I know. I wish that, too.”
Then why aren’t you here? I want so desperately to ask, but I settle for platonic. “I’ll send you a bottle.”
“Maybe you can give it to me in person, instead?”
My eyes snap up, because the voice isn’t just coming into my ear from my phone, it’s coming at me. “Emmaline?” I must be hallucinating. Maybe I’ve been roofied, or I’ve had a stroke and died, because she’s here, standing three feet away smiling tremulously in that same blue dress she wore to Jason’s wedding.
“It’s me.”
I hear her voice in two places again. I drop the phone and close the distance between us. “Is it really you?” I say, catching her cheeks between my hands.
“I couldn’t do it, Declan. I couldn’t spend the rest of my life without you.” Her words keep coming, but I don’t care. I’m kissing her, silencing her with my mouth, because she’s here, she’s home.
“Stop talking and kiss me back,” I say as I pepper her cheeks, her eyes, her nose, with kisses, still not quite believing that she’s here.
But then she kisses me back, and I squeeze her to me, lifting her off the ground and turning us around. Our kiss is desperate, needy, and a homecoming. We’re breathless when we part, and she beams at me. “Best birthday ever.”
Hours later, I grab a bottle of Madame M, two glasses, and Emmaline’s hand, and pull her toward the cellar door. This time, we sneak down the stairs like two delinquent teenagers. We push through the second door at the bottom of the stairs, and this time, I turn the lock. “Lots different from the last time we were down here, huh?” I’ve brought in a black leather couch, and created an intimate tasting space, complete with a rug and a low table created out of a wine barrel split in half.
“Ooh, I love this,” she gasps, and sashays across the room to the couch, and sinks into the plush leather.
I follow and place the glasses and bottle on the low table, then pull her into my lap. “I love this,” I say, running a hand down her side. “You, here. On my lap. Getting ready to kiss me.”
She complies, looping her hands around my neck, and opening at the first pressure of my tongue skating along the seam of her lips. I drink her in, savoring her like the fine wine we’re about to open. “Every moment with you is a gift.”
She presses her forehead to mine. “I sold my house again.”
“Again?”
“I realized something when you sent me the key, and I walked through one last time.” She takes a breath, and I realize she’s nervous. “That house is my past. A beautiful memory of my childhood and happy times with my parents.” Her mouth pulls down. “And I know that with the progression of the disease, I will forget you before I forget that house. And I don’t want to forget you. I want to imprint you on the deepest part of my memory.”
My heart is hammering so loudly, I think the rocks are humming.
“You are my present and my future. And if you’ll have me-”
I stop her right there with another deep kiss. “Of course I’ll have you. I meant everything I said in those letters. I will stay with you and love you to the very end, for as long as we have. And I will spend every dime I have supporting research so that we can grow old together.”
“Can we get married?” she asks shyly. “I’m still a hard no on children, but I want to experience everything else with you, and maybe we can be aunts and uncles to your brothers’ kiddos?”
“We can get married tomorrow, sweetheart.” I say, giving her nibbling kisses along her jawline. “But if you want to experience everything, then you have to let me buy you an enormous diamond and propose to you.”
She starts to loosen my tie. “How long will that take?”
I start on the buttons of my shirt. “We can shop for rings tomorrow. It will take a week to get them sized properly, and that long for the marriage license.”
“If it’s all right with you, I’d like to get married in Prairie. In the church my parents got married in.”
“Of course, anything you want.”
Her hands slide under my shirt, squeezing and caressing my chest, my sides. She stands, slowly rucking up her hemline.
I catch her hand. “Wait. Boyshorts or thong?”
She gives me a positively wicked smile. “See for yourself, bad boy.” She pulls on her hem, and my hands are on her legs, caressing upward, chasing the hem. And fuck me, she is bare as the day is bright.
“I fucking love you, Em.” I gaze up and into her wild eyes, and it hits me. Em - M. Onomatopoeia. “My naughty Madame Em.”
A week later, we’re married at First Lutheran in Prairie. The same church her parents were married in, the same church where her father was pastor. And we don’t have a bride’s side or a groom’s side. Everyone sits together. And I’m the one to escort my beautiful bride down the aisle. No one is giving her to me. We are giving ourselves to each other. I tuck her in close to my side as we stand before Pastor Ericksen, and it’s possible, as my hand settles on her hip, that it’s scandalously close to her ass, but ask me if I care? Because I lean in and whisper, dying to find out. “Boyshorts or thong?”
THE BEGINNING OF HAPPILY EVER AFTER
- For as long as we both shall live -
I hope you enjoyed reading Declan & Emmaline’s story. Are you ready for more of Tessa’s Bad Boys? Download MR. RED next!
Nicholas
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They say an eye for an eye, and God knows I deserve every punishment for the things I’ve done
. But when Alison comes sweeping into my life like an angel of death, begging for mercy is the last thing on my mind.
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Also by Tessa Layne
PRAIRIE HEAT
PRAIRIE PASSION
PRAIRIE DESIRE
PRAIRIE STORM
PRAIRIE FIRE
PRAIRIE DEVIL
PRAIRIE FEVER
PRAIRIE REDEMPTION
* * *
A HERO’S HONOR
A HERO’S HEART
A HERO’S HAVEN
A HERO’S HOME
* * *
MR. PINK
MR. WHITE
MR. RED
Acknowledgments
First off, I know you’re **DYING** to learn about the connection between Danny & Emmaline’s family. And I’m going to be an evil writer here, and tell you that you’re going to have to wait until Mr. Whiskey to read that juicy tidbit!! Bwahahahahaha
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Next- I owe my editor the divine KM a huge debt of gratitude. Writing this book wrecked me. It was truly humbling, and the most difficult process I’ve ever gone through as a writer. Alzheimer’s has touched my life, and the life of many who I love. So in some ways, much of this book felt deeply personal. I could not have survived without the handholding, late-night messaging, email dumps, and virtual and real booze from both KM and my Tartland Authors. Big love and hugs to you ladies <3
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Next next – you readers are the very best. It is a privilege and an honor to write these stories for you and to hang out with you in our FB group. I’m grateful for the community of kindness we’ve built, and of the way we share pieces of our lives. You make FB a fun place to hang out. Hugs, hugs, and more hugs.
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Lastly, to Mr. Cowboy, Tiny, and Teenager… you bring joy to my life every day. Thank you for tolerating me when I hole up and write, for making dinner, for making sure I have plenty of Kleenex, popcorn, chocolate and wine on hand for the scenes that make me sob, and for generally just being the most awesome family a girl could ask for. I love you madly.