by Rita Herron
When the beautiful song had ended, Hannah emerged from behind the canopy and spotted Jake standing at the end of the walkway. Dressed in a black tux with his dark hair combed and a sexy grin on his face, he looked like a prince from one of her childhood stories. Finally, the guitar strummed the wedding march.
“Ready, hon?”
Hannah smiled at her father and squeezed his arm. “Yes, Dad. This time I’m ready.”
The two of them walked slowly down the aisle together until they reached the gazebo, Hannah’s gaze locking with Jake’s as her father offered her to him in marriage. The preacher, Grammy’s minister from Pine Mountain, offered a word of prayer, then began the service. “I understand you’d like to say your own vows.”
Hannah and Jake nodded. Silence descended on the meadow, the fragrance of spring grass and flowers filling the air with the promise of rebirth.
Jake folded her hands between his own and kissed them gently, then began, “I came to Sugar Hill as an imposter. A man who knew nothing of love or family or belonging. And you, Hannah Hartwell, taught me how to open my heart. I will love and honor and cherish you as long as I live.”
Hannah had to swallow against the tears. She pressed Jake’s hands to her heart. “As a little girl, I used to dream of being rescued by a prince someday. But then one day I forgot how to dream. You, Jake Tippins, brought me out of that shell, forced me to take a chance and not be afraid. You are my prince—you rescued me from a life without dreams. I will love and honor and cherish you all the days of my life.”
The minister completed the ceremony by having them exchange rings. Hannah smiled at the solid row of diamonds in the simple gold band she and Jake had chosen, knowing the wedding band would complement her grandmother’s heirloom ring. She’d finally told Jake the story about how the ring had brought them together. One day she would pass the priceless antique on to her own daughter.
The minister continued, “I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”
Jake swept her into his arms and kissed her to the sound of clapping and laughter. Several minutes later, when everyone had hugged them and offered congratulations, Grammy Rose stepped up to greet them. Hannah saw Seth talking to Mimi in the corner and was grateful they could all be friends.
Grammy Rose cupped Jake’s handsome strong face between her gnarled wrinkled hands and kissed his cheek. “You take care of my granddaughter, you hear me? She’s a special one.”
“I know that, and I will,” Jake assured her.
Grammy Rose patted his arm. “My, my, he’s got some muscles on him, child.”
Hannah laughed at the coy expression in her grandmother’s eyes. “By the way, I always meant to ask you, Hannah, how did you like that stripper I sent to your bachelorette party?”
“You sent Zorro, Gram?” Hannah asked.
“Yes, was he as good as they say?”
Hannah blushed.
“He was fabulous,” Alison and Mimi said in unison.
“What about Zorro?” Jake’s dark eyebrows arched teasingly, but his voice held a note of possessiveness. Maybe jealousy.
“He was a stripper,” Mimi explained.
Jake dragged Hannah into his arms. “Well, my wife won’t need Zorro around anymore. Now she has me.”
Alison whistled suggestively. “You know, Hannah, Jake’s a cop. I bet he’ll know what to do with those handcuffs.”
Hannah laughed again. “Alison!”
Jake nuzzled her neck with kisses. “I certainly do. And I can’t wait to get you alone to show you.”
“You’ve got your work cut out for you, Jake.” Mimi gestured toward a bright silver gift bag sitting by the wedding cake. “But I packed you a honeymoon goody bag for starters. All kinds of erotic—”
“You don’t have to explain, Mimi,” Hannah warned.
Jake chuckled. “Don’t worry, Mimi. I think Hannah and I can figure things out.” He bent her across his arm for a long tender kiss, eliciting sighs and cheers from the family.
Hannah finally caught her breath and noticed her grandmother’s eyes twinkling with appreciation. “Yes, ma’am, Hannah,” Grammy said with a wink. “I couldn’t have chosen a more perfect husband for you if I’d handpicked him myself.”
ISBN: 978-1-4268-5380-7
HAVE GOWN, NEED GROOM
Copyright © 2001 by Rita B. Herron
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