by Liz Isaacson
“You didn’t open any presents without us, did you?” Jeremiah asked. “Wyatt has the best one right there in his hand.”
“Hey,” Oliver said. “You got a new hat.” He reached up and touched the brim of Jeremiah’s hat.
Wyatt waited for his brother to say something. For Oliver to notice all five of the men who’d arrived had new hats, and that they were all identical. No one said anything.
At the back of the house, Tripp flipped French toast while wearing pajamas, and he didn’t wear a cowboy hat at all.
“For you,” Wyatt said, handing him one of the boxes he carried.
“No way. It’s finally here.” Tripp took the box and handed the spatula to Ivory. “How are they?” He looked at Wyatt, and then Jeremiah, and then Micah. “Oh, they’re fantastic.” He chuckled and opened the box. “I can’t believe you have your own line of western wear.”
Wyatt couldn’t believe it either, and he could only shrug. All the money in the world didn’t really matter to him. Neither did the fantastic cowboy hats. Heck, he thought he’d trade all of his championship belt buckles if Marcy would go out with him again.
He moved over to the Christmas tree in the living room, which burst with presents. He set the remaining hat box down and turned back to the group. Jeremiah put Oliver down, and the little boy turned toward Wyatt.
He motioned him closer, the little blond boy exactly the kind of child Wyatt imagined Marcy could have.
He was insane for obsessing over her. It had been months since the surgery, and yet her disappearance from his life had left a gash on his heart that refused to heal.
“That one’s for you,” he said, indicating the box. “I don’t think your momma would be too mad if you opened it early.”
“Can I?” Oliver asked.
Wyatt nodded, a smile touching his mouth. Oliver lifted the lid on the box and looked inside. Wyatt took the hat out and put it on Oliver’s head. “I had Tripp measure your head,” he said. “You know, every hat is custom-made.” He adjusted it slightly. “How does it feel?”
“Feels great,” Oliver said, grinning. He threw his scrawny arms around Wyatt’s neck and hugged him tight. “Thank you, Wyatt.”
Wyatt held the boy close, breathing in his innocence. “Yeah,” he said, his voice choked. “Merry Christmas, bud.”
Oliver ran off to show the custom-made, rodeo champion Wyatt Walker limited edition cowboy hat to his mother, and Wyatt had a moment of looking in from the outside. Everyone stood in the kitchen but him, and he could see everything clearly in that moment.
He wanted what Jeremiah and Tripp had. What Rhett and Liam had found.
And he knew who he wanted it with.
Marcy Payne.
He stood up, his back protesting slightly, and joined the others in the kitchen. Maybe he could call a family meeting and ask for suggestions. He’d talked the most about his situation with Marcy with Jeremiah, and his brother had told him to be patient.
Wyatt felt like he was almost out of patience. Maybe he could just text her. Everyone wanted to be wished Merry Christmas, didn’t they?
Before he could talk himself out of it, he brought up her name and texted her quickly. Merry Christmas.
Two words. Simple.
“Okay, we’re going to eat,” Tripp said. “I’m not as fancy as Jeremiah. There’s bacon and French toast. After we finish, we’ll read the nativity story from the Bible, and then finally, we’ll get to open presents.”
“Presents!” Oliver yelled over the last couple of words, and Wyatt felt the child-like joy of the holiday.
He wanted the grown-up version too, where he got to spend time with those he loved, and remember the birth of the Savior.
Tripp prayed over their food, and chaos ensued as they all tried to butter and syrup and find a spot at the table. Everyone chatted and laughed, and Wyatt soaked it all in. His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he took it out to check it.
Thanks, Marcy had said. Merry Christmas to you too Wyatt.
His heart turned to pudding, and he gazed at the phone, his mind moving through options at the speed of lightning.
“Something interesting on that thing?”
Wyatt tore his eyes from the phone and looked up at Jeremiah. Instead of speaking, he tilted his phone toward Jeremiah. Surprise filled his eyes as they rounded. “Wow.”
