Epilogue
Willow
Three Months Later
Agentle autumn breeze floats across the yard, complementing the ambiance of the soft, instrumental music.
Bright leaves rustle in the oak trees, glowing from the hundreds of clear lights strung around their branches.
Our friends and family sit in white chairs, facing the Ashcroft fireplace and the original wall on which it was built.
It's the only part of the cabin remaining.
It roars with flames, and floods the area with the scent of the cedar logs burning in it.
Wyatt stands in front of it, his dark eyes locked on mine, full of love and compliments I don't hear but see.
His new, shiny brown boots and cowboy hat match his tan suit.
The W on his gold belt buckle gleams with pride.
I gave it to him on the second Christmas we were together.
He told me he wanted to wear it on our wedding day, and I loved the idea.
Jagger stands next to him in a matching suit, grinning as cockily as ever. Phoebe is on the other side, waiting for me to arrive and take my spot next to her. I'm relieved that Wyatt and I decided to have only one person on each side of us.
Dad holds his arm out, his eyes bright. "Ready?"
I hook my lace-covered arm through his and smile. "Yes."
The music changes to an acoustic country song, written by an up-and-coming band in our hometown. Wyatt and I saw them perform one night when we were out. I raved about how much I loved the singer's voice.
Wyatt contacted the band the next day. He asked them to write something for our wedding.
They made him tell them about our relationship so it would be personal and meaningful.
Then he surprised me and took me to a bar to hear them sing the song.
I was immediately in love with it, and said I wanted to walk down the aisle to it.
Wyatt had chuckled and said, "I guess I'm going to need them to write another for our first dance, then." Which he did. We've listened to the songs so many times that I can recite the words in my sleep, but they never grow old.
Every time we play the songs, my heart skips several beats. Today is no different, but it leaps in my chest, wanting nothing more than to officially tie itself to the man I've loved since I was fifteen.
As soon as I take my first step down the aisle, Wyatt's lips twitch and then quickly burst into a huge grin. I force myself not to run toward him.
The delicate lace skirt on my boho wedding dress swishes across the runner. There's a slight chill in the air, blowing against my naked back, but my blood runs hot.
The singer's voice reminds me of warm honey, oozing romance and sacred love.
We get to the end of the aisle, and Dad kisses my cheek. He murmurs in my ear, "You'll always be my little girl."
Tears well in my eyes. I nod, and he steps in front of Wyatt, leans toward him, and says something I can't hear.
Wyatt's expression turns serious, and he nods.
Dad pats his back and then takes his place next to Mom. She's already dabbing her eyes.
Wyatt places his warm, callused palms in mine and squeezes. He mumbles, "Jesus, sugar."
I smile bigger, and the world goes quiet.
We exchange our vows, pledging to spend the rest of our lives together and support one another in good times and bad.
It's the most important moment of my life, but it passes in a blur.
Before I know it, the officiant declares, "By the power vested in me by the great state of Texas, and in the presence of your family and friends, who have gathered to witness this moment, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss your bride!"
Applause echoes around us, and I lose my breath. Wyatt puts his hand on the back of my veil, and his lips melt against mine in a possessive, needy masterpiece of desire. The crowd explodes into cheers and whoops.
When he pulls back, I declare, "I'm Mrs. Wyatt Houston now."
He chuckles, keeping my face close to his, and boasts, "Damn right you are, sugar. Don't ever forget it."
Quick note from Maggie Cole
Thank you so much for reading Holiday Rider.