A Marriage for the Marine: A Fuller Family Novel (Brush Creek Brides Book 7)

by Liz Isaacson

  Jazzy and Fabi exchanged a look, and Fabi, the older of the twins, opened her bag first. A black box sat inside, and she pulled it out. “I know what this is.”

  “No, you don’t.” Excitement built in Wren. Sure, Fabi liked the charm bracelets that were popular these days. She owned so many she couldn’t even wear them all at once.

  She cracked the lid on the box and gasped. “Wren.” Her wide eyes met her sister’s, then her twin’s. “It’s the memory chain I’ve wanted.”

  “Go on,” Wren said, smiling fully for the first time in days. “Let me help you put it on.”

  Fabi reverently took the necklace out of the box and allowed Wren to sweep it around her neck. “I got you three memories,” she said softly as Fabi held up her hair. “The butterfly is to remember to fly. The hot air balloon is to remind you to lift others. And the heart is to remember how much your family loves you.”

  When Fabi turned, she had tears in her eyes, and since Wren’s emotions lingered on the surface of her skin, she cried too. “Thank you, Wren.”

  She stepped back, sniffing. “All right, Jazzy. Your turn.” Wren wiped her eyes, wishing Jazzy had gone first. She was infinitely harder to shop for, and Wren usually gave her a gift card to her favorite online boutique. But as she’d wandered the aisles at the department store for hours, she’d had the time to really search for something.

  Jazzy removed the tissue paper from the bag and then pulled out a box, her face brightening into a smile. “Yes!” She grinned and giggled. “Wait. Is this really what it is?”

  Wren nodded, glad her gifts had brought her sisters some measure of happiness. Like lightning, she realized that her own mood had lifted by serving others. Her own attitude had changed, just for a few precious minutes. And while she managed a business that relied on helping others, she’d never viewed what she did as service or helpful.

  She also knew she needed to be more giving and think less of herself and her own wants.

  “So tell us about Tate,” Jazzy said as she fiddled with the bright pink alarm clock that she could dock her iPod with. She’d wanted one for a while now, because she wanted to wake up to her favorite songs, not “some DJ talking about the weather.”

  “I don’t know about Tate,” Wren said, suddenly ravenous for a whole thin crust pizza. She put three slices of the Simplistic pizza on her plate. Just cheese, pepperoni, sauce, and bread, the pizza was divine.

  “What don’t you know?” Fabi asked, loading her plate with food too. “You really seemed to like him.”

  “Why’d you guys break up?” Jazzy abandoned her present and joined the other two sisters in the kitchen.

  “Why do all men break up with us?” Wren asked.

  “We were on our best behavior at the picnic,” Fabi said. “And you guys dated for a few weeks after that.”

  “So then….”

  “Money?” Jazzy asked. “Doesn’t he have a lot of money? I mean, look at what he’s turned that house into in like, what? A week?”

  Wren smiled, because though it had definitely been a lot longer than a week, Tate had transformed the broken down farmhouse next door into something magnificent rather quickly.

  “I don’t know how much money he has,” Wren said. “I don’t really care.” As she spoke the words, she realized how true they were. “I’ve never screened my dates based on their income.”

  “Oh, I do,” Fabi said, fingering the balloon charm around her neck. And she was serious too. Fabi wanted someone who would spoil her rotten, and she rarely went on second dates because of it.

  “I know you do, Fabs.” Wren finished a slice of pizza and found she couldn’t eat any more. “I think I just need something to do. Somewhere to spend my time that isn’t about me.”

  “Like the Salvation Army or something?” Jazzy looked at Wren like she’d lost her mind. “That’s all the way in Vernal.”

  “And they pay their people,” Wren said. “No, I’m talking about volunteering somewhere. Just…doing something for someone else.”

  “Well, Pastor Peters always says he’s looking for people to visit the elderly.”

  Wren cracked the top on a soda, her mind churning. There had to be opportunities to serve right here in Brush Creek. She just needed to find them, whether that was civilly or religiously.

