by Maisey Yates
She examined it as he held it out to her. It was made with rose gold, and a beautiful princess-cut diamond with colored flecks in it, which was all very trendy in handcrafted jewelry circles.
And he was right. If there could have been a ring that came right from her own heart, it would’ve been this one. She couldn’t have made herself one so perfect as the one he had found for her, and that was really saying something.
That was a feat. One that only Ryder could’ve ever pulled off.
“So I never really asked you, not properly. Not like this. And I thought that I ought to have something to offer when I did. Sammy... Samantha, will you marry me?”
A laugh escaped her lips; it was either that or burst into tears and start sobbing, and she didn’t want to do that, because everything was so beautiful. He had made this. And he had gone out and found that ring, and now he was down on one knee. And she had never felt more special or herself in her entire life. She wondered if maybe this was it. If maybe this was the journey she had been on, to this destination. One she had never been able to see, because it ended with this. With being Ryder’s wife. And it all seemed joyful now, and not half so frightening or traditional for the sake of it.
Suddenly, she wanted to have that ring on her finger, and she wanted to wear it with her wedding dress more than anything else in all the world. She wanted to see his face when she walked down the aisle toward him, and she hoped that it was filled with...
She blinked hard. “Yes,” she said. “Yes.”
He let out a breath that she hadn’t realized he’d been holding, and took the ring out of the box, sliding it slowly onto her finger. Then he stood up, grabbed her and kissed her hard. “Good thing,” he growled. “Since we’re getting married tomorrow.”
She laughed. “Yes. I guess so.”
“Sure am sorry that I went about this the wrong way at first. You know, beating my chest and not exactly being... I don’t know. Romantic.”
That was it. The word she’d been searching for earlier. For the way he held her even when she was clothed. For the way it felt to lean her head on his shoulder. To be near him. To sleep next to him every night, his strong arm around her waist, his breath on her neck.
“We’ve never been romantic,” she whispered. “Friendly. Sexual. But not romantic.”
He cleared his throat. “Well, a wise man pointed out to me that if you didn’t get any romance from me, you were never going to have it, or you were going to have to find it with someone else. So I figured... I figured I better make some.”
It was an amazing thing. It truly was. Because she would have romance. And she would have friendship. And care. And that was all very wonderful. But somehow, she felt like a piece was missing. Standing there with that gorgeous ring on her finger, and the momentary delight and sense of completion she had felt only minutes earlier dimmed.
What was wrong with her? She couldn’t seem to find what she was looking for. She couldn’t seem to put her finger on it.
“Thank you,” she said, smiling. She rested her hand on his chest, looked at the ring that glittered there on her finger.
This moment felt big and it felt good. It felt right. And for a brief segment of time she was happy to rest in that. Happy to simply be.
Because whatever would happen after this, she didn’t know. And the giant well of everything that this had opened up inside her was...terrifying. Terrifying in ways she couldn’t quite define.
But it was official now. And it was real.
Tomorrow she was going to become Ryder’s wife.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
THE DAY OF the wedding dawned clear and bright. It was already warm, the sun brutal, baking the ground as early as 10 a.m.
There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, though, and Ryder supposed he had to go ahead and take that as a good omen.
He kept replaying the previous night over and over in his mind.
It had been something different for them.
He had proposed, and she had accepted. He held her hand and walked her back to the camper and had kissed her good-night. And he had left her there.
Purposing that they would be a little bit more traditional than they had been up until that point, and going ahead and staying away from each other in the hours leading up to the wedding.
He didn’t know whether or not she found that romantic. As far as he was concerned, it was about the best he could do. To show her that it meant something. To show her that it wasn’t just a throwaway thing.
It mattered to him.
That they were going to make vows. Vows that were essentially already part of who they were. Already a part of their friendship. But it was going to become official today, in front of their friends and God and everybody. And that mattered.
Given the circumstances, he wasn’t having the church wedding his mom would have wanted. Or having a priest. But they were on a tight time frame.
They were going to sign paperwork. Ryder Daniels was the kind of man who never defaulted on a loan, never went back on an agreement. Never shook hands on something he couldn’t stick to. That meant for him, the wedding was final.
So it mattered. It really did.
He had put on a suit, too. A suit and a black cowboy hat, and the sun was sort of resting on the top of the fabric, mocking him a bit. He imagined this was what it was like to wear a coffin.
Stuffy and completely and totally constricting.
But he was doing it for her. He wanted to do it for her.
They hadn’t gone and gotten official with the wedding party, but Logan was his best man. With Iris, Rose and Pansy serving as Sammy’s maids of honor.
Iris had outdone herself baking a cake that had scant frosting and flowers and berries pouring over it, serving as decoration.
It was very Sammy.
