Mark (In the Company of Snipers Book 2)
Page 29
“Old man Mark here is getting married,” Alex announced.
Zack offered a wobbly thumbs-up. “Good on ya, Hous-s-ston.”
“And now is time for you.” Arzad arrowed a gnarled, bony finger at Harley. “Mr. Mark has done what is good.”
Mark smirked, thankful for the change of subject. “Yeah, Harley. Settle down, why don’t ya?”
“You his brother.” Nasim piped up from inside the van, pointing to Mark. “You must to do same.”
A kid with his hand stuck in the cookie jar could not have looked more on the spot than Harley did at that moment. “I’m working on it. Sheesh.” He rolled his eyes. “You know Najela’s the only girl for me, Arzad. I’m just waiting for her to get a little older.”
“Oh, no! You may not marry my Najela.” Arzad chuckled with glee, tsking as that bony finger waggled under Harley’s nose. “You must find nice American girl with good personality.”
Alex outright laughed. Zack sputtered. Mark slapped his friend’s back extra hard. “Yeah, Mortimer, find a girl with a nice personality, why don’t you?”
“Already met ‘em,” Harley muttered. “That’s why I like my dogs.”
Thirty-Two
Oh, my.
Libby gasped. All she could do was stare at her reflection in the full-length mirror. A stately fairy princess stared back at her instead of the common farm girl.
I look beautiful.
The gown encasing her body was a glamorous trumpet style with an empire waist. It accentuated her small figure in all the right places with exquisite ivory lace over champagne satin and swirls of beads sparkling against her lightly tanned skin. Even her curly blonde hair created a breath taking contrast against the creamy material, especially where it lay against the cap sleeves on her shoulders.
“Do you like it?” Kelsey asked, her eyes glowing.
Libby didn’t know what to say. She and her mother had made the trip to the east coast at Kelsey’s request. Their long week of shopping for wedding dresses had culminated at Hannah’s Bridal Boutique, a charming out of the way treasure trove in old Alexandria.
“It’s perfect,” she murmured at last, smoothing her hands over the elegant fabric. Never in a million years could she believe she could look so pretty.
Rosemary beamed. “Oh, my,” was all she could say, too.
The exuberant clerk knelt at her feet with an armful of shoeboxes. “These satin open-toed heels match your dress perfectly.” She smiled up at Libby with her spectacles perched on her nose. “You do look lovely, my dear.”
Kelsey came to Libby’s side, her hands at her elbows as she peered into the mirror. “We can keep looking if you would like.”
“No.” Libby shook her head. “This is it, and yes, ma’am.” She nodded to the poor woman on the floor. “I’ll take those shoes, too.”
“My little girl.” Rosemary sighed, a tear in her eye.
“Mom. You can’t cry over every dress,” Libby teased, but she wanted to cry herself. She couldn’t wait for Mark to see her in this gown, and then help her out of it. Heat scorched her cheeks. That man. Kelsey’s husband sure kept him busy. She didn’t know what country he was off to this week. It didn’t matter. He held her heart no matter where he was.
“Mom’s are supposed to do that.” Kelsey planted a quick kiss on her cheek. “I’m so happy for you and Mark.”
“Me too.” Libby sighed. “Me too.”
“Would you look at that?” The happy clerk pointed to the wide glass window of the second story loft where Libby had been trying on dresses. Outside a flurry of March snowflakes drifted lazily out of the spring sky.
Libby shivered.
Christmas was just around the corner.
Mark stood at the front of the chapel, alone, even though Alex and Harley were at his side. He couldn’t breathe. Even his heart muscles seemed to hold off beating like they should. Life had paused. Time stood still. He worried. Was I right to make her wait so long? Was I gone too much from her side? Was six months unbearable? Is she still in love with me?
He found himself leaning forward. He needed to be the first to see her.
What if she doesn’t come? What if she changed her mind?
The organ’s first notes pealed like bells throughout the vaulted chapel ceiling.
There she is. My Libby. My bride. My Life.
The second hand ticked. His heart beat again. All his questions were answered.
God, I love her so much.
