Chapter Twenty-SevenCowboy Wedding
Three and a half weeks after the big race between me and Jo, we leave the rodeo world behind---for the moment.
Our wedding takes precedence over everything else, and I can't wait to finally see the dress Jo picked out.
My sister Sarah has seen it. So has Jo's sister Casey.
It's top secret for the rest of us, and breaching the veil of secrecy imposes a death sentence.
Okay, nobody will actually die. I couldn't resist a little hyperbole, that's all.
But Jo is serious about keeping her dress under wraps.
She actually made Sarah sign what she called a "non-disclosure agreement," which was really just a napkin from the diner where they were eating during their wedding discussions.
Sarah took it seriously anyway. My sister's always been a sucker for dramatic gestures.
"You'll see it when everyone else sees it," Jo tells me for the hundredth time when I try to wheedle information out of her. She's got that stubborn set to her jaw that means I'm not getting anywhere, no matter how much I crank up the charm.
"Come on, darlin'. How about a hint? A tiny one?" I'm trailing after her as she marches through the bridal shop like a woman on a mission. "Is it white? Please tell me it's at least white."
Jo stops so abruptly that I nearly crash into her.
When she turns around, I detect the telltale signs of mischief brewing in those beautiful green eyes of hers.
But Jo's been dropping hints like breadcrumbs, and I've been following every single one.
Yesterday she mentioned something about "layers that move like water," which sounds either ridiculously romantic or like she's planning to wear a fishing net. Knowing Jo, it could go either way.
We're holed up in the bridal suite at the Cheyenne Grand---a fancy name for what amounts to a glorified hotel room with extra mirrors and a champagne bucket that's been empty since we arrived.
Jo has been locked in the adjoining room with my sister while I pace around like a caged bull.
I adjust my tie for the hundredth time since I have nothing else to do right now.
"Quit fidgeting," Sarah says from the other side of the bathroom door. Behind that slab of wood, she's issuing orders to my fiancée. "You look beautiful, Jo."
"I look like I'm about to throw up," my wife-to-be snarls.
"Yeah, Clay looks that way too."
Casey clucks her tongue. "That's the groom look. It's traditional."
Yes, my sister is helping Jo's sister get my fiancée ready for that walk down the aisle.
I catch my reflection in one of the mirrors in the living room, and I have to admit Casey's right.
My face has gone pale---which I know because I saw my reflection in the window---and there's a wild look in my eyes that suggests I might bolt at any second.
Which is ridiculous, because I've never wanted anything more than I want to marry Jo Callahan.
"Five minutes!" Sarah shouts, and my stomach drops to somewhere around my boots.
I hear Jo muttering something that sounds suspiciously like a string of curse words that would make a sailor blush. Then I hear Casey's voice, gentle but firm: "Breathe, Jo. In through your nose, out through your mouth. Just like you do before a run."
"This is nothing like that," Jo snaps back. "Before a run, I'm in control. I know what my horse is going to do, I know the pattern, I know the course. This is---this is---"
"You're marrying the man you love, your soulmate," Casey finishes softly. "The same man who challenged you to that race three weeks ago and who's been pacing a hole in the carpet in front of that door for the past hour."
"I can hear him," Jo mutters, and I freeze mid-step. "Clay, if you don't stop wearing out that floor, I'm going to come out there and tie you to a chair."
"Promise?" I reply, which earns me a snort of laughter from her side of the door.
"See?" Casey says. "You're already feeling better."
More rustling sounds suggest the presence of fabric, or possibly tissue paper.
Yeah, right, Jo's dress is made of paper.
Maybe she's wrestling with whatever contraption she plans to walk down the aisle in.
Is it simple? Elaborate? Does it have those little buttons that go all the way up the back?
Because if it does, I'm going to have my work cut out for me later tonight.
"Time!" Sarah announces, and the butterflies in my stomach start flapping again.
I hear the shuffle of movement beyond the door and whispered encouragements followed by silence. The kind that stretches out for what feels like forever.
"Clay?" Jo's voice comes through the wall, softer now and uncertain in a way that makes my throat go dry.
"I'm here, darlin'."
"Are you sure about this, Clay? Because once we do this thing, you're stuck with me. Grumpy mornings, competitive streak, and all my weird habits."
