Chapter 26 Chase
CHASE
I’m standing next to Laura Lovejoy, who I’ve known since I was in diapers and who runs the catering company providing food for the reception, when I see Molly and her kids walk out of the house.
I’ve been to a few weddings over the years, all of them happier in tone than Molly and Teddy’s, and one thing I never understood is why the groom typically looks shell-shocked when his bride appears at the end of the aisle.
Let’s get real. Maybe he’s in a tux for the first time in his life and she’s wearing a white dress and a veil, but they aren’t complete strangers. We’re not talking about one of those married-at-first-sight reality shows. So why do the guys get so choked up?
I figured it must be a combination of fear and adrenaline. I’ve experienced enough of both of those when climbing onto the backs of bulls, but I usually had more of an inclination to shit my pants than cry.
But as Molly and her kids approach us, I’m blinking like a sandstorm blew up in my face.
She’s breathtaking in a long dress in a shade of soft sage that makes her eyes pop.
Her creamy skin appears almost translucent, and her hair falls around her shoulders in soft waves.
I swear it looks like she stepped out of an enchanted fairy tale forest, and I’m completely under her spell.
The kids are adorable. Luke’s typically tousled hair is combed to one side and Laurel is wearing a yellow sundress with her long hair neatly braided. The whole picture is what I imagine a happy family looks like in my mind. In my heart, if I’m being honest. And I want to be part of it.
“Close your mouth, Chase,” Laura tells me with a laugh. “Either you’re trying to catch flies or you’ve got it bad for Molly McAllister.”
“I’m helping her until her ankle heals,” I answer, my voice hoarse. “There’s nothing between us.” Not because I don’t want it to be. I’m just not sure I believe I deserve it yet.
I suck in a breath when that realization lands with the force of a swift kick to the family jewels. Then Molly offers me one of her sweet smiles, and my heart scrambles for purchase.
“You keep telling yourself that.” Laura laughs again and walks forward to greet them.
I’m still wearing my work clothes, so I wave at the trio then head to the Airstream to grab a change of clothes before going to the house to shower.
I’m not going to be interacting much with guests, but the way Molly looks tonight makes me want to wear some version of my Sunday best. Maybe I need to remind both of us that I’m more than a dusty, washed-up cowboy.
The upstairs bathroom still smells like her shampoo, and I imagine fanning her glossy hair out across the pillowcase in the morning.
I haven’t spent the night in her bed since the confrontation with my father. She’s visited the RV several evenings this week after putting the kids to bed, but doesn’t stay long. I figure beggars can’t be choosers, and I’ll take whatever she’s willing to give me—of both her time and her body.
As I come downstairs again, I can’t help but wonder what would happen if we weren’t competing for this property, but working together on it?
I don’t have any real passion for becoming a cattle rancher. It’s just something I know I can do with the land that came from my mom combined with the McAllister property. But maybe I could do something more. Maybe I could be a part of Molly’s dream. A real part of her life.
As I look around the main floor of this house I spent so much time in as a kid, I realize it feels more like home to me now than any place ever has.
Not because of my agreement with Linda or the thought of owning it, but because being with Molly and her kids makes me feel like I belong.
Like I’ve found my place in this world when I didn’t even realize belonging was important to me.
I comb a hand through my hair, which is mostly dry now. It feels a little weird not to have my hat on, but today I’m not Chase Calhoun, soon-to-be-retired bull rider. I’m just a man who’s helping the woman he cares about to make her dream a reality.
The guests are beginning to arrive, and Molly and Laura appear deep in conversation in front of the greenhouse. The twins are nowhere to be seen, but doesn’t take me long to find them in the barn.
“You guys clean up pretty well,” I say.
“I hate wearing dresses,” Laurel tells me with an eye roll that would make a surly teen proud. “Mommy said I have to tonight.”
“I’m not big on formal clothes either,” I admit. “But we’re here to do whatever your mom needs.”
The girl sighs. “She had us put tissues on all the benches out back. She said people cry at weddings.” Laurel pulls on the end of her braid. “People should be happy at a wedding. Seems like a dumb time to cry.”
“People cry for lots of reasons,” I tell the girl. “Sometimes the emotions just get too big, and you have to let them out, both good and bad.”