Jerry Clifton escorted his youngest down the aisle, her hand resting lightly on his arm as joyful strains filled the air. He looked as spritely as ever having recovered from his heart surgery. The man swore he felt ten years younger, but Mark didn’t see the tears in his eyes as this father gave his daughter away. Neither did he notice the elegant lace over satin, nor the sparkles of beads stitched across the bride’s bodice and at her waist.
Cobalt blue held fast to darkest brown. She never looked away. Even the shoulder-length veil couldn’t hide the love on her beautiful, smiling face. He felt the strength of that love transmitted from her soul to his. Air whooshed into his lungs. He could breathe again.
As Libby took his outstretched hand, he recalled the raft out on the lake, the moment she had first reached for him. Like that night so long ago she held his hand again, her slender fingers lost in his gentle grip. This was where she had always belonged. With a groan meant for her ears only, he pulled her hand up to his heart and held it against the thumping in his chest.
“I love you,” he whispered, pressing her fingers to his lips. Let the world watch. Let the world know. He was someone because of her. No longer the invisible, the soldier, the lost—he was Mark Houston, the soul mate, the white knight and the protector of the most gracious creature to set foot on God’s green earth.
He lifted her veil. If there was anyone else in the chapel, he did not see them. She took his breath away, tears glistening on her lashes and devotion aglow on her face.
His bishop commenced the wedding vows. They exchanged rings and promised eternity. Alex released two white doves from a gilded cage. Immediately, they flew home to roost in Jerry’s barn.
Libby Clifton became Mrs. Mark Houston—forever.
Harley
Harley tilted his chair against the wall as he watched the couples on the dance floor. It gave his long legs a couple more inches to stretch. For some reason, he waxed philosophical at weddings. Arzad wasn’t able to make it from Afghanistan, but he had sent an extraordinary gift for the happy couple, a leather-bound copy of the Quran. It was a huge gift for an impoverished Afghani to give, and it touched Mark and Libby. Harley, too.
He fingered the blue-beaded bracelets at his wrist, simple gifts from a shy brown-eyed little girl, sweet little Najela. Harley wondered what her future held as her conflict-besieged country evolved. Arzad and his family were dear to Harley’s heart. He would have stowed them away in his suitcase if he could’ve brought them back to America with him. He wished the wise little man were here today to witness the joyful celebration before him now. Without a doubt, Arzad would have danced with Libby, and possibly Mark as well. Heck, Arzad may even have danced with Alex. Harley smiled. That would have been a sight to see.
He tapped his long fingers on his knees. Someday, it might be his turn to take the plunge, but fate had not been particularly kind. That day would not be soon. He was no catch of a lifetime and neither was he much to look at by his standards. His legs were too long, and his brain still too scrambled. War had wreaked enough havoc with his head and the drugs he’d self-medicated with weren’t much help either. For now, his life was a carefully followed regiment of the right diet, plenty of physical exercise, the perfect job, and a damned good counselor who understood post-traumatic stress.
Besides, he had his dogs, well, Alex’s dogs really. Whisper and Smoke were his buddies and visiting with them meant he could visit Kelsey, too. The Stewart’s place felt like home. Harley didn’t kid himself. Women wanted the perfect man.
Not him.
“Are you Harley Mortimer?”
He blinked, startled that he’d been approached by a particularly pretty woman with a truly radiant smile. Instantly on his feet, he tucked his white shirt back into the waist of his tuxedo slacks and smoothed his forever unruly hair.
“Why yes, ma’am,” he replied in his best fake Texas drawl while accepting her very dainty outstretched hand in his. “Reckon I am. Harley Mortimer at your service. Who are you looking for?”
“I’m looking for you.” She smiled so darn pretty that his heart skipped a beat. Maybe two. Her green eyes shone like soft emeralds against her creamy skin and light copper-colored hair. “You are Mark’s best man, aren’t you?”
His breath caught. This woman was gorgeous.
“I am,” he answered. “And you are?”
“Judy O’Brien.” She shook his hand with a surprisingly strong grip. “I had the chance to help Libby when she was recovering from her pneumonia.”