“What should I do?”
“Oh, I can’t tell you that,” Jeremiah said. “I’m terrible at this kind of stuff.”
“What kind of stuff?” Whitney leaned closer, and Jeremiah showed her the phone before Wyatt could say or do anything.
“Oh.” Whitney looked at Wyatt. “Text her back, that’s what you do.”
“Yeah?”
“If she didn’t want to talk to you, she wouldn’t have responded.”
“Maybe it’s just Christmastime,” Wyatt said.
“Maybe she’s lonely,” Whitney said.
“What do I say?”
Whitney looked at Jeremiah and back to Wyatt. “Invite her to the New Year’s Eve parade. We have plenty of room between our two spots.”
The New Year’s Eve parade. As the idea rolled through Wyatt’s mind, it felt more and more right.
“All right,” he said, taking his phone back from Whitney. He tapped out a quick message, suddenly unable to make his own decisions. He’d been in such great control in the rodeo. He could tame any bull, ride any horse, rope any calf. He had the titles and the wins and the buckles to prove it.
And yet, Marcy was completely out of his reach.
“This okay?”
Whitney wouldn’t look at his phone. “Wyatt,” she said with a smile. “You’re a champion. Send the text.”
“Walkers are champions,” Jeremiah said with a smile, and he turned back to the conversation with Skyler about something that had happened in Amarillo during Finals Week.
Wyatt read over the text one more time. Would you go to the New Year’s Eve light parade with me?
It was simple. Direct. A simple yes or no would suffice.
And if she said no, Wyatt would find a way to move on. He would.
“All right,” Tripp said. “Let’s open to Luke, chapter two.”
Wyatt’s phone buzzed, but he couldn’t bring himself to look at it. The problem was, he used his phone for the scriptures, and he had to swipe it on and open the app to participate in the part of Christmas he loved best.
Drawing in a deep breath, he did, catching Marcy’s text before it disappeared.
Yes.
A smile filled his whole soul, and he felt like punching the air the way he did when he had a good run in the team roping event. Instead, he kept his celebrations to himself and opened the app so he could participate in the story of the Savior’s birth with the people he loved.
Less than a week later, Wyatt set up two chairs in the plot assigned to Seven Sons Ranch. Whitney’s parents always had a spot too, for their store Wilde & Organic, and kids ran around, people went in and out to get food from the table, and the atmosphere was full of light and joy.
Wyatt sat down and tucked his hands in his jacket pockets. He’d been texting with Marcy since Christmas, and she’d said she’d meet him at the parade. Jitters jumped through him while he waited, while more and more people arrived and Marcy wasn’t one of them.
He finally stopped looking around for her as the night stole the light from day. The parade would start soon, and Wyatt had the sinking feeling that she wasn’t coming at all. His heart beat faster and faster, the way it did every time he got close to getting in the chute with a two-thousand-pound animal. With horns.
And this was just a blonde woman. But she’d roped his heart completely, and Wyatt didn’t know how to get loose.
He didn’t want to get loose.
“We’ll begin in five minutes,” a man said over the loudspeaker, and Wyatt bolted to his feet.
“Wyatt,” Jeremiah said, but Wyatt just walked away. Left his chairs and walked away. If he hur
ried, he could get out before the parade began. He did, going over a curb and away from Main Street and all the people.
He knew where Marcy lived. Where her dad lived. And where Payne’s Pest-free was. She hadn’t texted, and she wouldn’t leave town. So she had to be at one of those three places, and Wyatt was going to find her and figure out why she hadn’t come.
A pit opened in his stomach as he pulled up to her father’s house—the closest spot to the parade route—and didn’t see a single light on inside the house. Her car sat in the driveway, and she didn’t go to bed by eight p.m.
Fear filled his gut as he got out of his truck and strode toward the front door. “Marcy?” he called. He knocked on the door. Maybe it was a pound. It didn’t matter. “Marcy,” he said. “It’s Wyatt, sweetheart. Open the door, would you?”
