Epilogue
EPILOGUE
CALLUM
Three Months Later
I n the words of Billy Idol... It was a nice day for a white wedding. Or at least in our case, it was a nice day for a marriage blessing.
Most couples renewed their vows after a huge milestone or big life event. They didn’t often do it six months after their first wedding, but then, Maeve and I did make a pact to live by our own rules.
May in southern Wyoming was magical, which was why we chose that particular time of the year. We wanted to do everything the opposite way to our first time around. No step-sisters, no ugly dresses, and no guests who we hardly knew.
We wanted warmth, peace, harmony, family, friendship, and a big ol’ knees-up afterward. We loved our bar, but having our reception there was too close to home—and, in our case, work; so when Mack Meadows made a suggestion and a kind offer, we jumped at it.
Maple Meadows Ranch and Agricultural Center may have been a working ranch and a farm, but Mack’s daughter, Lexi, had recently decided the place was so beautiful that it should also become the area’s premier wedding and reception venue. She approached her dad with the idea, and Mack—who wasn’t averse to expanding his business opportunities—agreed to fund the start-up costs. When he heard we were looking for somewhere to renew our vows, he offered the place to us along with Lexi’s party planning expertise, and here we were, three months later, with the big day finally upon us.
Organizing what was essentially a wedding in twelve weeks for anybody else would’ve been unthinkable—crazy even—but my wife had a few weapons in her arsenal.
Lexi, Tristan, and Maureen O’Shea.
Maeve wasn’t your typical bride. She didn’t want to spend her nights with her nose in bridal magazines or her days stressing over flower arrangements. She wanted to spend her free time with her husband, family, and friends, and if she read anything, it was a romance story in her cozy book nook.
She delegated all wedding planning to the experts, as she called them. All my woman insisted on was that she wanted the ceremony and party to have a sage-green theme.
So it did.
My groomsmen would wear sage-green button-up shirts under their black suit jackets except for one who would wear his under a black cut and myself, who would be wearing a black shirt. We offered to dress in full tuxes for Maeve; any one of us men would’ve worn anything she asked, but my wife wanted us to be relaxed, comfortable, and just enjoy the day, so we dropped the neckties.
It wasn’t a shock. My Mrs. always put everybody else before herself; it was a part of why I adored her so much.
Every day, Maeve lit my world up. Every day was brighter because of her.
Everybody loved her, but nobody loved her as much as me.
Nobody ever could.
Maeve O’Shea was my soulmate, and I sent up a prayer to my da every damned day for dogging my ass and forcing me to sit up and take notice of what had always been under my nose.
Pure beauty, inside and out.
“Penny for ‘em,” a deep voice rumbled from behind me.
I craned my neck, shifting my gaze away from the field of frolicking foals and grazing mares I’d been engrossed in for the last twenty minutes.
Mack strode up beside me and folded his arms across the fence I’d been leaning on. “Your mom asked me to find you. It’s time to get dressed. The ceremony starts in an hour.”
One side of my mouth hitched. “Right.”
“You okay?” Mack asked.
I nodded toward the field. “Your horses are looking good.”
His stare cast outward, and he grinned indulgently. “Comin’ here was a risk, but it’s paying off. The studs and mares are thriving, and the farmin’ side’s booming. Lexi’s already taken enough bookings this year to easily repay my investment, and next year’s dates are fillin’ up fast, too. Seems Wyoming’s the land of opportunity, at least for us.”
“It’s been good to my family, too,” I concurred. “My da brought us here when I was a little kid. All I’d known was New York, so you can imagine the culture shock when I went from a concrete jungle to wide open spaces.”
Mack nodded his agreement. “Yeah. I get ya.”
“Miss my da,” I croaked. “It’s been months, but I still find myself opening my mouth to tell him something before I remember he’s not there.”
“It’ll always be that way.” He smiled. “As it should be. You may not see him, Callum, but your pop’s spirit is engrained in that bar. He’s in the beautiful oak countertop, along with every chair, table, and stick of furniture. He’s in every joke, every story, every peal of laughter. He’s in every happy and sad memory and in every party and celebration. Mark my words, as long as the Lucky Shamrock’s standing, your dad lives on, the same way you and Maeve will, and eventually, your kids, too.”
My throat began to burn, and my eyes stung with the involuntary tears that came out of nowhere. I hadn’t scratched the surface of my grief over Da’s death, but fuck me, at that moment, standing with a virtual stranger on the day of my wedding, I lost my shit.
Tipping my head back, I looked at the blue sky with its wispy clouds with tears streaming down my face. I hadn’t cried since the last time Da beat me when I was twelve years old, but somehow, for some unknown reason, the floodgates opened, and I wept for my beloved da.
