Chapter 17
Kip held Trace’s hand as he guided her to the truck.
His shoulders rigid under his shearling, he held his phone to his ear with the other hand, though she had no idea who he was calling.
The bite of the late December air had her pulling her coat tighter, since her fingers were too numb to work the buttons.
Wilder’s sky was the color of a pewter plate, low and heavy with snow that, thankfully, was still falling in random flurries.
“Who’re you calling?” she asked, breath fogging.
“You’ll see.” He tilted the phone away so the wind wouldn’t carry his words. “Yeah, Marlene, it’s Trace Daniels. I need you to tell the clerk I’m coming in for a license. I’ll be there in five minutes.” He snapped the phone shut and opened the truck's passenger door for her.
“License for what? My driver’s license expired two years ago. Seems like a funny time to worry about it.”
Trace slid behind the wheel and started the engine. “Are you telling me you’ve been driving without a valid license since you got here? You know what, just get in. The courthouse is warm.”
It seemed she wasn’t the only one with frazzled nerves.
Deciding it was wiser to follow his lead, she climbed in, boots scraping salt across the rubber mat.
Her heart warmed as he reached across her to fasten her seatbelt.
A faint scent of hay teased her senses, reminding her of all he was dealing with at the ranch. “How are the bison?”
“It’s going to be fine. We’ve only lost the one cow so far. I think we managed to reach the other in time.” His tone was almost mechanical, as if he’d said the same thing a hundred times this morning.
Staring at the side of his face as he drove—chiseled jaw, faint scar along the hairline.
It turned out the expression he wore when he was moving cattle was the same one he wore when he didn’t want to answer questions.
Something heavy settled in her stomach, but she was too cold and too wrung-out to figure out what it was.
The County Courthouse sat squat and red-brick on Main Street, Christmas lights twinkled along the eaves, even though it was barely noon.
Inside, it smelled of old varnish and pine cleaner.
Trace led her straight to the clerk’s window.
It turned out Marlene was a gray-haired, no-nonsense woman who had never set foot inside the Broken Bridle.
With a practiced smile, she slid some papers across the counter without being asked.
Kip glanced down at the paper. Application for Marriage. The words hit her like a slap. What in the world was going on? “Um…Trace—”
But Marlene was on a mission of efficiency with no time to spare. Ignoring Kip’s confusion, she tapped the page with her pen. “Sign here, here, and initial the bottom.” Casting a glance at Kip, she added, “Both of you.”
Kip’s hand froze above the page, her pulse thudding in her ears. Trace was already scribbling his name in black ink, the same bold strokes he used on cattle brands. She looked up at him, mouth open, but nothing came out. Shock pinned her tongue to the roof of her mouth. Was he crazy?
He nudged the pen toward her fingers. “Kip.”
Wait. What was happening? She must be missing something because it seemed like he wanted her to sign a piece of paper that would let them get married. Like, “happily ever after, till death do us part” kind of married.
She tried again. “Um…Daddy—”
He spoke as if it were no big deal. “This is just a document that allows us to get married, Foxy. I want us to have it while we talk.”
Talk? He wanted them to talk? About marriage? Her traitorous heart fluttered with excitement at the thought of marrying Trace.
Stupid heart.
That didn’t happen, right? People didn’t just have the word MURDERER carved into the side of their truck and then go out and get married, right? She’d never seen that scenario on the Romance-R-Us website.
Come on, you’d love being married to Trace. He's not going to force you down the aisle kicking and screaming.
She sighed, then signed.
Marlene took the form, stamped it twice, then handed Trace the official license folded in thirds. Thirty dollars and four minutes later, they were legally free to marry in Wyoming.
Trace took her hand again, and Kip found herself back in the hallway. Planting her feet, she crossed her arms and demanded, “What in the heck was that?”
Grabbing her hand, this time tighter, Trace started walking. Again. “Exactly what it looked like.”
“But… but, you didn’t ask me. You just—did it.”
He stopped in front of a door marked “Judge Everett Langford. Knocked twice.”
Judge Langford opened the door himself, tall and thin, with slicked-back hair just starting to silver at the temples. His eyes shifted from Trace to Kip and back, amused.
“Afternoon, Trace.” He cast a knowing glance toward Kip. “Is this the emergency you texted me about?”