Luke tugs at the collar of his button-up shirt like it’s suddenly too tight. I know the feeling.
“Crying isn’t a bad thing,” I continue, because I want to clarify that point. Luke’s been doing less of it recently, which seems like a win, but still. I don’t want him growing up like I did, believing that showing emotion—anger notwithstanding—makes a man weak.
I broke my arm when I was nine years old, falling off the roof of the barn I’d climbed when my frisbee landed up there.
It hurt like hell, and you can bet I bawled my eyes out.
It wasn’t until I got home from the hospital, arm in a cast, that my dad hauled me out back to tell me tears were for girls and pussies, then demanded to know if I was either of those.
Christ, at that point, I thought he was talking about a cat. But I didn’t want to be a girl or a pussy. His tone made his opinion on both clear, and told me everything I needed to know about expressing emotions.
Tears weren’t something Calhoun men did.
Linda wasn’t as harsh as my dad, but Teddy spent his childhood under his mother’s thumb, an only child raised by a single mom who indulged his every whim while never letting him forget her sacrifice.
Sometimes it felt like I got the better deal with a run-of-the-mill asshole dad we could never make happy. At least he was consistent.
Teddy’s childhood was like walking through a live minefield, not knowing when he was going to set something off. He was the golden boy who could both do no wrong and never live up to Linda’s exacting expectations.
But I want Luke to know emotions–and expressing them–are okay. It’s what real men do.
His shoulders, which had inched their way up to his ears, relax at my words.
“I don’t think I’m going to cry,” Laurel says, stabbing the toe of her boot into the dusty ground.
“You don’t have to. But know it’s okay if you do.”
“Do you three want to watch the ceremony with me?” Molly asks.
I glance up, and my heart kicks into high gear once again at the sight of her in the doorway at the far end of the barn. I wonder how long she’s been standing there, and how much of this conversation she overheard.
“I do,” Luke calls and runs forward.
“How about you, sweetie?” she asks, inclining her head toward Laurel.
“Yeah,” Laurel agrees, then glances up at me. “You’re coming too, right?”
“I sure am.”
Then she puts her little hand in mine like it’s the most natural thing in the world. And hell, I might need those tissue packets because damn if I don’t feel the backs of my eyes burning.
We gather at the edge of the field where the ceremony takes place.
Just as I expected, the groom looks bowled over when his bride appears at the end of the aisle.
She joins him under the arch that I built and Molly decorated with flowers and greenery.
With the mountains in the background, I can’t imagine a more picturesque setting for two people to begin their lives together.
“It’s gorgeous, Mols,” I say softly. “You’ve created something special here.”
Her eyes are a little misty when she looks at me. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”
And just like that, I know what I need to do. I see my future as clear as if I’m the groom watching my bride walk toward me.
Sure, being trampled by a bull is terrifying, but thinking about opening myself up to love takes it to a whole other level.
And yet, there’s also the thrill that comes from the possibility of finally feeling like I belong.
Maybe Molly isn’t the only one who has something in common with the mermaid princess.
I choke back a laugh at the thought. Dad would have backhanded little kid Chase for expressing that type of emotion. But he’s not my problem anymore, and I’ve let his screwed-up values and expectations rule my life for way too long.
When the ceremony ends, we watch the guests move under the tent.
The dinner, a down-home buffet of barbecue and all the fixings, goes off without a hitch.
The kids snag giant platefuls of meat and macaroni and cheese, and I see several of the guests approach Molly to compliment her on the centerpieces and the whole flower farm aesthetic.
She’s in her element, and I thank God that she’s still dealing with that walking boot and unable to drive, because this version of her is so different from the exhausted, uncertain woman in her wet T-shirt that first morning.
This Molly can handle anything. She doesn’t need some half-broken former bull rider, but I’m not giving her up without a fight.
Luke and Laurel join some other kids on the dance floor as the DJ starts spinning wedding reception classics.
I shake my head when Molly gestures me out for “YMCA.”
I might be stupid head over heels for the woman, but I have some dignity. I do make my way toward her when the first strains of a slow song begin and several couples take the floor.
She arches a brow when I hold out my hand. “I thought love songs were for saps,” she says.
I shrug. “A sap isn’t the worst thing I can think of being called.”