She didn’t, and Wyatt stalled. He put both hands against the door and held very still. He listened. And something—or someone—told him to go inside. Right now.
He tried the doorknob, and it gave under his touch. He fumbled for a light as an old, stale scent met his nose. He found the switch and flipped it, bathing the room in golden lamplight.
Panic accompanied him as he scanned the room, his eyes landing on Marcy’s almost immediately. “Marcy,” he said, already moving toward her. She sat on the loveseat, her face tear-streaked and red.
She cried openly as he knelt in front of her. “Baby,” he said. “What’s wrong?” He took her shoulders into his hands and enveloped her in a tight hug. She gripped him with everything she had and sobbed, and sobbed, and sobbed.
And Wyatt knew then that her father had died.
Sure enough, after a few minutes, she quieted enough for him to turn and look at the other couch, where her father usually lay. He was still there, and he still looked like he was asleep.
“Come on,” he said, helping Marcy stand up. “Come sit in my truck. I’ll call the paramedics.”
His heart wailed, but he knew without a doubt that he was strong enough to carry Marcy through this trial. After all, he’d just survived a brutal back surgery by himself.
Even as he thought it, he knew that wasn’t true. Micah and Jeremiah had helped him immensely these past few months, and he now knew it was his turn to be the support for someone else.
“I miss him already,” Marcy said as Wyatt helped her down the front steps.
“I know, sweetheart,” he said. “I know.”
Chapter Forty
Whitney woke when Jeremiah got out of bed on New Year’s Day. He’d always gotten up before her, and he was very good at slipping away like smoke while darkness still filled the world.
What he didn’t know was that she’d set her alarm for four-thirty, and it had gone off twenty minutes ago. So she’d dozed, but when Jeremiah got up, Whitney snapped awake too.
“Happy New Year,” she said as he pulled on a pair of gym shorts.
“I didn’t mean to wake you,” he whispered. “Go back to sleep.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I’ll do my puzzles in the kitchen.”
“I have something for you,” she said, grabbing onto his hand before he could slip away from her.
“Right now?”
“I said I wanted a ceremony,” she said, sitting up and clicking on her lamp. She pulled open the top drawer in her nightstand and removed a black box. “And there’s no better way to start the year off right than to remind ourselves of what we want. For us. For this year. For forever.”
She opened the box to reveal a silver belt buckle. Jeremiah pulled in a breath, and Whitney looked at him. “I love you, Jeremiah Walker,” she said. That was it. She hadn’t prepared a fancy speech. He knew how she felt and what she wanted their marriage to be.
“It’s beautiful,” he said, taking the buckle out and letting the lamplight glint off of it. “I love you, too, Whitney.” He touched his lips to hers gently, and Whitney experienced a powerful moment of joy and peace as she kissed her husband.
“I don’t have anything for you.”
She shook her head and cradled his face in her hands. “It’s cute how you think I don’t know.”
He grinned too and took the belt buckle around to his side of the bed. He opened the bottom drawer in his nightstand and took out a tiny bag. He wouldn’t buy her another ring, Whitney knew that. Maybe a bracelet. Maybe her own belt buckle, as Jeremiah had been teaching her the finer points of horseback riding the last few weeks.
He returned to her side of the bed and handed her the bag. “To us,” he said.
“For forever,” she said, leaning her head against his shoulder. She reached into the bag and took out a small box. It was a ring box, and surprise darted through Whitney.
“It’s a mother’s ring,” he said as she opened the box.
A large green gem sat in the middle with a much smaller ruby on the left side. It looked very Christmasy, and Whitney looked at him with pure love streaming through her.
“The middle gem is peridot,” he said. “It’s the gemstone for August, which is when we got married.”
“It’s lovely,” she said.
“The ruby is the gemstone for July, when you’ll have our first baby,” he said. “We can take the ring in when we have more children. Or get a new one.”
With shaking fingers, Whitney removed the ring from the box, and Jeremiah slid it on her fingers. “I love it,” she whispered.