  “I’ll call him,” she told her sisters, and the conversation turned to something lighter. Wren’s thoughts never strayed far from Tate and how she could be the kind of woman who didn’t come across as one who demanded the best of everything.

  She honestly wasn’t that person, but she’d obviously made him think she was. If I can fix that, she thought. I can get him back.

  Please help me get him back.

  Chapter 14

  Tate stood from the kitchen table, taking a moment to admire the scratches in the top of it. He hadn’t spent much time seeking out his mother, but in that moment, with one fingertip tracing down one particularly large gouge, time held still. He felt her close to him, a sensation he’d had several times throughout the three decades she’d been gone.

  “I don’t know, Mom,” he whispered, his eyes moving back to the notebook he’d been scrawling in. “Even with this budget, it would be hard to have babies.”

  Wren could work.

  Tate sighed. “Yeah, I know.” She could probably take the babies to the office with her. From what he’d seen, she sat behind a desk and played computer card games. Sure, she worked too, managing schedules, updating calendars, taking care of payroll, and income, and a thousand other things, he was sure.

  Do you love her?

  It wasn’t his mother asking, but a question that had been on his mind for days. What would happen if he admitted that yes, he loved her?

  “I don’t know,” he said. “But I know I’m horribly miserable without her.”

  Then go fix it.

  The numbers he’d printed in his cramped handwriting mocked him, and he ripped the page from the notebook and headed for the front door. Sully looked up, his eyes bright and curious.

  “Yeah, come on. Let’s go talk to Wren.”

  But instead of walking next door and facing the woman he thought he might be in love with, he jumped in his truck and headed into town. He couldn’t show up empty-handed, not with a woman like Wren.

  He also couldn’t leave Sully in the truck in this heat, so he grabbed the dog’s leash and towed him into the department store with him. The funny part was, no one said a single word to him. After finding the women’s section, he realized quickly Wren didn’t buy her funky T-shirts here.

  He flagged down someone wearing a nametag that read Jordanna. “Hey, so I’m looking for a bright T-shirt. You know, with characters and rainbows and stuff on them.”

  “Just around the wall there. There’s a whole spread of them.” She grinned at him, and he thanked her before taking Sully around the wallet displays. Sure enough, an entire wall held cubbies of the exact kind of T-shirts Wren wore.

  Good thing they had them all displayed above the cubbies, with numbers pinned to the corner so Tate could easily find what he was looking for. But he felt like he was navigating a minefield—which he’d actually done before.

  Too many choices.

  “Okay, Sully,” he said. “What do you think Wren would like?” He moved away from the purple. “Not purple. She said it doesn’t look good with her hair.” Tate wasn’t exactly sure what that meant, but he didn’t want to show up on her doorstep after three weeks with the wrong color of shirt, he knew that.

  He’d seen her wear black, yellow, pink, and blue. As he spied an orange shirt, more the color of a creamsicle than a cantaloupe, his heart bumped out an extra beat. She’d never worn an orange shirt.

  Didn’t mean she didn’t have one. He lifted the shirt from the top of the numbered cubby and stared at the brightly colored fox. It wore a big poodley skirt and seemed to be dancing. Under the animal, it read FOX TROT in bright blue letters.

  He smiled. This was the one. Now
he just needed a pair of funky glasses to go with it. After deeming all the reading glasses at the department store too ordinary, he paid for the T-shirt and left.

  In the truck, with the air conditioner blowing, he tried to think of where he could find the kind of glasses he needed. Inspiration struck him, and he said, “All right, Sully. Are you ready for a ride?”

  By the time he’d secured all the things he needed to go next door and make his apology for breaking things off so prematurely, without giving Wren much of a chance to explain herself, it was too late to do such things.

  So he endured a sleepless night with the scent of roses in his nostrils and the hope that he could catch her in the morning before she left for work.

  The sun had barely started to paint the countryside with golden light when he stood on her doorstep, each hand holding multiple things, making it impossible for him to ring the doorbell or knock.

