Chapter 35
thirty-five
Mission Redbay adjusted his collar and told himself it was only a tie. A strip of fabric. A knot he’d redone three times while his cabin sat in afternoon quiet and the clock on the stove advanced toward four o’clock.
He pulled in a steadying breath, because he’d been waiting for this day for months now. Even though he and Kristie had moved the wedding forward, his impatience to have her living here with him had reached a peak weeks ago.
The front door opened, and his granddad walked in. “I told everyone to take their seats,” he said.
And then he’d walked over from the barn, so Mission only had a few minutes to get back over there. He smoothed his hands down the front of his Granddad’s jacket. “All right.”
“Boy,” Granddad said, his eyes bright and his own cowboy hat perched on his head just-so. He didn’t say more, and he didn’t have to. Mission grabbed onto him and hugged him, breathed in the cedar-and-shaving-cream scent that had always belonged to Granddad, and immediately steadied on his feet.
“Good?” he asked.
“Good,” Mission said. “I’m ready.”
He led the way out onto the front porch and automatically looked right toward the Rocky Mountains. He loved the way they waited like witnesses and the Lord’s peace sat like a soft hand on the back of his neck. He breathed, then smiled, because the Hammond Family Farm had always settled him.
Early spring sunlight lay across the front lawn and the still dormant fields, and a faint wind pushed toward him. He kept pace with Granddad, the energy buzz increasing with every step closer to the white tents.
He counted each crunch of gravel under his boots, not to measure the distance, but to keep his nerves from consuming him.
He was ready. You are, he told himself sternly. It’s a few minutes that’s important, and everything else is for show.
No, everything else was for Kristie. She’d made the difficult decision to invite her family, and they’d declined to attend. Mission’s heart beat faster for a moment, then slowed again, which made him feel whiplashed emotionally.
He rounded the back of the stable, the big tents appearing in front of him. Rows of white chairs split by an aisle that extended underneath the canvas, and strings of bulbs glowed against the afternoon sunshine.
They reminded him of bottled stars, and Mission smiled at the imagery in his mind. They weren’t planning to keep their guests outside past dark, as the earlier date had already been tempting Mother Nature to actually snow on their nuptials.
Mission took his place at the altar and hugged his granddad one more time before he bustled off to join Kristie in the barn. Since her father had not come, she’d asked Granddad to walk her down the aisle, and Mission once again tugged at the blasted tie around his throat.
Friends filled almost every seat—Hunter and Molly and their kids, his cowboys and cowgirls from the farm, all of them in clean boots and pressed shirts, Pony Power counselors tucked together like a flock, Poppy and Travis Thatcher with their kids, Tuck and Tarr in jackets that didn’t know what to do with their shoulders, Bobbie Jo and Gerty laughing with Opal, who sat in front of them.
The Whettsteins took up a row, and Mission’s heart squeezed mightily when he caught Deacon beaming at him from the front row, his parents tucked tightly in next to him. Mission nodded to them, his emotions spiraling up and then plummeting toward the earth the way a roller coaster did.
Kristie’s baking friends—Lennie, Jocelyn, and Harper—sat in the front row on the bride’s side, as did many of her veterinary clients, Keith, Lindsay, and Nash, with Britt and Lars and their new baby, Sullivan, way down on the end.
Mission’s heart filled with love for all of them, because everyone who came to the Hammond Family Farm knew how to open their arms and welcome anyone and everyone.
Kristie would come from the left, from the little path lined in mason jars and pink roses.
He’d walked it with her last night when they’d checked the tent and the chairs and the way the wind moved under the canvas.
Her laugh had been soft and quick and it had stayed with him long after they’d said goodnight with a whisper of hands and the promise that tonight’s dance would be theirs alone.
His granddad appeared at the end of the aisle, and Mission met his eyes and pulled in a breath.
One minute. Sixty seconds until he’d see his lovely bride in her wedding dress for the first time. Granddad disappeared again, and the music changed. People rose from their seats, the melody curling up toward the ceiling of the tent and continuing right on through it.