She had also worked at making a beautiful lunch, which was absolutely overkill, considering the only attendants to the wedding were their family, the minister, his wife and Pansy’s fiancé.
It wasn’t like it was a big shindig, and not altogether different than the Fourth of July gathering they’d had only a couple weeks earlier.
But everybody had put on their Sunday-go-to-meeting clothes, and they all looked damn serious, like this was some kind of momentous occasion.
And it added to that constricting sense that Ryder had been noticing not long before.
But then Logan approached him, not in a suit, but wearing a sport jacket, which he had assured Ryder was the best he could do without disintegrating.
“Be good to her,” Logan said.
“I will,” Ryder said. “I’ve been nothing but good to her for all these years.”
“Yeah. But it’s different now.”
“Yeah, so everybody keeps saying. I got her a ring.”
“Really?”
“I did. That’s why we built this big trellis thing. I have a real wedding band in my pocket, too.”
“Did you get yourself a ring?”
“If Sammy cares about that she’ll make sure I get one.”
He didn’t know why he was so sure of that. Only that he was.
“You going to wear it?”
“Of course. When I make vows I stick to them. And I’m not going to have any trouble where she’s concerned.”
“Not going to be tempted to sleep with other women?”
He laughed, the sound rusty, getting stuck in his throat. “I’ve had trouble forcing myself to look at other women for the past seventeen years. Now that I have her it’s not going to be any trouble to look only at her.”
“I knew you were in love with her,” Logan said. “All this time.”
He shook his head. “I wish. I wish it were that easy and that simple. I just want to keep her forever.”
“Isn’t that love?”
“No,” Ryder
said. “My parents were so good to each other. They helped each other. Effortlessly completed each other. Didn’t clash with each other. They didn’t... I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. They’re dead. They’re not here today. I’m about to be a father. And in just a few short years I’ll be the same age my dad was when he died.” He noticed that Logan’s face had taken on a strange expression, probably because he was being strange. But he didn’t really care. He felt owed his breakdown.
“Life is a bitch. And I’m not going to worry about what this thing between me and Sammy is. I’ll take care of her. I promise that much.”
“See that you do,” Logan said. “And maybe don’t worry so much about what somebody else’s marriage looked like.”
“You never even saw a marriage. How would you know?”
It was a low blow. Digging at the fact that Logan’s mom was single.
“True,” Logan said. “But then, if I was ever going to fall in love I suppose I would accept the fact that it was going to be my own particular brand of fucked up. Since I have nothing else to compare it to.”
“Well. Aren’t you enlightened?”
Logan shrugged. “Yeah, pretty much.”
“Leave most of that out of your best man speech, please.”
Logan pushed his hat back on his head. “Was I supposed to write a speech? I thought I would just tell everybody to drink.”
“Stick with that.”
After that the pastor showed up, and everybody began to assemble and take their places beneath the canopy.
He stood there, wondering which direction Sammy would come from. It was part of her charm, that they hadn’t done any kind of rehearsal. That she had said that he was just going to have to see what happened.
He wondered if she was thinking about her father, because of course, traditionally, a father gave his daughter away when they walked down the aisle. But her father had given her away to Ryder a long time ago. Had turned over those rights as a protector that he wasn’t using.
It wasn’t that different. It wasn’t really.
Except last night had been completely different. Rings and dancing and romance.
Except it felt different, with him standing there in a tuxedo, unable to catch his breath.
He shook hands with Pastor Michael and then stood, waiting.
Rose, Iris and Pansy came up over one of the little hills, linking arms. The three of them were wearing light-colored summer dresses, smiling, and suddenly they reminded him of themselves as children. Something strange twisted in his chest, and he tried to breathe around it. Tried and failed.
Smiling, they stood across from Logan, and he found himself in between the two groups.
The people he loved most in the world, except for the one who was about to stand next to him.
And she was probably the only person on earth they would kill him to protect.
Which was ideal, because if he did something to Sammy, he would deserve it.
And then, he couldn’t pay them any attention anymore, because he was looking at that spot on the hill. Where Sammy would appear. Where he would finally see his bride. And then, suddenly there she was. He saw her hair first. All backlit by the sun, a wreath of flowers placed over the top of her curls. It was flying wild, like he liked it.
And suddenly, he was bitterly angry with himself for not taking her to bed last night. Because it might do something now to keep him from having this entirely inappropriate reaction to her.
Because you weren’t supposed to want nothing more than to immediately skip straight to kissing the bride, and then go to the wedding night. At least not in front of the minister. No. Hell, no.
It took him a moment, because he was so captivated by her beauty, to notice the dress.
A real wedding gown, sleeveless, skimming her curves. All beautiful, delicate lace. She was holding a bouquet of wildflowers that he was sure she had probably gone out and picked herself that morning. Because it was who she was. And this was who she was as a bride.