“Oh. Yeah.” He remembered that now. Mark had mentioned a nurse who’d taken charge of Libby’s care, and that she was good looking. He must have forgotten to mention that she was some kind of an angel, too.
“I hate to be forward, but ....” She glanced at the dance floor that Harley avoided like the plague. “Would you care to dance with me?”
“I, ah ....” He looked at Alex with Kelsey out there holding onto each other, Mark and Libby too. They looked comfortable. He didn’t want to upset the ambience of this special evening. A long-legged goof ball like him could seriously mess up the whole thing. “I don’t usually dance unless I’ve had a few drinks, and, umm, I don’t drink anymore, and …. ”
He scratched the back of his head, puzzled with what might come out of his mouth next. And there it was. The idiot in him won. “Well, sure, little lady. Why not?”
“I promise I won’t step on your feet.” Judy placed her palm inside his, and away they went.
He actually danced. No, he glided. No, it felt more like he floated with his hand at her waist. The darnedest feeling overwhelmed him like he might be able to fly after all—with her.
“You’ve done this before.” She had a way of making him feel like he actually knew what he was doing. Fred Astaire never looked so good.
“Yeah, but last time it didn’t feel quite like this.” Harley towered over this beautiful, bright woman at his fingertips. The fragrance of jasmine filled his nose. He blinked like a deer in the headlights as she smiled up at him and ....
He forgot all about Arzad.
Mark sighed. By tomorrow night, he and Libby would be watching the sunset over the Bahamas, and from there a new life awaited in Alexandria. Her happily-ever-after plan hadn’t completely changed. Only one of the main characters was different. Him.
He smiled to think how tired she was, how her feet hurt from those heels she had kicked off earlier, and how they still had a long flight ahead of them tonight. She had given him the six months he’d asked of her, but they would be in the Bahamas long before they ever got to make that mad passionate love she had wanted so desperately months ago. It seemed strange that the consummation of their love remained, as yet, undone. He could not imagine loving her more.
Somehow in the past months, he had found a job and two families, the Cliftons and The TEAM. Oh yes, and he was starting his own, the Mark Houston family. It had a very nice ring to it. Who would have thought that a worthless little farm kid from out-in-the-middle-of-nowhere-Ohio could ever be so blessed? The miracle of the woman in his arms was more than he would ever understand, but he knew one thing for sure. She loved him.
Across the floor, he noticed Kelsey gazing up into her husband’s eyes. She always looked at him that way, as if there was no one else on earth but the man in her arms. They acted like this was their wedding dance, Alex all debonair and flirting with his wife, and Kelsey blushing. Glowing.
Mark breathed contentedly into his wife’s fragrant hair. Even as tired as she was, Libby was the epitome of radiant. He finally had what Alex and Kelsey had.
He had everything.
THE END
Upcoming books by Irish Winters:
Alex (2013)
Mark (2014)
Zack (2014)
Harley (2014)
Connor (2014)
Rory (2015)
Taylor (2015)
Gabe (2015)
Maverick (2015)
Cassidy (2016)
Adam (2016)
Lee (2016)
Hunter (2016)
About Irish Winters
Irish Winters is an award-winning author who dabbles in poetry, grandchildren, and rarely (as in extremely rarely) the kitchen. More prone to be outdoors than in, she grew up the quintessential tomboy on a farm in rural Wisconsin, spent her teenage years in the Pacific Northwest, but calls the Wasatch Mountains of Northern Utah home. For now.
The wife of one handsome husband and mother of three perfect sons, Irish divides her time between writing at home, and travelling the country with her man while – writing. (Seriously, what else?)
She believes in making every day count for something, and follows the wise admonition of her mother to, “Look out the window and see something!”
To learn more about Irish and her books, please visit www.IrishWinters.com.
Table of Contents
DEDICATION
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Twenty-Five
Twenty-Six
Twenty-Seven
Twenty-Eight
Twenty-Nine
Thirty
Thirty-One
Thirty-Two
Upcoming books by Irish Winters:
About Irish Winters