18. Silas
This feels familiar.
I’ve seen weddings here before. Even before Dallas and Wilder took over, Mom and Dad loved hosting weddings at the ranch, each one unique in their own way.
But I love the simplicity of Dallas and Willow’s ceremony.
Same oak tree, same view, same time of day.
With the setting sun hanging low over the mountains, throwing everything into that soft gold.
The river catching the light just below the hill, reminding me of that late afternoon Max and I sat on the other side of the ranch watching the golden ripples on the water’s surface.
The guest list is bigger this time. Louder too.
Or maybe it’s just me. Maybe I’ve just been seeing everyone in town show up here except for Storm.
She took the last two days off and I’ve left her alone to respect her wishes.
As much as I wanted to drop Max at school and drive right back to her apartment to take care of her—it would have only stressed her out more.
Even if I did wish I had the opposite effect on her.
I’ve never seen Dallas so pissed at himself for her burnout.
He’d asked me how it went—my plan to move her to a guest cottage—and I muttered I needed more time. That she wasn’t feeling herself when I asked and I needed a new approach.
He shook his head, muttering something that sounded like “Knew you’d fuck it up.”
And hell, if that comment didn’t feel familiar enough to sting.
More people spill across the field behind Dallas’s house, folding chairs stretching farther toward the river than I thought we’d ever need.
I’m hiding out on the back porch, allowing myself a finger of whiskey with Wilder and Dad. “Well,” I start, holding up my glass. “At least it’s to the same woman.”
Dad doesn’t appreciate my joke, but I catch a smirk from Wilder.
Dallas steps out from the back door. “Heard that.” Then he takes my glass and throws it back. “Damn that’s good.”
“Thanks,” Dad says. “Been savin’ this one.”
“How you doin?” Wilder asks.
Dallas adjusts his tie. “Startin’ to wonder why we’re doing this.”
“You see her yet?” Dad asks his oldest son.
Dallas shakes his head.
“It’ll come to you when you do.”
I jerk back. “Who knew Dad’s the romantic out of all of us?”
“What do you mean? I’m renewing my vows not one year later and have two babies.”
“Because your first marriage was a fake. I’m the romantic here,” Wilder argues.
Dallas laughs. “Following your girlfriend to New York after you crushed her heart isn’t romantic. It’s groveling 101.” Then he points to me. “Don’t get me started on Romeo over here.”
“Speaking of which,” Wilder starts, pulling a set of keys out of his pocket. “This is guest cottage number five. It’s a two-bedroom, best on the strip. Show it to her. She’ll change her mind.”
“That’s cheating,” Dallas objects unconvincingly. “She said no. I win.”
“No, no. Don’t give her number five,” Dad argues. “It gets windy on that side of the river late fall and winter. Give her number nine, best spot all year round.”
“What are you all doing?” Rose hisses from beneath the porch steps. Her hair is styled in a fancy updo, braided and whirled together in the shape of a rose and dyed in a pale pink.
“Nothing,” we all manage to say in some odd unison, Wilder slipping the keys back in his pocket, smiling at his girlfriend. “We all set?”
“Yes, everyone’s seated, band’s playing, and Storm’s got three horses getting antsy. Get out there.”
My brothers and I march down the steps. Following Rose’s order, Wilder and I make our way down the aisle, taking our place off to the side. Dad is next, and as he passes a few folks, they stand and cheer. He nods graciously and meets us under the tree, where Wilder and I are now standing.
The cheers grow as we watch Dallas make his way toward us, his dark cowboy hat in place, shoulders squared, jaw tight.
His expression mostly blank, but I detect a hint of nerves.
He turns to face the guests, adjusting his cuffs for the third time.
We exchange a grin. Me because it’s not often I get to see him all worked up.
And him—well probably because I’m still a joke to him.
Okay, so maybe that’s not it, but old insecurities die hard.
Rose emerges at the head of the aisle next, carrying a bouquet of pink roses that match her hairstyle.
This time, I look at Wilder, who’s got his blue eyes pinned to his future bride. Even if she doesn’t know it yet.
She takes her place opposite us and hands her bouquet to Wesley, who’s seated in the front row.
Wait a second. I lean over to Wilder. “Is that who I think it is sitting next to Wes?”
“Mmhmm,” he confirms, not glancing in that direction.
