“Rather than getting one of those online minister licenses,” Emily leaned over and whispered, “she went back to her tribe and was trained in all of the traditions of conducting a ceremony and has been certified with the state to conduct weddings. It is up to couples how traditional or Christian they are. With Nathan’s catering, weddings are becoming very popular here at the ranch.”
“Is there anything you don’t do?” Lauren wasn’t sure if she was asking about the ranch or Emily. Maybe both.
“Play the piano.” Emily wiggled her fingers, answering the second question. “Mom tried so hard to bring me up properly, but I became a soldier instead.”
As if taking his cue from her, Mark Henderson Sr. began playing the “Wedding March.”
Everyone rose to their feet, including Rip. Though she whispered a “stay” so that he wouldn’t think they were going somewhere.
Chelsea, her hair a bright red flow over her shoulders, came first up the aisle in a dress that was pure Western cowgirl, right down to the denim and fringe.
Behind her came a tall, serious-looking man she didn’t recognize, but who must be Julie’s father. Lauren would have thought he was leading his daughter to a funeral if not for the way he held her hand. He didn’t only have the bride on his arm, but he had reached across his other hand and interlaced their fingers as they walked up the aisle.
Julie was also Western cowgirl, though reimagined. Her skirt had ruffles to echo Chelsea’s fringes. Her cowboy boots were intricately stitched, wedding white. A denim bolero offset the lacework of the top. Her hair was up, tucked inside a white cowboy hat with a single fall of veil down to her waist.
Everyone else was applauding, and Lauren finally realized that she was as well. Julie simply looked that amazing. She was a beautiful woman, that was a given. But she was an astonishing bride. What would Lauren herself look like when it was her turn?
Who would be in Chelsea’s role, leading her down the aisle when it was time?
She turned, and found herself trading smiles with Emily.
You? Lauren somehow asked the silent question.
Yes. Emily bowed her head just enough to communicate that it would be an honor.
Someday…
Lauren looked at Patrick, so incredibly handsome as he pushed his stunned-puppy brother that one step forward he needed to take to stand beside his bride.
Someday soon, Julie would be her sister-in-law. It simply felt right.
But Emily. The daunting Emily Beale would be her friend.
Lauren looked down at Rip in sudden shock.
She had a friend. She had a dog. She had a man she would be saying yes to, when he asked—though knowing Patrick, he’d wait too long and she’d have to do the asking, but that was okay as well.
She had a place to be. The ranch and the wilderness called to her. She didn’t need the pressures of Special Operations or the distractions of the Big Apple.
All she needed was a reason to be here.
Julie had hinted at her being a guide. Stan wanted help with the dogs.
But neither of those would hold her. She knew that much about herself.
So what would hold her?
Chelsea might dazzle and Julie might awe, but Patrick couldn’t wait to see Lauren in a dress. She had changed at the last second after joining in the efforts to dry him off. He’d been looking the other way when she entered and sat, and he’d had no clear view of her during the ceremony.
After the ceremony, he couldn’t find her at first. Then he spotted her brunette hair between the ranged shoulders of Julie’s three older brothers. Matthew in the center with the twins Mark and Luke to either side.
As soon as he had slapped his brother on the back and hugged his new sister-in-law, he rushed to Lauren’s side. Julie’s brothers were a formidable trio of cattle ranchers and he knew from hanging out with them at fairs and socials that they knew how to spot a “fine heifer” when they saw one. They had done a fine job of cutting Lauren from the crowd. The brothers didn’t quite have her cornered, but they definitely had her well enough off to the side that she’d almost have to be rude to leave them.
“Lauren,” he hurried up to her, swinging through the narrow gap Luke had left between himself and a conveniently blocking couch. “There you—” The last word snagged in his suddenly dry throat.
He’d seen her in a tight black t-shirt, barely clothed in his own flannel shirt, and completely naked indoors, outdoors, and armed with a rifle while she stood over a dead bear.
None of that prepared him for the vision of her. No wonder the Larson brothers had gone out of their way to corner her.
He knew it was one of Emily’s dresses—it wouldn’t surprise him if Lauren didn’t own any at all. He made a mental note to make sure and buy her more…just like this one.
It looked custom-made for Lauren’s taller frame. A blue sheath of clingy jersey, with an asymmetrical overlap of fabric. The neckline was only open to just below her collarbone, but the edging of the upper layer swept down her chest and curved to duck around her waist. The edging was dark yellow and drew the gold out of her honey-colored eyes.
Her extra inches turned it from above the knee to mid-thigh and she’d capped it off with dark red cowboy boots that he suspected came out of Ama’s closet.
“You look…” Again he had no words.
“Yep! Looks real nice,” Luke tried to nudge Patrick aside and almost succeeded in dumping him backward over the couch arm.
“A real cut above,” his twin assessed from the other side.
“Pr—”
Patrick stepped between Lauren and Matthew, the eldest of the Larsons, and got right up in his face. “You say ‘Prime Grade’ and I’ll take you down, Matthew. As God is my witness, I will.” It might be from some movie, but he’d never felt such rage. He and Matthew were close to the same height, but Matthew was about twice as wide. And both of his brothers were there, which tended to egg on his male ego as the alpha male.