Every inch herself, still.
The impact of that never lessened.
That she was Sammy, the Sammy that he knew, when they kissed. When they made love. And when they got married.
She didn’t transform into something else or someone else. Sammy. His Sammy. In a wedding gown, moving toward him.
She lifted up the front of her gown, one hand still clutched around the bouquet, and she began to run toward him, and his heart stood still.
She was laughing by the time she got to the canopy. “Sorry,” she said, breathless. “That was taking too long.”
“I agree,” he murmured.
She took his hand, and they began the ceremony. The pastor speaking their vows first, with them repeating after.
For better or for worse.
For richer or for poorer.
In sickness and in health.
Forsaking all others.
As long as they both lived.
I do.
And then, Pastor Michael asked if they had rings. He reached in his pocket and took the box out, producing the band that went along with the engagement ring he presented to Sammy the night before.
A little impish smile curved her lips, and she shifted her bouquet from one hand to the other. And that was when he saw the hammered gold band on her thumb. It was big even for that digit, and thick. And clearly for him.
She slipped it off her finger and held it out to him. Then he took her left hand in his, and slipped the band on her finger. And then he gave her his left hand, letting her put the band on his.
“Perfect size,” he said.
“Yours, too,” she whispered. “Almost like we know each other.”
“By the power vested in me by the state of Oregon, but more important, God,” Pastor Michael said, that last part feeling like a warning. God was involved and this better stick. It better be real. “I pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”
Wife.
It was real.
Husband and wife.
So he did. He grabbed her, and he kissed her like he couldn’t bear to let her go. He kissed her until neither of them could breathe. He kissed her, because he thought maybe it could say something that he didn’t know how to say. Put to order feelings that were riding around inside him that he didn’t have the vocabulary for.
Or maybe he didn’t have the balls for them. He didn’t really know.
And when he pulled away, everybody clapped. Cheered.
Everybody who had always been there was there, including Sammy. At Hope Springs Ranch. It was also the same, and yet so completely different. He didn’t know how to hang on to that feeling and examine it. Didn’t even know what to call it. It was all nostalgia wrapped in a brand-new package. And he was afraid of what he might find if he examined it too closely.
The only pictures they got were on everyone’s phones, and when they cut the cake Rose was chanting for him to smash it in Sammy’s face. But he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t do that. He was supposed to take care of Sammy, and he would never in a million years do something to disrupt the reverence that he found today.
She laughed and smeared a little bit of frosting on his lips, then surprised him by licking it off, before laughing and kissing him. Then Logan started to play a song on his guitar, and the demand became for them to dance.
He pulled her against him then, and brought her back underneath that arbor. And he was glad that he had done this with her the night before. A dance that was just for the two of them. Because it was fine doing it in front of his family, but it wasn’t quite the same as it had been to hold her against him when it wasn’t a show.
And when it was all over he fully realized the change that had happened. The shift. Because when he thought of Sammy now she would no longer be his friend first. She would be his wife. And soon, the moth
er of his child.
His.
That was the bottom line. And wasn’t it what he had always known? That from the beginning she was his?
And when he swept her into bed that night—his bed, their bed—the words played over and over in his head. His wife. His wife. His.
He was living a life that he had never imagined wanting.
One that had actively terrified him for as long as he could remember. To have a woman in his arms, in his bed, his house, his heart, that mattered so damned much. Because life was cruel, and loss could hit you when you least expected it, and he knew it better than most. Because to want to hold on to someone so tight was a terror that he had never, ever wanted to experience. Because he knew that no matter how tight you held, someone could be torn from your grasp. Because he knew that love couldn’t keep someone with you. No matter how fierce you felt it.
But he had also lived a life that proved that it could bond people together in the throes of grief. And that you could stitch together new things out of broken pieces.
But it was hard to figure out which truth to take on board. It was hard to figure out which thing to let be largest. It was easier, damned easier, to let it be fear. Fear was so easy. He had learned that early.
Because it let you hide. It was the rest of everything that was so much harder.
But as he lay next to his new wife, exhausted from making love with her, looking at her face, relaxed in sleep in the light of the moon coming through the window she had climbed through as a teenager, into a bed that they now shared, that was now theirs, he knew that nothing that beautiful would ever come easy.
And Ryder was a man who had been built for tough.
So that was exactly what he would be.
* * *
THEY HAD BEEN married a week. It was a strange thing. Living in the ranch house. And something that she hadn’t entirely thought about when they had gotten engaged. She had woken up late that morning, as she had started to do, and he had made sure that there was a bowl of fruit sitting there on the table for her, covered with plastic wrap and all ready for her to eat.