I press my palm against the wall, wishing I could touch her face instead of painted drywall. "Jo, I've been sure since the day you told me I couldn't rope worth a damn and then proceeded to show me how it's done."
"I was just giving you a hard time," she explains with a laugh that catches slightly at the end. I can picture her perfectly---hand pressed to her mouth, eyes glistening with the first sign of tears. "Even then, I knew you were special, not like any other cowboy."
"You amazed me from the moment I caught sight of you in the arena in Tampa, racing around those barrels like it was the simplest thing in the world."
Sweet little laugh, barely audible, whispers out of her. "Back then, I gave you no reason to like me, much less love me."
I lean my forehead against the wall. "Every second with you has been worthwhile. I wouldn't trade any of it, not for a million dollars."
Another silence follows, and I begin to wonder if she's crying. Jo doesn't cry often. She's more likely to punch something when she's emotional---but weddings have a way of bringing out unexpected reactions in people.
"Clay McKendrick," she finally says, her voice steady now, "I'm about to walk down that aisle and make you the happiest man in the West."
"You already have, darlin'. Everything else is just paperwork."
Sarah clears her throat loudly. "If you two are done having a moment through drywall, it's time to get this show on the road. Clay, get your butt downstairs to the altar before I drag you there myself."
I straighten my shoulders and take one last look in the mirror. The man staring back at me looks like he's about to either win the lottery or get trampled by a bronc---maybe both. I adjust my bolo tie one final time and head for the door. "See you down there, Mrs. McKendrick."
"I'm not your missus yet," Jo shoots back, but there's warmth in her voice now instead of panic. "But ask me again in ten minutes."
The walk down to the lobby feels like the longest ride of my life.
The Cheyenne Grand has been transformed into something that looks like a cross between a western chapel and a garden party.
White roses and baby's breath are wound around the rustic wooden archway where I'll be standing in approximately thirty seconds.
My hands are sweating, and I resist the urge to wipe them on my pants.
The string quartet Casey insisted on hiring has begun to play a song that sounds vaguely familiar, probably because it's been stuck in my head for the past week during rehearsals.
I move into my position next to Pastor Williams, an older man with a wrinkled face who's officiated more cowboy weddings than he can count.
The man wears the patient expression of someone who's seen plenty of nervous grooms.
"Breathe, son," he murmurs out of the corner of his mouth. "I've yet to have one pass out on me, and I don't plan to start today."
"Yes, sir." I straighten my shoulders and gaze out at the assembled crowd.
It's smaller than the usual wedding---just family and close friends, the way Jo and I both wanted it.
My parents are seated in the front row with Dad looking uncomfortable in his Sunday suit but proud as a peacock.
Mom dabs at her eyes with a lace handkerchief she's been carrying around all morning.
Jo's folks are seated across the aisle. Hank Callahan sits up straight, seemingly unbothered by the solemnity of the occasion.
Then I see him dab at his eyes, like my mother had done, and I realize Hank's just as emotional as the rest of us.
The music shifts, and my pulse kicks into overdrive. This is it. The big moment.
Casey appears first, sashaying down the aisle looking elegant in a dusty rose dress that complements her dark hair.
She catches my eye and gives me a reassuring smile before taking her place across from where I'm standing.
Then Sarah follows, wearing the same bridesmaid dress as Casey.
She holds her bouquet in both hands winking at me as she passes, which somehow makes me feel both better and worse at the same time.
The music swells, and it's a song I recognize now---"Canon in D," because Jo said if we were doing this wedding thing, we were going to do it right. The doors at the back of the lobby swing open, and I suddenly forget how to breathe.
Jo takes my breath away, looking so beautiful that's she reminds me of a fairy-tale princess or something out of a half-forgotten dream.
The dress---God, the dress---is everything I imagined and nothing like I expected all at once.
The ivory silk seems to shimmer in the natural light and moves exactly like water, just the way she hinted.
It's simple but elegant, with a neckline that accentuates her lovely body and sleeves that somehow manage to be both demure and sexy as hell.
Her auburn hair is swept up in some complicated arrangement that Casey probably spent an hour on, with a few loose strands framing her face.