“Oh, really?” Matthew leaned in until they were nose-to-nose.
Patrick didn’t want to bust up his brother’s wedding with a fistfight—and definitely not one he had so little chance of winning—but he was fast running out of options.
Then Lauren rested her hand lightly on his shoulder and pushed him aside just one step.
She and Matthew stood eye-to-eye in height, just a single step apart. “Really? That’s the best ploy you boys have?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean,” and she turned just enough for Patrick to see her infinitesimal smile.
He couldn’t imagine why she was having fun with this, but he knew her well enough to keep his mouth shut and just watch.
“You boys are looking for a fight that you don’t know you’ve already lost.”
“Is that so?” All three of them squared their shoulders and turned to face Patrick.
“Really. Would you like me to prove it?”
“I could wrap Pat there around my pinkie if I felt like it. I wouldn’t. I like Pat. Just sayin’ I could if I had the mind.”
Lauren turned to him. “I thought cowboys were known for being respectful of women.”
“Oh, he is,” Patrick decided that he’d join in the fun, even if it cost him later. “He’d like to take you to his hayloft and show you just how respectful he can be.”
“That’s what I thought.” She heaved a sigh, then snapped her fingers down by her hip and whispered, “Guard.”
Rip popped to his feet and his hard snarl of rage silenced the room.
All three brothers looked down at the dog in shock.
Mark and Luke managed a step back, but Lauren snagged the front of Matthew’s cowboy shirt. From somewhere in the form-fitting dress, she produced her Glauca folding knife. She flipped it open with a hard snap. She held its squared-off tip about an inch from Matthew’s nose, making him cross his eyes.
“You might think about treating women a little more nicely in the future,” the
n she shrugged. “It’s just a suggestion.”
She flipped the knife closed as she let go of Matthew’s shirt so that he could stumble back to join his brothers.
Patrick realized that no one else but him and the three brothers were in position to have seen the knife.
Lauren whispered, “Sit.” All three brothers looked down at Rip as he plopped onto his rear, though he didn’t look any more friendly. Patrick was the only one who followed as she palmed the knife and slipped it beneath the jersey fabric at her cleavage.
Patrick moved back in. “Boys might want to think about what she said. Now move along and go congratulate your sister on her wedding.” He felt that he did a fair job of not gloating as they left to do that.
The room slowly returned to normal.
As the last person’s attention turned elsewhere, she turned to him and silently mouthed, “That’s a wrap.”
His burst of laughter had several people looking back in curiosity, but he didn’t care. He took Lauren’s hand in his. Not a tremor. Of course she’d probably faced down plenty worse.
“That’s a wrap indeed!” He loved that she’d used one of his phrases. “There’s hope for you yet, Lauren Foster.”
“That’s good, I guess. Thanks for trying to defend me. It was crazy, one against three, which in a way makes it all the more impressive.”
“Colonel Gibson made it fairly clear that he’d kill me if I let anything happen to you.”
“No. He didn’t really, did he?”
“He really did. Though I forgot that until just now. I was simply so angry at the brothers treating you that way, I had to step in. Probably made things worse by doing so, but I had no choice.”
That earned him a kiss on the cheek.
“Where is he, anyway?” He looked around, otherwise he’d be the one crowding Lauren Foster into the nearest place that he could get her out of that incredible dress.
They both scanned the room.
“Do you think he just walked out into the storm and disappeared?”
“I wouldn’t put it past him,” Lauren sighed. “I wish he’d said goodbye.”
“I don’t know. I’m still quaking in my squishy boots. That man knows how to lay down a threat without many words. Six, maybe eight words. Wish I’d written them down. It was truly impressive.”
Lauren had chosen a quiet corner of the living room to share a dinner plate with Patrick. He’d been trying to teach her the two-step, at which she’d been pitiful, and a couple of basic line dances, at which she had to rank as downright tragic.
But the waltz. She could have waltzed in Patrick’s arms until she dropped. And she was nearly there.
Julie and Nathan were clearly sustained by the energy of their marriage as they simply floated about the room together, at the center of every single dance.
She and Patrick sat together in the same oversized leather armchair sharing from the same plate balanced on her lap. Some were still dancing, but most had been tempted away from the floor by the tantalizing smells of Nathan’s wedding buffet.
“That was decent of Matthew,” Lauren finally broke the comfortable silence between them.
“It was,” Patrick conceded. “Didn’t make it any easier to watch.”
He’d come up to them both after the dancing was well started and politely asked her for a dance. As he’d moved her expertly around the other couples, he’d apologized to her. “Sorry about earlier, ma’am. I just took one look at you and don’t know what came over me. I’ll straighten out my brothers and you’ll have no trouble. Wish they were smart enough to not follow my lead, especially when I’m makin’ a big mistake like that. But they’re my brothers and there’s not much I can do ’bout that.”
“You could try scaring them every now and then.”
“I think you took care of that for a good while, ma’am. I’ll be sure to let you know if they need a reminder.”
It was easy to feel flattered rather than angry after that, though it would take Patrick a bit to calm down yet.