He wasn’t perfect, and he made mistakes. I detested what he did, and I loathed the residual feelings of confusion coursing through my blood, but when all was said and done, I loved my da down to my bones.
A heavy hand hit my shoulder, and my eyes lowered to take in Mack’s concerned expression.
“I’m sorry, son,” he murmured. “I didn’t mean to dredge up any upset, especially today.”
“It’s okay,” I croaked. “My emotions are complicated when it comes to my da. They always have been. There was a time when it wasn’t easy being the son of a strong, tough, but damaged Irishman who grew up in Belfast in the Seventies. He had a lot of anger inside that he took out on me when I was too young to deserve it. I love remembering him, but it’s also complicated.” I let out a humorless laugh. “Did you hear how me and Maeve got together?”
“Yeah. Atlas has a big mouth.” Mack muttered.
I chuckled under my breath. “I’ve been numb to my da’s death, except for the frustration I felt at what he did to me and Maeve. Maybe talking to you now has been a breakthrough.”
His eyes swept over my face until, finally, he nodded. “Now the grief’s reared its ugly head, you’re gonna feel emotional for a while. Now, I’ve never been one to look down on a man for weeping; it’s right, and it’s healthy, and everybody will get it, especially today. If a man can’t shed a tear when he sees the woman he loves in her wedding gown, there’s something very wrong in the world.” His hand tagged my nape, and he pulled me in for a man hug and a back slap, muttering, “You’ll be okay, Callum. This shit’s normal. All you can do is go with it.”
My gaze went back toward the horses, and I folded my arms and leaned on the fence. “I can’t believe I’m finally here after everything.”
“He gave you that,” Mack pointed out.
My eyes slid right to meet his. “How so?”
Mack’s mouth stretched into a wide grin. “I know you see what your old man did as a manipulation tactic, but perhaps from his perspective, Maeve was always meant to be your gift and his way of saying sorry.”
My heart tugged, and slowly, something slid through my chest and clicked into place.
Mack was right.
Da never dogged me. In fact, he did the opposite. My aul fella always knew who Maeve was meant to be for me because he felt the exact same thing every time he looked into my mam’s eyes.
Salvation.
“You okay?” Donovan muttered from beside me.
“Yeah,” I whispered, my throat burning from all the emotions hammering my insides.
A hand clasped the back of my neck, and Atlas pulled me into his chest. “Nice to see a dude who’s in touch with his feelings,” he rumbled. “But you need to chill the fuck out with the tears, Cal. You’ll have a face like an oompa loompa in your weddin’ pics. Toots will have your ass.”
Atlas was right. After the last set of wedding photographs, Maeve wanted today’s to be perfect momentos to show our kids when they asked about our wedding. The last thing she needed was for me to screw everything up again.
Atlas released me, and I sucked air in through my nose to center myself, attempting to get all the wild emotions coursing through me under control. Breathing slow and deep, I relaxed my shoulders and tried to zen the fuck out. However, it was a feat, considering I was standing in a meadow at the end of a long, white carpet with flowers down either side, being watched by a hundred people while I waited for my wife to marry me for a second time.
Beside me were my brothers, Bowie, and somehow, fucking Atlas had wormed his way into the wedding party. We were all dressed in our tieless tuxes and shirts, but somehow, the prick had managed to forego the jacket, replacing it with his SAA cut over his sage-green button-up.
Maeve thought he was hilarious.
I just thought he was an asshole.
The opening strains of Dermot Kennedy’s “Lucky” filled the air, and another big ol’ ball of emotion worked its way up my gullet until it filled my chest and throat. That song being played as my wife walked down the aisle was the only detail I’d insisted on.
Maeve was loved, and not just by me, but by everyone she touched with her awe, wonder, and trust, and I needed her to know it deep in her soul.
I cleared my throat and wiped my eyes just as Tristan and Maeve’s friend Emily appeared from behind a trellis and walked toward the aisle, hand in hand.
Emily wore a beautiful sage-green dress, the same color as the groomsmen’s shirts. Tristan wore a suit in the same shade, which apparently was totally appropriate for a maid of honor, or as Tris called himself, the man of honor, which I thought was a nice touch.
Tristan shot me a wink on his approach and kissed his fingers chef’s style. “Wait until you see our girl,” he whisper-shouted. “She’s magnificent.”
Soft chuckles came from the crowd, and then the air seemed to turn electric with a wave of anticipation. The chuckles turned into whispers as every neck craned to catch a glimpse of the bride.
My eyes drifted back to the end of the aisle, and I held my breath and waited.