“And you’re okay with this?”
He turns his head toward me, voice low. “I’m sleeping with his kid sister—I think I lost the right to tell him who he can and can’t date.”
Dusty Callahan, short for Desdemona, is part owner of Callahan Ranch—our rival. We all knew there was some heated tension there, but this is certainly one for the books.
My gaze drifts back to the aisle—and the air leaves my lungs when I see her.
Bumble Bee.
Her nickname spills silently from my lips.
She’s in a yellow dress that comes down to her knees, hugging her chest, then falling wider past the waist. Her boots are brown and embroidered.
Her hair in a single braid coming around one shoulder.
Her freckled skin glows in the pink-orange sunlight. Simple and stunning.
She’s focused on the ponies like nothing else in the world exists.
The two manes have been brushed smooth, tack polished.
Winter carries the basket for Ellie, who’s standing beside her in a white dress with green sash.
Cupid is fitted with a simple ribbon. I can’t see the rings from here, but assume they’re tucked safe and secure.
She positions Max with the calmer horse bearing the rings and urges him ahead. Ellie is behind them with Winter, who’s making me nervous with the way she keeps stomping off to the side.
Storm positions herself on the other side of Winter, keeping a good grip, and together, they start down the aisle, with Ellie tossing petals like an expert, her bright smile contagious to everyone watching.
I keep my gaze on Storm’s the moment she finds me, even as everyone rises and the music shifts for Willow’s entrance.
Storm tears her eyes off me and we turn toward the bride—who’s almost as beautiful as the woman standing across from me. Her red hair is down in her natural curls around her shoulders. She’s in a knee-length white dress and white boots. Her brown eyes on her husband.
My brother watches her, inhaling slow like he’s breathing her in, even when she’s barely halfway down the aisle.
She finally makes it to the front and their hands connect.
“Did you have to look at me like that? I’m going to ruin my make-up,” I hear her whisper, her eyes glistening.
“Yes. Because if I’m going to lose it up here, I’m taking you down with me.”
She laughs softly and he swipes gently at a loose tear.
The exchange of vows and rings was something out of a fairytale—probably. It all sounded good, but my eyes were on Storm. She was lost in the words. The love in front of her eyes. Something between longing and scrutiny in the way she watched them. More the latter.
And it’s at this moment I make a vow of my own.
To find out who hurt her. Who made her so hard and untrusting that watching it two feet away doesn’t convince her it can be real. It can be forever.
I believe in it. Always have. For my parents. My brothers, hell, even for Dad and Ginger.
It’s why I’m always honest when it comes to my intentions. I’d never lie or lead anyone to believe there’s something more. Life’s too short to waste it with the wrong person.
I don’t know if it’s Max’s father. It very well might be. Or the fact that she hasn’t dated much since. But I refuse to believe I had anything to do with it.
Because that’s not something I’d ever forgive myself for.
Storm comes into view again. Seeming a lot more relaxed now that the horses are back in their stalls for the night. Between one carrying precious jewels and the other stubborn and rowdy, I don’t blame her for being stressed out through the whole thing.
I roll my shoulder and bicep, careful and deliberate. The therapist said movement matters now, that stiffness is the real enemy.
“You all right?” Dallas asks, Willow behind him looking blissfully tired.
“Yeah. I’m good.”
He fixates on my shoulder. “Took the sling off?”
“So long as there’s no heavy lifting or fast movement, Jenny says I can limit wear so I can work the muscles.”
He nods, concern still etched on his features.
“In fact, I should be in good shape to get back to the arena in two weeks—not playing. But watching games and practice from the boards, working out with my team. And if I can sweet-talk her into it, Jenny might sign off on non-contact skating.”
He shakes his head like he knows better. “Five weeks after surgery? You sure that’s a good idea?”
“I need to do something. And I’ve sure never been any good here.”
He cocks his head. “Now, listen here—”
“Congratulations,” I tell the bride. “Already feels like you’ve been married a year.”
Willow side-eyes me. “Very funny.” Then turns her head up to her husband. “Would it be rude to leave?”
“Not when you’re the bride.” Dallas turns to me and I read his silent promise that we need to continue our conversation.
Not if I can help it. I turn to look for Max and make good on my promise for that photo.
