Chapter 26
JANIE
TWO YEARS LATER
It’s our wedding night.
I didn’t want a big wedding, but it was kind of hard not to invite everyone who works on Ryder Ranch.
So what started out as just family and close friends in the living room of the ranch house turned into family, friends, employees, and their friends, second cousins, and near about everyone their second cousins are friends with.
Deacon said it was alright, and he covered the bill for the food and paid for all the prep labor.
“It’s a wedding gift,” he said. “But don’t be expecting anything else.”
Bittern shook his hand, thanking him like he meant it, and then Deacon got uncomfortable and punched him in the ribs.
They’ve gotten a lot closer over the last few years, and I appreciate that, because before Deacon, Bittern didn’t have any positive male relationships.
He’s come out of his shell a lot more with the other wranglers now.
The ceremony was in the mess hall, by the big fireplace there.
Deacon was the officiate, and Freya and my mother stood up with me.
It was simple, over in ten minutes, which was a relief, because we were both looking forward to the reception the most. It was everything we hoped for, warm and full of familiar faces.
I barely remember a lot of it, but I do remember little moments in time I’ll hold in my head forever.
Holding his hand, looking at him beside me.
In his arms, lights low, while we had our first dance.
Him cutting a piece of cake and holding my chin so he could feed it to me without getting any on my lipstick.
When he held me close on the dance floor, hearts beating fast because we knew the night was coming to an end.
Running through the tunnel of guests, the night glittering with sparklers.
He put me in his truck, even though we were just going back to our house, and we drove off, our hands tangled together.
Now, we’re on the porch. In the distance, the party is still loud.
He lifts my hand. The simple diamond and gold ring sparkles.
“I guess we’re married,” I say, face aching from smiling.
He smiles back. “I guess so.”
I lean up, and he bends down to kiss me. When we break apart, my stomach has more butterflies in it now than it did the first time we touched. I’ve found it just gets better the longer we’ve been together.
“And I guess you have to call me Mrs. Hatfield now,” I whisper.
Abruptly, he picks me up, swinging me into his arms. I yelp, wrapping an arm around his neck to steady myself.
He’s smiling, leaning in to kiss me. He grew a short beard last year, and it’s so handsome but so prickly.
I wrinkle my nose, but I don’t pull back, because it’s one of those things I’ll adore every time it annoys me for the rest of my life.
He pushes open the door with his boot. “Let’s go to bed, Mrs. Hatfield.”
Oh Lord, he does these things sometimes that make me swoon, and I don’t think he even realizes it.
Holding the door back, he carries me over the threshold and kicks it shut, knocking the deadbolt with his elbow.
Then, turned to the side so we can fit in the narrow hall, he carries me down the hall and into our bedroom.
I changed the sheets and made the bed this morning.
There’s a bouquet of flowers by the bedside that I didn’t put there, which means it’s his handiwork.
He sets me down gently, grabbing me by the bustle when I start to walk away.
I tumble back against him, giggling as he kisses up the side of my neck.
“You stop,” I say, squirming. “I want to go put my nice things on.”
“You’d be plenty nice if you just let me pull your skirt up.”
I wriggle to face him. “No, I have really nice things.”
He cocks his head. “I like the sound of that.”
“Then you sit on the bed,” I say, darting from his arms and going to the bathroom. “Don’t move.”
He sinks down. “Alright then. Better hurry up. I’ve been waiting a long time.”
That’s true—I did get it in my head that we shouldn't have sex for the entire month leading up to the wedding. It sounded so romantic when we decided to try it out, but I didn’t anticipate how badly sleeping in the same bed would make me want him.
I almost broke every night, and he was worse, but we made it for the entire thirty days.
In retrospect, I probably wouldn’t do it again, but it was fun once.
In the bathroom, I take a quick shower and let my hair down, brushing out my curls.
It’s grown almost past my shoulder blades in the last few years.
In a box on the chair in the corner, I take out the lace lingerie set I ordered the week after he proposed to me last winter.
I love my wedding dress, but it’s this set I’ve been anticipating the most.
I slip it on. Lace panties tie at my hips with silk ribbon.
A matching bra ties between my breasts. Garters that are just strings of pearls encircling my upper thighs.
God, I hate trying to attach regular garters to stockings.
There was no way I was going to fight with them on my wedding night.
It’s not like he’s going to know the difference.
There, I’m ready.
I stand in front of the mirror, giving myself a final check.
That’s when I notice, as I lean in, that I have the faintest smile line starting on my right cheek.
It stops me for a second, and then my mind goes back to how much I’ve laughed, smiled, cried with him over the last two years.
He’s given me my spark back. I lost it in all the hubbub of being so worried about what I was doing with my life. I think I forgot all about just living.
When I started, things fell into place.
Now, I’ve got a family, a job I love, in a place that makes me happy.
For fuck’s sake, of course I have smile lines starting.
I hope I get so many more. I hope I get to see him grow lines by his eyes, get gray, and sit on the porch together for years.
That man out there is gonna be right there for all of it.
I know that’s the father of my babies, the other half of me, the hand that’ll hold mine when we’re weathered.
I hope we get so many damn smile lines, we can’t count them.
Faintly, the bed creaks, and I pull myself back to the present. He’s getting impatient out there. I take a deep breath, nervous even though we’ve done this so many times before—it just feels different tonight—and step out. His eyes drag from my head to my feet and back up again.
“Well,” he says. “Goddamn.”
I pause in the doorway, but he holds out his hand. I go, and he pulls me between his knees, gently setting his hands on my hips. My breath catches. He leans in and kisses between my breasts, just below the ribbon tied in a bow. I touch his temple, running my fingers through his short hair.
“I get to do this forever,” he says softly.
Bending, I kiss him. “Yeah, we get to do this forever.”
“Reckon that makes me pretty lucky.”
He holds me close. I hold him closer, just to feel his heart beat beneath my hands. Slow, steady, strong.
“Reckon it makes me pretty lucky too,” I whisper.
THE END