Trace stiffened at her side. It took a moment for Kip to realize why.
How sad was it that, after six years on the run, taking jobs wherever she could find them, she didn’t even notice when men insulted her.
“I’ll thank you to keep a civil tone when you're around my Little girl, Rhett. I need you at the ranch at four o’clock. I have a wedding for you to officiate.”
Rhett chuckled. “I figured gettin’ those half-bison every Christmas would come back around eventually. Four o’clock’s fine. I’ll bring the book.”
Kip narrowed her eyes. This man was a complete jerk. She would never want to be in his court, and she didn’t want him anywhere near her wedding — and now she was talking about this wedding like it was her idea.
Trace touched the brim of his hat. “Much obliged.” When they reached the door, Trace turned back to the judge.
“Oh, and Rhett, I know we went to school together, and you can say whatever you want about my family or me. But if you ever talk to or about Kip like that again, I’ll make sure you can’t even get elected as county dog catcher. Am I clear?”
Judge Langford’s face paled. “Crystal clear, Trace. I didn’t mean any harm. Ma’am, I’ll see you at four, and I apologize.”
Kip gave him the fakest smile she could manage. Power turned some people into Superman, and others into Lex Luther.
When they were back in the hall, Trace muttered, “Jackass.” He stopped Kip in the hall, turned her to face him, and cupped her face. “If I’d known he was going to act that way, we’d have seen another judge. I’m sorry I put you in that situation. It won’t happen again, I guarantee it.”
Had any man ever stood up for her like that? She had fought her own battles and those of everyone around her since she was a child. He made her feel special and valued. He made her feel loved. “Thank you, Daddy.”
Kip had kept herself in check as long as she could. Halfway to the truck, she exploded. “Daddy, you can’t just decide we’re getting married without me! I think we should at least talk about it.”
Trace opened her door, expression flat. “Let’s get you in the truck. We’ll talk on the way home.”
“I’m not some stray you have to sacrifice yourself to protect,” she said.
“Careful, Foxy. I can still bust your tail for putting yourself down. And I never said you were some stray.”
“Marrying me won’t even fix things. Do you actually think a piece of paper will stop Rios from coming after me?
You think you know who they are, but you don’t.
Not really. You think your family’s influence in Wilder is huge, and it is.
I love your family almost as much as I love you.
But the Rios family has sway over the entire state of Wyoming. ”
“Do you want me to tell you what I think, Foxy? I think if something happens to me tomorrow, I want you to know you’ll be taken care of.
I think I want the sheriff to have a legal reason to care if somebody drags you off.
I think I want the doctors and hospital to have a legal reason to talk to me if you’re hurt.
I think I want to sleep knowing nobody can take you away without committing a half-dozen felonies and penetrating the best security money can buy.
I want you safe, little fox. And I want you to be with me for the rest of our lives. ”
What was she supposed to say t that? It was everything she wanted and more. Could it really be that simple? Wasn’t she supposed to have a choice? But she did have a choice. If she told him she didn’t want to go through with this, he would call it off. She knew it to the bottom of her soul.
She gazed out the window at the vast white horizon. “Daddy, is there a difference between love and insurance?”
He was quiet so long she thought he wouldn’t answer. When he did, his voice was low. “Maybe, but it doesn’t matter.”
She wanted to scream that, of course it mattered. Instead, she asked, “Why?”
The look in his eyes took her breath away. It was tender and warm, yet it terrified her.
“Come here, Foxy.” When he held out his arms to her, she moved without hesitation. She needed to touch him. To be touched by him. “The reason the difference between love and insurance doesn’t matter is because I’m giving you both.”
She had no doubt he thought that he believed every word he said.
But she had lived on the flip side of that coin.
She married someone she loved. But then everything changed, and after running for six years, she eventually regretted the commitment she had made.
It probably made her a horrible person, but it was honest. And she would never want her Daddy to be in that position because of her.
They drove through the Wild River gate in silence and rolled down the long gravel drive. The ranch house sat solid against the snowcapped mountains, smoke curling from three chimneys, lights shimmering from every eave, and each window glowing.
Trace killed the engine. “I’m telling the family. We can talk about it inside where it’s warm.” He was out of his door before she could answer, opening her door and carrying her inside.