CHAPTER 28
Colt
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The chapel bell rolled through the limestone walls and landed in Colt's ribs hard enough to make him feel hollowed out.
Beau's flower petals had stuck to the mud dried on the toe of his right boot.
Three pale pieces, damp at the edges from the grass outside, clung there while the bell swung again above the old stair and the whole chapel seemed to breathe with it.
Colt should have bent to brush them off.
He did not. Beau had dropped them by accident when the first bell note startled her, and leaving them there felt like honoring the trouble it had taken her to get this far.
She stood beside him in the small entry room with her basket hugged to her stomach, flower crown crooked over one ear, eyes wide as the open chapel door.
"It is loud," she whispered.
"It is," Colt said.
"Can bells fall?"
"This one has held a hundred years."
Beau looked up at him, suspicious of comfort. "Did you check?"
That nearly broke him. He crouched, careful of the crease in his wedding pants and the petals on his boot. "I checked the rope and bracket. The minister checked this morning too. It is solid."
She took that in. Outside the entry, benches creaked under shifting neighbors. Old hymnals rasped. The chapel smelled of beeswax, limestone dust, ironed cotton, and flowers Paloma Reyes had coaxed into looking untouched by floodwater.
Wren stood near the side pew, holding Della Calloway's bouquet while Paloma fixed one last ribbon. She was close enough to help and far enough not to crowd. Colt saw the care in that distance.
Beau followed his gaze. "Is Wren going to walk with me?"
Wren heard. Her eyes lifted to Colt first, asking without asking. Then she lowered herself to Beau's level, still keeping the bouquet safe against her skirt.
"Only if you want a flower helper," Wren said. "Your daddy can stand right here. Della is at the front. I can watch from the pew."
Beau's fingers tightened on the basket handle. "If you help, does that mean you are pretending?"
The question hit Colt behind the breastbone. Harlow was in every careful space around this day: in the star quilt waiting on Beau's bed, in the way Colt had braided Beau's hair the same way Harlow used to, in Beau's worried frown when happy things changed the rules.
Wren did not blink or rush.
"No," she said softly. "Your mama is your mama. I am Wren. Today I can help with flowers if you ask me to."
Beau studied her, fierce and small. "Mama liked stars."
"Then we will not cover yours. " Wren reached toward the crown, stopped before touching it, and waited.
Beau leaned half an inch closer. Permission.
Wren tucked a loose flower back from the silver star sticker Beau had insisted on placing near her temple. The motion was gentle and brief. She did not smooth Beau's cheek. She did not claim more than Beau had offered.
Colt felt the bell's last vibration fade in his ribs and leave something raw behind.
"There," Wren said. "Star can see."
Beau breathed out. "I can do it."
"Yes, ma'am," Colt said.
She glanced at his boot. "I spilled."
"Flower girls are allowed."
"On your good boot?"
"It has seen worse than petals."
That earned him a tiny smile, and he would have walked through water again for it.
At the end of the entry, Della waited with her chin lifted and her empty hands clenched. Her veil trembled each time the chapel door opened. Ruston Farke stood at the front with the minister, hat in hand, shoulders squared like a man bracing against joy.
Dusthallow had filled the benches to the walls.
Junie Mabry sat near the aisle. Tuck Saddler watched from the back.
Fletch Calloway stood near the front, and Odette Pryce sat straight-backed in pale polish, her eyes going to Wren and finding nothing useful.
Cressie Ames had spoken low to three neighbors before taking her pew.
Colt had heard enough to know Junie's correction had started moving.
Wren did not know. Wren had come for Della. Wren had earned her work.
The gesture marked the ground where truth meant to stand, even with the damage still present.
The minister lifted one hand.
"Ready?" Colt asked.
Beau nodded hard enough to shake her crown. "Do I throw all?"
"Walk slow. Drop some. Save some if you forget."
"If I forget all?"
"Then you walk to Della and smile."
Wren stepped beside Colt, not in front of him. "And if you want, I will walk two steps behind. No hand unless you ask."
Beau looked from Wren to Colt.
He kept his voice plain. "You choose."
The basket rocked against Beau's dress. "Two steps."
Wren nodded as if Beau had given a work order. "Two steps."
The first notes of the hymn rose, thin and sweet. The chapel doors opened. Light poured over the uneven stone floor, catching dust and the ribbon on Beau's basket.
Beau took one step.
Then she stopped dead.