Mission shifted his feet nervously, but when Kristie appeared, every part of him quieted.
Her dress was simple and entirely her: a clean, graceful line that moved when she moved, cap sleeves, a skirt that whispered instead of announced, with shiny fabric that caught drops of mountain light and kept them in the fibers.
She wore her hair down, because she didn’t want to “look bald” in the pictures, and it fell in soft curls around her face, with the rest tucked away at the nape of her neck. The veil spilled out from that and trailed behind her, the wispy edges of it just visible riding on the train of her gown.
Her bouquet boasted darker-than-spring colors like burgundy, sage, and pumpkin. She seemed to have her eyes open wider than normal, but her smile radiated happiness and excitement. Those things hit him when her eyes locked on his, and he found his anchor.
Kristie had long been the person he wanted to run everything by, the only woman he wanted to impress, and the love of his life.
His chest did that tight, squeezy thing it did when something sacred walked into the room. Outside, he stayed steady. He didn’t lift a hand toward his tie again. He let his eyes do all the speaking they needed to do. He felt every step she took and silently encouraged her to keep going.
She nodded to people in the crowd, her eyes skipping down rows and back to his over and over. Granddad kept his arm steady in hers, their pace toward him slow but sure.
She almost seemed to be looking for someone, and when she didn’t find them, her gaze came back to Mission’s and held there. So she’d been hoping her family might change their mind and make the drive to Ivory Peaks.
She reached him, and Granddad slipped her arm into Mission’s. “My blessings go with you,” he whispered in his gravelly voice, and then he moved to sit beside Deacon on the front row.
Mission bent his head down and touched the brim of his cowboy hat to Kristie’s forehead. “I’m here,” he whispered. “And you’re here.”
They’d talked that it didn’t matter who came to the wedding—and who didn’t. All he needed was her, and all she needed was him.
She nodded slightly, took a breath, and together, they turned to face the pastor who’d come to marry them.
“I love officiating weddings in April,” Quinn Benson said. Molly’s father had retired from leading a congregation, but he still held the credentials to marry people in the state of Colorado, and Mission had known him for years.
“Because my wife and I got married in April, on the day of the biggest snowstorm of the season.” He beamed his exuberance out into the world, and Mission found himself smiling.
“Today, only the wind wishes to destroy your amazing day, but don’t worry.
Nothing can actually do that. God loves marriage, and whatever happens today will only add to the main event. ”
As if he’d called it, the wind rustled against the side of the tent, apparently unhappy it couldn’t come in and witness the I-dos. Mission looked to the left as a few people twittered in the crowd.
“I know neither Mission nor Kristie likes to stand in the spotlight for very long,” Pastor Benson said. “And I’ve promised not to go on too long, but one of the things I like to do when I marry someone is offer some advice.”
Mission swallowed, because he felt sure whatever Pastor Benson counseled him to do, he’d try to do.
“Keep your marriage small,” the pastor said. “And work on it daily. Pray by yourself, and then pray together. Think first, and speak second. Keep your problems between the two of you, and work on them together.”
Keep your marriage small. Mission had been instantly confused, but the more Pastor Benson said, the more pieces fell into place.
“Life can get very loud,” the pastor continued. “And you both have a whole lot pulling you in different directions. Come home to each other every night. Mission, look her in the eye and tell her how amazing she is. Kristie, put your hand in his and ask him how his day went.”
Kristie’s hand in Mission’s actually tightened, and they exchanged a glance.
“Find a simple ritual that you can do every week. Some couples I know counsel together every Sunday night and share three good things they noticed the other doing that week. Some chat in the dark before they fall asleep, and lay out the things they need in the near future. No matter what, find something that works for the two of you, for no one else is in your marriage but the two—of—you.”
He spoke the last words with enough emphasis for Mission to pay attention.
“Do the small things, and the Lord will make the reward big.” Pastor Benson nodded, and he smiled widely as he looked from Kristie to Mission, and then out to the crowd.