The moment my gaze fell upon my beautiful Maeve, my heart dipped, and time seemed to stand still. Everything and everyone around me melted away as I studied the vision before me.
My Maeve looked like an Irish woodland fairy princess.
Her dress fell from her shoulders in a way that appeared as if it was part of her body. Tiny lace white and sage flowers were scattered over her bare shoulders and décolletage, becoming more pronounced the lower they went. The wispy, see-through material fit her like a glove, showing off the curve of her elegant neck and the roundness of her beautiful breasts, then skimmed her waist before falling softly to the ground.
My heart exploded.
She was perfect.
Every neck craned, and gasps of admiration went up from the Speed Demons’ women who sat in the second row, mingling with a low wolf whistle coming from the direction of Dischordium and the Kings of Anarchy officers who didn’t even try to hide their high regard for my wife’s beauty.
I took a step forward because I didn’t want her to have to come to me, not ever. I wanted to meet her halfway because that was who we were and what I always wanted us to be. We were a team, a partnership. I wouldn’t keep secrets from my wife ever again. In every decision, we’d meet in the middle.
Starting right now.
My feet moved of their own accord just as a deep growl escaped my throat. There was no thought and no plan, just a yearning to go to my woman.
Maeve’s soft gaze lifted and locked with mine, and she beamed at me with so much joy in her expression that the air swirling around us thickened with emotion.
Patrick leaned down to whisper something in Maeve’s ear, but it was like he’d ceased to exist. She didn’t reply, didn’t even spare him a glance. Her incredible cosmic-blue eyes just remained glued to mine, her lips parting slightly as she watched me approach.
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” I heard Ma murmur, and I knew without even looking she was doing the sign of the Holy Cross over her chest.
“What’s he doin’?” I heard Atlas demand.
“He’s claiming his woman,” Donovan answered with a loud whoop.
Suddenly, the congregation came alive. Laughter rang out, and hoots and hollers filled the air, along with shouts of encouragement.
“Go on, Callum,” Kennedy yelled.
“Sweet Mary, mother of Jesus,” Ma cried out. “My son’s an eejit.”
“Now that’s what I’m talkin’ about,” John Stone’s deep voice exclaimed.
As I approached, Maeve’s eyes filled with tears, and she threw her head back and laughed.
Reaching out, I tagged her waist, taking her from the man who was giving her to me. My neck bent, and I kissed the end of her cute little freckled nose, feeling my heart swell in size.
“You’re stunning,” I growled.
Maeve blushed prettily and giggled. “And you’re handsome.”
“Are you ready to do this again, baby?” I rasped, quickly swiping at the tears filling my eyes.
Maeve’s blue-green-silver eyes softened. “I’d marry you every damned day for the rest of my life, Callum O’Shea. I love you, husband.” Her fingers reached for mine, and she pulled my hand until it rested on her soft stomach. Rolling up on her toes, she whispered, “And so will our beautiful, smart, ginger-haired baby who under no circumstances will ever turn out to be an eejit like their da.”
Every muscle in my body froze except for my throat, which started to clench like a motherfucker. “Baby?”
Maeve’s toes rolled back down, and she beamed up at me. “Isn’t it awesome ?”
Something hit me in the solar plexus, something beautiful and pure.
My fingers swept up to catch her jaw and angle it so I could look deep into her eyes. “You’re the only girl I’ve ever loved and ever will love, Maeve O’Shea. You’re my heart and soul. You’re my compass and my conscience. You’re etched inside my bones and always will be.”
“That’s so sweet ,” she whispered, then motioned toward Father Michael, who stood waiting for us at the end of the aisle. “You gonna make an honest woman of me again, Callum O’Shea?”
I gave Paddy a cursory chin lift, ignoring his death glare as I proceeded to tug Maeve toward the priest, who took the opportunity to check his watch.
“Do you have another wedding to do after this, Father?” Maeve asked softly.
“No, love,” he replied in his Irish-accented tone, which was pitched in a way so only we could hear. “I just want to get this done so I can go and sample the wonderful cider Atlas here has been telling me so much about.”
Maeve looked up at me with big eyes, rolling her lips inward to stop herself from laughing.
I slid an arm around her waist, leaned down, and whispered, “Buaileann mo chro? duit.” Then followed it up with, “My heart beats for you, wife.”
Mae sighed dreamily, resting her head on my shoulder just as Father Michael opened his prayer book, cleared his throat, and, in a clear voice, began, “Dearly beloved...”
Tipping my head back, my eyes searched the heavens, misting over as my inner voice whispered, Thanks, Da .
And then, under a warm, cloudless Wyoming sky, with all our friends and family in attendance, I married the love of my life...
Again.
The End