Colt wanted to scoop her up and carry her out of every watching eye. He stayed crouched at the aisle edge, letting her find her own legs.
Beau looked back.
"I am right here," he said.
Wren, exactly two steps behind, held both hands loose at her sides.
Beau took another step. A petal fell. Then another. One landed on the stone, one on a neighbor's boot, one drifted back and stuck to Colt's cuff. A ripple of tenderness moved through the chapel under coughs and shifting feet.
By the time Beau reached the front, she had emptied only half the basket. Della bent low, eyes bright.
"Perfect," Della whispered.
Beau beamed as if the whole day had been built for that one word.
Wren slipped into the front pew beside Della's place, leaving open space for Colt and Beau.
Colt guided Beau down beside him. Her knee bounced against his leg until he laid one hand, palm up, between them.
She put two fingers in his, not her whole hand.
That was all she needed and all she could bear with everyone watching.
The music shifted.
Della stepped into the aisle.
Colt had seen her angry, bossy, laughing with pins between her teeth, and bone-tired over wedding lists. He had never seen her look like this. Happy did not soften her. It made her clear. She walked toward Ruston with her eyes fixed on him and a smile she seemed determined not to lose.
Ruston forgot to breathe.
The whole chapel saw it and forgave him at once.
Colt looked down at Beau, expecting another question.
She stared at Della with solemn wonder, petals still trapped in her basket.
Wren sat beyond her, attention on her sister.
No reaching across Beau. No private look asking Colt to make this about them.
She had been hurt in public and still gave Della the full room.
That kind of steadiness had a cost. Colt knew it because he had spent too much of his life spending other people's steadiness like it was free.
The minister spoke of vows, kin, weather, and the work of staying. When Ruston answered, his voice came low and certain. When Della answered, she had to try twice, and the second "I do" came out with a laugh caught in it.
Beau leaned into Colt's arm. "Are they married now?"
"Almost."
"When?"
"After the rings."
She nodded and looked for rings with the impatience of someone who had been promised a clear rule.
The rings came. The blessing came. The minister's final words carried into the rafters, and Dusthallow held its breath the way a town did when it wanted to believe its old customs still worked.
"You may kiss your bride."
Ruston held Della's face with both hands and kissed her like the whole room was welcome to witness but not invited inside the meaning. Della's laugh broke against his mouth. Applause hit the chapel walls, boots thumping stone, hands clapping, someone near the back giving a sharp cheer.
The bell rang again.
This time Beau laughed.
The vibration moved through Colt's ribs and down into the floor. The petals on his boot trembled. He looked at them, then at Wren. She was clapping for Della, eyes wet, smile wide enough to hurt. When she glanced over, she saw the petals too.
For one second, the room narrowed to that: Wren's smile, Beau's fingers still hooked in Colt's, and the bell shaking loose something he had mistaken for strength.
The chapel emptied in a bright, noisy spill.
Outside, the afternoon had turned gold over the chapel yard.
Floodwater had left the grass uneven, but Paloma had laid paths with old boards and ribbon.
The photographer gathered Della and Ruston under the limestone arch, where Della complained once about the sun and kissed Ruston again before anyone asked.
Beau remembered her remaining petals and panicked.
"I have extras."
"Reception tables need flowers too," Wren said before Colt could answer.
Beau looked relieved. "They do?"
"Absolutely. Very important extras."
Beau marched toward a crate near Paloma with sudden purpose. Colt started after her, but Junie appeared at the path.
"I have her," Junie said. "She is going to help me keep petals out of the lemonade."
Beau paused. "Can I?"
"If you listen to Junie," Colt said.
"I listen."
Junie made a doubtful sound and took Beau's hand anyway.
Colt watched until Beau was at the table, basket tilted under Junie's supervision. Only then did he turn to Wren.
She stood beneath the chapel's side window with Della's spare ribbon looped around one wrist and dust on her hem.
She looked tired from holding herself upright for everybody else's good.
He had no right to ask for more steadiness.
That was why he had to speak before the day swept them into easier delay.
"Can I have a minute?" he asked.
Her gaze moved to Beau, then back to him.
"With her in sight," Colt said. "And no audience if we can manage it."
Wren nodded once. "The side wall."
They walked to the shade where the limestone held the day's heat. The reception pasture lay beyond the chapel fence, already strung with lights. Trucks lined the road. Someone tested a speaker and sent a burst of music over the field before cutting it off.