  He was just about to set down the bag he’d lovingly placed the T-shirt in when Wren opened the door.

  Tate sucked in a breath, unable to speak now that he was finally face-to-face with her. She stared at him, then let her gaze slide down his chest to his hands, where he held a vase of red roses in one hand, with a bakery bag hooked to his pinky finger, and the gift bag with her presents in the other. That hand also held the notebook paper he’d scrawled his budget on the previous evening.

  She cocked one hip, her mouth twitching like she wanted to smile but didn’t at the same time. “Good morning, Tate,” she said.

  The sound of her voice launched him into action, and he thrust the flowers toward her. “I got these for you, and I’m here to apologize.”

  She did allow herself that smile now, and she took the vase and lifted the petals to her nose, where she took a deep breath. “The last man who brought me roses ended up breaking my heart.” Wren stepped back, a clear invitation for him to come in off the porch, and pushed up her black glasses frames.

  Tate entered, taking in the usual clutter. Wren’s usual T-shirt, this one green with bright gold coins all over it, and a pair of white shorts. She didn’t wear shoes, and she moved behind him to put the roses in a tiny bare spot on the kitchen island.

  “I’m not going to break your heart,” Tate said, his face toward the fancy tile on her kitchen floor. “At least, I hope not.”

  “What’s in the bag?”

  “Which one?”

  She pointed to the bakery bag. “Baklava,” he said. “See, I went out last night to get everything, and I remembered you saying that your grandmother was a big fan. I know it’s not a breakfast item, but—”

  Wren put her forefinger on his lips, effectively silencing him and shooting hot sparks through his whole face.

  “I’m sure it’s delicious.” She took the bag and extracted the treat. “I’ll save it for tonight.”

  “And I got you a couple of things.” He placed the bag on top of a stack of magazines, nearly fisting the paper he still held.

  “Should I open it?”

  “Sure.”

  She took the tissue paper out of the bag and withdrew the pair of bright blue frames he’d found in the drug store in Vernal, her eyes darting back to his.

  “They have no prescription,” he said. “I thought you’d maybe like to change up your look from time to time.”

  She removed the black frames and slid the blue ones onto her nose. When she looked at him again, it was with unwavering faith and tears in her eyes. She didn’t blink or look away, and regret lanced through Tate.

  “I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “I didn’t even give you a chance to explain anything, and—”

  Wren’s tears splashed her cheeks, but she made no move to wipe them. Tate hated seeing her so distraught and knowing he was the cause of it. His own emotion balled up and threatened to choke him.

  Wren finally tore her gaze from his and pulled out the T-shirt. Her giggle made him want to smile, want to live again, and in that single moment, he knew he was in love with Wren Fuller.

  She held the fox up to her body. “Thank you. This is fantastic.” Laying the shirt on the other stuff already on the counter, she looked at him again. “And that?” She nodded to his fist and the paper he clenched there.

  “This is…this is why I freaked out and broke up with you.”

  She backed up against the table and folded her arms. “So I probably don’t want to see it.”

  “We need to talk about it.” He advanced toward her and flattened the paper against his chest before extending it toward her. “It’s what I make in a month. I did all these numbers for expenses and budgets, and I don’t think—” His voice broke, but he forged onward anyway. “I don’t think I can support you the way you’re used to being taken care of. But I’m absolutely miserable without you.”

  Wren didn’t so much as twitch toward the paper. “I don’t care about money.”

  Tate wanted to scoff, but he held it back. “Good, because I’m in love with you, and I’m tired of going up to visit Octagon by myself. Tired of sitting at church by myself. Tired of trying to sleep at night without having kissed you—”

  She silenced him this time by covering his mouth with hers. And all the negativity that had been ballooning inside Tate’s chest since he’d made the budget that showed they’d barely have enough to buy coffee and cream to go with it simply disappeared.