“Hang on,” he calls and dips his hand into his pocket, holding out a key. “This one’s number nine. Take her and Max there tonight.”
“Tonight?” I glance down at the key.
“It’s late. It’s furnished and clean. We’ll take care of the rest later.”
“Thought you said you already won—with or without her yes.”
“Silas, you’re right. Storm can’t stay where she is. Wilder and I have looked the other way too long and this is the best we can do for now.”
I take it. “You’re not doing me any favors here. I’m paying for it.”
He bites back a comment. “Whatever you want.”
I cover for him and Willow while they sneak off back to the house, then I go and look for Max.
Finding him next to Ellie and looking like they’re in the middle of a cake-eating contest. “Hey, you two having fun?” I sit across from them, reaching for the Polaroid camera. “Have you tested this thing yet?”
“Yeah, it’s all right.” His eyes suddenly light up. “Hey can we take that picture now?”
“Let’s do it.” I hand it to Dad. “Think you can handle one of these, Dad?”
He grumbles under his breath and examines the kid’s Polaroid. Then holds it up with both hands as I wrap an arm around Max’s back.
The photo snaps and rolls out an image of the two of us. “Whoa, it’s awesome.” Max beams holding it up to me.
“Oh we look good,” I agree, knowing the quality won’t stand the test of time.
“Not fair you get to keep it though. How about we take one with my phone too, and I can send it to your mom.” I wink.
Dad takes another one of us—and this time, my smile is different as I picture Storm on the other side.
As if summoned, she steps into view, watching us.
“Mom, look,” Max springs forward, holding up the printed version.
Storm eyes the photo. Her eyes brighten with something I can’t read. Then her gaze lifts to mine—a hint of gratefulness.
I offer a subtle nod because I didn’t do anything special. I want to do more for him. More for both of them.
“It’s getting late. We need to get going, Max.”
Dad catches my eye and cocks his head as a signal.
Like I needed one. But I offer a nod to let him know we’re on the same page.
“You need help here?” I ask Dad.
He shakes his head. “No. Wilder and Wes are arranging for rides back to the main lot. The crew will handle the rest.”
Ginger pushes the stroller with Emmit. “We’ve got plenty of hands on deck. You kids go on.”
I put my jacket around Storm as the night chill picks up and she doesn’t fight me on it. “Thank you.” She keeps her head down as she walks up the hill toward her truck.
“You don’t like weddings,” I point out.
“Oh, who doesn’t like weddings?”
“You, apparently,” I say bluntly, calling her out.
Max walks ahead of us, flipping through the photos printed from his camera.
The hill pitches up sharper and I want to offer a hand, but Storm doesn’t slow.
She moves in a way that shows she knows this land by heart.
Calves flexing with each step. There’s nothing delicate about it.
Those strong legs just do what they’ve always done.
And something tells me it’s how Storm’s lived all these years.
Get by on what she knows and loves, never asking for help.
Storm keeps her eyes on the rocky path. “It’s just a lot of people, you know? Almost feels like proving something to them all.”
“Like what?”
She glances at Max. “Like you’re living life by the book.” She stops at her truck and turns to face me as if she’s ready to say goodbye.
“There’s a book?” I ask, genuine interest.
She laughs—almost bitterly. “If there is, I wasn’t given a copy.” She looks over my shoulder. “Hey Max, get in.”
I suck in a breath, sending a small prayer this doesn’t go sideways. “You mind driving me across to the south side?”
Storm considers it, then smirks like she might not hate me tagging along for a while. “Yeah, all right.”
We get to the strip of guest cottages. “Pull over in front of that one.”
Cottage nine is the last along the strip, with unobstructed views of the river and mountains.
It’s small but intentional. Finished in smooth wood siding, a planked porch, and a simple railing with a few wide steps leading down to a stone path.
It’s warm under the porch lights, which hang on either side of the front door and are lined up along the steps.
Storm turns to me—and I’m one step ahead of her—holding up the key.
“Silas.”
“Come inside. Take a look around. You two can stay for the night.”
Max cheers in the back seat, jumping out.
“Max, wait.” Storm warns. Another warning glare heads my way, but I hop out too, then come around to her open door, resting my elbows along her open window. “One night. And if you both hate it—I’ll drop it.”
She sucks in a slow breath. “I’m not going to hate it.”
I grin and step away, following Max up the steps.