For now, they simply returned to eating in silence, tossing occasional scraps down for Rip. He was particularly partial to the pork-filled corn fritters. They peeled off the deep-fried bits and fed him bits of the interior.
Chelsea had gotten Stan to his feet, and he was proving that he absolutely knew how to dance with a woman. Mark’s father and Ama also floated effortlessly across the dance floor.
“Where’s Mack?” He’d been there for the wedding, but she didn’t think she’d seen him since.
“He’s gone. He slipped out as soon as the storm broke. Said he had to get home to Nancy right quick as he was, and I quote, ‘missing her something awful’.”
“What? Without saying goodbye?” Lauren felt a sudden burning in her eyes. That hurt. She’d liked the old man and it really hurt.
“He said not to tell you until you asked.”
“And you listened to him?”
Patrick looked suddenly uncertain.
“Next time. Don’t. You tell me anyway. Okay?”
“Okay,” Patrick bent his head down and toyed with a breaded venison cutlet marinated in something she definitely had to eat again at the first opportunity. “I’m not sure how soon he’ll be back, but he left you a present.”
“What? That could make up for just leaving like that?”
“His rifle.”
Lauren was knocked speechless by that.
“He said it was from one southpaw to another. He promised Nancy that he’d give up hunting because he’s long since too old. I didn’t know, but he’s past eighty. Said he made this trip just hoping to find the right person to give it to. Guess he did.”
“Oh!” The tears were streaming down her cheeks before she even had time to understand what had just happened. “Oh, my heart! Oh, Patrick!” She turned into his shoulder. She couldn’t hide there, but she could let the pain out. He held her close and just let her cry. Yet another gift.
“What did you do to her?”
Patrick had been simply holding Lauren while she wept quietly against him.
Rip had sat up with concern when she started. Rested his head on her knee long enough for her to pat him on the head without looking up. Then used his long tongue to clear half of what was left on their plate in a single mouthful.
Patrick had set the plate out of reach and brushed any spillage out of their laps and onto the floor for the dog. Then he’d just let her cry.
“Well?” Emily was glaring down at him. Mark hovered close behind her the way he expected a deadly military helicopter hovered the moment before it killed you.
“When Mack left, he gave her his Winchester 70 rifle.”
“Oh,” Emily’s face softened abruptly and she sat on a nearby footstool. Mark sat beside her and reached down to ruffle Rip’s fur. It was clear that he didn’t know what was going on but was taking his cues from Emily.
Patrick stroked a hand once more down Lauren’s back as she took a final sniffle. Mark now made even more sense to him—of course he himself would follow Lauren’s cues in the future just as Mark did his own wife’s.
“Sorry. I’m sorry.” Lauren sat up, wiping at her face with her napkin, then blew her nose. “I just can’t believe he’d do that for me. His father gave him that rifle, but his kids are right-handers and never took to hunting anyway. My father…wasn’t much of a father. Lived and died for Wall Street. Mom stayed with him for the lifestyle, I guess. And Mack—” She blew her nose again and leaned against him.
“Always liked that guy,” Mark agreed. “Sure was decent of him, even if he wouldn’t stop flirting with Emily.”
If Mack didn’t come back to the ranch, maybe he and Lauren could go visit him on the Oregon Coast.
He and Lauren.
He was still assuming things. What if—
“Emily’s got something to say to you, Lauren,” Mark cut him off before he could even complete the thought, never mind speak it.
“Not now,” Emily nudged her
shoulder hard against his. “Where’s your sense of tact?”
“Thumb on the trigger of a Hellfire missile. That’s me.” Mark reached over to Patrick and Lauren’s plate on the side table and plucked up bacon-wrapped chicken liver with an injected jalapeño cream. Patrick decided not to warn him about the dog slobber.
Mark chomped down on it happily.
Patrick thought about offering him more, or pulling the plate closer in invitation, but decided that was too much. He’d just watch and enjoy with no one else the wiser.
“Yep!” Mark spoke as he ate and reached for more. “Nathan and Julie were a fine addition to the ranch staff. And Patrick, you were here while we were still firefighting, so you’re just part of the ranch for us. Just awesome.”
Patrick wished it was. But he and Lauren weren’t going to be here much longer no matter how much he wished otherwise.
“Time to add another.”
“Mark,” Emily ground out.
“Do it up, Em.” He picked up the plate and kept eating as if his job here was now done.
Patrick wondered if Mark was impossibly brave or impossibly oblivious. He was messing with far worse than fire if he was riling Emily Beale.
Emily sighed, “Maybe Mark’s right. No time like the present.”
That surprised Patrick no end. It was easy to forget that Mark had also been a highly-decorated major and had convinced Emily to marry him. The man’s persona made it hard to remember just how smart he was. Patrick didn’t go looking for a movie analogy. There was no need. Mark was sitting right here in front of him in real life.
In real life. He and Lauren. That’s what mattered.
Emily glared at him.
Suddenly Patrick had a brand-new appreciation for just how brave a man Mark was.
“What I’m about to tell her, you can’t tell anyone. Ever! Are we clear on that, Patrick?”
“Not even…”
Big Sky, Loyal Heart Page 20