  Chapter 15

  Wren let herself fly on the high that was kissing Tate after he’d said he was in love with her. And with the new glasses, and the cute fox shirt, and the roses, she didn’t care what that paper said.

  “I love you, too,” she whispered against his lips, glad when his arms came around her and held her against him while he kissed her deeper. He pulled back a moment later, and she tucked herself against his chest.

  “The budget only has my income in it,” he said. “But if you worked too, we’ll probably be okay.” He inched away from her, and she wished he didn’t want to talk about this right now. She just wanted to bask in the woodsy smell of him and taste his lips again.

  “And just so you know, you probably make more than I do. So if you want to have kids, and we do, I’m not stuck on the traditional gender roles.”

  She smiled at his serious nature, the way he talked about having a family with her so casually. “So you’ll be Mister Mom while I answer phones and arrange schedules?”

  “You run the whole company,” he said. “That’s a lot more than answering phones.”

  She blinked at him, not quite sure how he knew what her job entailed. It wasn’t a particularly hard job—her dad still managed all the cash flow—but yes, it was more than answering phones.

  “I know how to do laundry, and I’m great with dishes,” Tate said.

  “I’ve seen your place,” Wren said. “I know what a neat freak you are.” She gestured to the mess surrounding them. “This is who I am.”

  She caught the slight grimace as Tate took in the cluttered kitchen. “I know who you are, Wren.”

  “I started volunteering at the library,” she said.

  His eyebrows lifted, and she said, “Yeah. I felt like I needed to get outside myself. Focus on serving others for a while. It’s been….” She couldn’t think of the right word to describe her service at the library. While she was there, she didn’t have to think about her own problems. She realized just how good the things in her life were. She felt liberated every time she stepped through the door and into the brown brick building on Main Street.

  “Nice,” she finished.

  “Why’d you start doing that?” he asked.

  “I realized how selfish I am.”

  “Wren—”

  “No, it’s true. I have had an easy life, handed almost everything I have. I’ve never wondered if I’d have a job, or how I’d pay for things. I work with people who have enough to hire us to do their cleaning and mow their lawns. And maybe my eyes needed to be opened to the fact that not everyone in this town is as fortunate.”

  “An
d have you seen that?”

  She nodded, that blasted emotion so close to the surface again. “I’ve only been doing it for a week, but yes. I’ve seen kids come in without shoes, and when I asked the head librarian, she said the family couldn’t afford shoes.”

  The very idea was unfathomable to her. She had a closet full of shoes and could get a new pair whenever she wanted.

  Wren took a deep breath and scanned Tate’s civilian clothes. “You’re not working today?”

  “I am, yeah.”

  “Don’t you need to get going?”

  “You didn’t even look at the budget.”

  “I don’t care about money. We’ll make it work.” Wren tiptoed her fingers up the buttons on his shirt, finally looking up through her eyelashes at him. “All right, Tate?

  She’d never been happier than when he simply said, “All right.” He leaned his forehead down, as if praying, and Wren basked in the soft moment between them.

  “Wren, I just want you to know….. If we’re talking about marriage, I’m going to need time for that.”

  “So you don’t need it done today?” She grinned at him, sure teasing him about how he’d demanded a maid the very hour he’d called would never get old.

  Thankfully, he smiled too as he slowly shook his head. “Not today. I want to go a little slower this time. All right, Wren?”

  She curled her fingers along the back of his neck and skated them over the short hair there, eliciting a shiver from him. “All right.”

  The Next Summer

  When Tate said he needed time, he wasn’t kidding. Wren honestly hadn’t minded—until he’d proposed. That had finally happened on Valentine’s Day, and the last four months had seemed to drag by in one eternal block of time.

  “Did Berlin bring the flowers?” she asked as her mom bustled into the room with a makeup kit the size of a small suitcase.

  “She and Fabi are setting it all up now.”

  Wren nodded and turned back to the mirror where she sat. Over the course of the last year, she’d managed to grow her hair out enough to have several locks of hair twisted into roses and pinned along the nape of her neck.