by Brenda Mott
Through all the planning, all the fun of it, Miranda never once worried. She knew she was in good hands.
But on the day of her wedding, she turned into a mass of nerves. She sat in the guest bedroom of Fae and Mae’s house, while Tori styled Miranda’s hair and Shannon looked on.
“What if he changes his mind again?” Miranda asked for the umpteenth time.
Tori rolled her eyes. “I already told you. He’s not about to change his mind. Not only does he love you, but he knows we’d string him up. And that would be the worst thing that could happen to the sheriff. Now sit still.”
Once Tori was done with Miranda’s hair, Shannon did her makeup. Finally, Miranda began to relax. The whole primping session took her back to their preteen years, when the two of them had experimented with their mother’s makeup.
Paige came into the room just minutes before the ceremony was to start. “Oh, honey, you look like a picture.” She leaned over and brushed a kiss against Miranda’s forehead. “My baby, getting married.”
“Excuse me,” Shannon said. “I’m the baby of the family.”
Miranda laughed. “Then you ought to thank me for blazing the trail for you.” She stood and took a deep breath, gathering her skirt. “Well, here goes. Wish me luck.”
“You won’t need it,” Tori said, as the four of them walked outside. “You’re already the luckiest woman in the state of Montana.” She nodded toward the end of the garden path. “That is one hot cowboy.” She gave Miranda a wink, then took one of the small bouquets of flowers the bridesmaids were to carry from Paige, and started down the pathway.
Miranda was barely aware of the romantic country song that played over the loudspeakers in the garden, or of the photographer who snapped pictures of her and her attendants. Paige even had to give her a nudge when it was time to walk down the aisle, she was so focused on Lucas.
Miranda took her mother’s hand and they walked down together.
Lucas stood beneath an archway of curling vines and white roses beside his deputies, his eyes locked on Miranda’s. She felt her heart swell, felt a lump rise in her throat.
Of course he was there.
He held out his hand as she drew near. The expression on his face said she was his, now and forever. Lucas tucked her hand through his arm, and she lowered her bouquet of roses and baby’s breath, standing beside him.
Partners.
The words they said to each other seemed almost an afterthought.
“Miranda, I promise to love you and honor you, and be your lifetime partner. And I promise to do my best to never give you cause to make me sleep on the couch.”
Everyone chuckled, and even Pastor Hill smothered a smile.
“I’ll do my best to keep you happy, now and always,” Lucas added. “You’re my wife, my love, my world.” He slid a simple gold band onto her finger.
Miranda looked up at him, loving the way his ring felt on her hand. “Lucas, I never thought I’d get you here, but here we are. I promise to always love you, and honor you, and be your lifetime partner, as well. And I promise to be your friend and your lover and the woman who’s waiting for you with a cold beer when you come home.”
The cowboys among the rows of guests whistled and cheered. “Can’t beat that!” someone called.
“But most of all,” Miranda continued, “I’ll be the woman who will grow old with you. Lucas Blaylock, I’m proud to be your wife.” She slipped the gold band onto his finger.
Pastor Hill beamed. “Lucas…Miranda. I now pronounce you husband and wife. Miranda, you may kiss your groom.”
“Gladly.”
Cheers went up, and cowboy hats were tossed in the air. But Miranda barely paid attention.
She had eyes for only one cowboy.
And he had eyes only for her.
THEY LAY ON THE CREEK bank beneath the cottonwoods that night, with a bottle of champagne nearby. Miranda had locked Smudge and Tuck in the house with Happy.
“This isn’t exactly the fancy hotel suite I’d had planned,” Lucas said.
Miranda had made him cancel their reservations at the honeymoon suite in Billings.
“No, but it’s so much better,” she said. “And so much more private.” She looked up at the familiar blanket of stars. Centered almost perfectly above them, the moon was in its last quarter—a silver sliver that was somehow even more romantic than a full moon.
More darkness to snuggle in.
She would miss coming here, once Shannon moved in. Miranda hadn’t had the heart to ask Lucas to give up his beautiful log home. Instead, they’d live there, though she’d still run her horse training business here. Shannon had been more than happy to buy out half of Bush Creek. She’d been saving for a ranch of her own for quite a while now.
Maybe Lucas and she could still sneak over to the creek on occasion, Miranda mused. For old times’ sake.
She cuddled against his shoulder. They’d made love the minute they’d finished toasting one another as bride and groom. She looked down at the gold band on her finger. Lucas had promised her diamonds one day, and she’d told him he was all she really needed. Her diamond in the rough. He seemed satisfied with that.
He held up his hand, admiring his own wedding band. Then he folded his left hand over hers. “You know, I think I’m going to like being married.”
“Yeah? Well I certainly hope so, because its way too late to back out now.”
He rolled over and kissed her. “Not a chance of that.” Then he grew serious. “How many kids do you want?”
“Kids?”
“Well, we’re not getting any younger.”
She gave him a playful shove. “Speak for yourself, cowboy.” She kissed him, then mulled over his question with exaggerated concentration. “Hmm. I think two would be good.”
“Just two.” He kissed her. “How about three?”
“Maybe.”
“Or four.” He kissed her again.
“Only if you have that one.” She kissed him back. “I think two or three is about all I can handle.”
“We’ll negotiate later.” Lucas gathered her into his arms, pinning her to the blanket beneath them. “I say we start now.”
“A honeymoon baby?” Miranda clicked her tongue. “What if she’s born early? People will talk, you know.”
“Let ’em talk,” he said, kissing her again. “It’ll give Fae and Mae something to run through their grapevine.”
Miranda laughed softly, then pulled Lucas against her. She couldn’t think of a better way to share their love.
A honeymoon baby sounded just right.
ISBN: 978-1-4268-0361-1
THE SHERIFF OF SAGE BEND
Copyright © 2007 by Brenda Mott.
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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