“I love you,” he said. “With my whole heart. And it is whole now, because of you.” He swept her hair back off her shoulder and kissed her.
And there was nothing bogus about that, or their relationship.
Keep reading to find out if another Walker brother can get his happily-ever-after in Three Rivers! Can Wyatt really help Marcy? Or will she be even more unavailable now that her father is gone? Chapter one and two of WYATT’S PRETEND PLEDGE is next! Keep reading!
I’m so happy for Jeremiah and Whitney! Their love is one for the ages. If you liked this book, please leave a review now.
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Sneak Peek! Wyatt’s Pretend Pledge Chapter One
A groan hissed from Wyatt Walker’s mouth as he tried to sit up. He got his legs over the side of the bed and paused, taking a long deep breath. If he didn’t stretch before he stood up, it would be a very bad day.
And today was already a very bad day, so he didn’t need his back acting up on him. Because today, he needed to be strong for Marcy, as she was buying her father in just a few hours.
His heart hurt as he stretched his right arm up and over his head, reaching toward the wall until his fingertips pressed against it. Breathing in and out, he held the stretch, finally releasing it. He repeated the motion on the other side, and then twisted side to side as much as he was able.
With the pins in his spine, he didn’t have great range of mobility, but he did what he could. The last surgery was nearly five months old, but he’s endured major back surgery, and that didn’t heal overnight, despite his pleas to the Lord.
“Help me today,” he prayed as he got to his feet. “Help Marcy be strong.” He already knew Marcy Payne was a strong woman. One of the strongest he’d ever met. But he also knew she had a soft side, and she suffered behind a mask of confidence. She’d let that down in front of him several times over the past year, and the memories from last week, when he’d found her sobbing in her father’s house after he’d passed away, moved through his mind as he showered.
They’d communicated a little bit since then, but she’d been surrounded by family members, and she’d had a million things to do to prepare for the funeral. Once Martin Payne had been diagnosed with colon cancer, he’d started planning everything. But having the floral arrangements chosen didn’t mean they’d be ready without phone calls and follow-up.
Wyatt had stayed away from Marcy’s house, her father’s place, and the hangar on the west side of town. If Marcy wanted him to come visit, bring food, or anything else, she’d call or text. She always ha
d in the past.
Once out of the shower, he stood in front of the mirror and shaved, keeping the edges of his beard trim and neat. He brushed his teeth and got dressed slowly, making sure all the right pieces were in the exact right place.
Black slacks. White shirt. A burgundy, navy, and white tie knotted precisely at his collar. He’d just pulled a pair of black, shiny church shoes from his closet when someone knocked on his bedroom door.
“Yeah, Micah,” he said, as he knew his brother’s knock by down. Micah had moved to the ranch and Three Rivers just before Wyatt’s surgery, and he was Wyatt’s best friend.
“Just checking on you,” he said, entering the room. “Looks like you’re ready.”
Micah was too, right down to the red and white paisley tie around his throat too. “I’m ready,” Wyatt said, inhaling the scent of coffee and sausage floating down the hall from the kitchen.
“How’s the back today?” Micah asked, his keen eyes not missing anything.
So he saw the slight limp in Wyatt’s step, though it evened out after only two steps. “Not bad,” Wyatt said anyway. “I just want to make it through this day.”
“Momma would say you need a hearty breakfast to do that,” Jeremiah said, leaning into the doorway. “We’ve got eggs, sausage, and coffee out here.”
“Yep.” Wyatt smiled at Jeremiah, who welcomed everyone to the ranch, made them whatever food they wanted, and got them to stay awhile. At least that was how Wyatt had felt when he’d come to Seven Sons last year.
“How are you today?” he asked, following Wyatt down the hall. Wyatt swallowed a sigh, because he knew his brothers meant well. But there had been a reason he hadn’t told them about his injuries for almost eight months. At the same time, he was glad he didn’t have to try to hide his bad days anymore.