“Now, it’s my understanding that the couple has put an advice wheel in the barn, and they’d love for you to write down your best marriage advice for the two of them. ”
He clapped his hands. “All right, Mission,” Pastor Benson said. “I’m going to pass the mic to you.” He did just that, and Mission adjusted it in his grip while he dug into his pocket with his other hand.
Mission pulled out the index card where he’d scribbled down a few of his thoughts. “Kristie,” he said, and a faint breeze lifted her veil and let it settle again, as if even the air wanted to look full in her face. He swallowed, but the lump sitting there stayed.
“I promise to be your constant champion, let you bake as much as you want, host chocolate night at our house, and get as many horses as you want.”
“Oh, boy,” someone said behind them, and a smattering of laughter moved through the crowd.
“I thank God every day that He allowed us each to get out of our own way and start living our lives together instead of apart. I’m grateful you forgive me, and I’m glad I have you to set me straight when I feel crooked.”
His emotions surged again, and Mission tucked his card away, as he didn’t need it. He lifted his free hand toward the mountains and then took hers in his. “I love you. Yeah, that’s it. I love you, and however many dances the Lord gives us, I’ll take them all.”
Her eyes shone with unshed tears, and she cut a quick glance at Pastor Benson, who gestured for her to go ahead with her own vows.
She looked at him again, and Mission grinned at her, so glad his part was over. “Mission,” she said. “Something about you has called to me since the moment we met. It used to irritate me to no end, and I thought it was because you were arrogant and rude.”
He ducked his head, though he’d heard all of this before.
“But being quiet is not the same as being arrogant. Being knowledgeable and speaking the truth doesn’t make you rude. You have taught me so much about how to be myself, and I love that you live a life according to exactly who you are.”
She released his hand and reached up to wipe the corner of her eye. “I promise to love you for exactly who you are, because I know you’re doing that for me. I want to bake and bring home horse rescues and sit on the rooftops and watch the sun go down.”
Mission met her eyes, wanting all of those things too.
Kristie wiped her eyes again. “And I know you’ll let me bake when I’m happy, and when I’m sad, and when I’m upset, and I think you’re going to regret letting me have as many horses as I want.”
Mission chuckled and shook his head.
“I’ve loved dancing with you for the past year, and somewhere in there, I’ve learned the steps to peace. I promise to hold that with you, to follow and to lead, to love you in the wide daylight and the narrow night.”
Mission couldn’t stop smiling, because those promises were beautiful, and they both looked back to the pastor.
“That was wonderful,” he said. “Let’s do the most important thing, shall we? Then we can move on to the second most important thing—dinner.”
Mission laughed again, quickly sobering when Pastor Benson said, “Kristie Jenise Higgins, do you take unto yourself, Mission Hawkeye Redbay, to be your legally and lawfully wedded husband? And do you give yourself unto him to be his legally and lawfully wedded wife, in honor, trust, and fidelity, as long as you both shall live?”
“I do,” Kristie said, not a hitch of hesitation in her voice at all.
The pastor turned toward him. “Mission Hawkeye Redbay, do you take unto yourself, Kristie Jenise Higgins, to be your legally and lawfully wedded wife? And do you give yourself unto her to be her legally and lawfully wedded husband, in honor, trust, and fidelity, as long as you both shall live?”
“I do,” he said, relieved he hadn’t stuttered or sounded like he’d swallowed rusty pennies.
“Then, by the power vested in me by the state of Colorado and the Good Lord Above, I pronounce you husband and wife.” He lifted both hands toward the corners of the tent. “Everyone, Mister and Missus Mission and Kristie Redbay.”
He smiled for all he was worth and gestured for Mission and Kristie to seal their union with a kiss. Mission pulled her flush against him and pressed his lips to hers as the crowd whooped and hollered and applauded.
Their adrenaline rushed through him, and when he pulled away, he tucked Kristie against his side. “Our first dance,” he shouted over the still-cheering crowd.
Oh, and the country music, which suddenly blasted its way into the tent. He grinned at her, and Kristie smiled right on back.
Then he took her hand and they danced their way down the aisle in perfect time to the song they’d danced to at the Summer Stroll last year.