Chapter 25 Where the Fences End
Where the Fences End
Maren
* * *
The morning of our vow renewal dawns cold and clear, the kind of December day that makes Wyoming look like a postcard.
I stand at the bedroom window watching the sun turn the snow-covered mountains pink and gold, and I let myself feel the flutter of nerves in my stomach without trying to talk myself out of it.
"You're up early." Jackson's voice is rough with sleep, and I hear the rustle of blankets as he sits up. "Everything okay?"
"Everything's perfect." I turn from the window and take in the sight of him, rumpled and warm in our bed, squinting against the morning light. "I just wanted to watch the sunrise."
He holds out his hand. "Come watch it from here. It's cold by the window."
I crawl back into bed and let him pull me against his chest, both of us facing the window now. The sky shifts from pink to gold to pale winter blue, and we watch it in comfortable silence, his heartbeat steady under my ear.
His fingers pause over mine when I start worrying the edge of the blanket. "Nervous?"
"A little." I trace a pattern on his chest. "Not about us. About the ceremony. Standing up in front of people, saying real things out loud."
His arm loosens enough for me to turn and see his face. He means it. "We can still cancel. Call everyone, tell them we changed our minds."
"Don't you dare." I pinch his side and he yelps. "Your mother would never forgive either of us. She's been planning the reception menu since we asked her."
"She's also been practicing her officiant speech in front of the bathroom mirror. Jake told me." Jackson catches my hand before I can pinch him again. "He says she's added hand gestures."
I cover my face with the edge of the blanket. "Oh god."
"Dramatic pauses, too." He's grinning now, that crooked smile that still makes my heart flip after seven years. "Apparently there's a bit about the nature of commitment that involves her pointing at both of us individually."
I lower the blanket and point at him before he can demonstrate. "Your mother is a menace."
"My mother is thrilled that her son didn't completely destroy his marriage." He kisses my forehead. "Let her have her hand gestures."
I laugh against his chest. How am I supposed to keep a straight face when his mother starts pointing at us? Jackson kisses the top of my head, entirely too pleased with himself.
The morning passes in a blur of preparation.
Helen arrives early to help with my hair, pinning it up in a loose twist that makes me look elegant without trying too hard.
Delilah stops by with a garment bag and a box of pastries from the bakery in town, and she tears up twice before she's even finished her coffee.
"I promised myself I wouldn't cry until the ceremony," she says, dabbing at her eyes with a napkin. "Jake made me swear."
I take the napkin from her before she can dab at my perfectly dry eyes too. "Where is Jake?"
"Helping Jackson with the porch setup." She waves toward the window. "They've been out there since seven, hanging those clear panels and making sure the heaters are positioned right. You'd think they were preparing for a presidential visit."
"They're preparing for thirty guests who don't want to freeze." I accept a pastry and bite into flaky layers of butter and sugar. "I appreciate the effort."
"You should see what they've done with the lights." Delilah's face softens. "It looks beautiful, honey. Like something out of a dream."
I catch her hand and squeeze it. "Thank you. For everything. For being here, for doing the ceremony, for all of it."
"There's nowhere else I'd be." She squeezes back. "Now finish getting ready. You have a husband to remarry."
The dress I chose is simple. Cream-colored wool, long sleeves, a neckline that shows off the opal pendant without competing with it.
I add the earrings Jackson gave me for our anniversary, the opals catching the light when I turn my head, and I look at myself in the mirror and see someone who looks exactly like herself.
Helen appears behind me. "Ready?"
"Almost." I touch the pendant at my throat. "Can you hand me the letter? It's in my jewelry box."
She finds it and passes it over without comment. The paper is soft with handling, the creases worn familiar, and I don't need to read it again. I know every word. But I fold it carefully and tuck it into my pocket anyway, a reminder of how far we've come.
"Okay." I take a breath. "Now I'm ready."
The porch takes my breath away.
Jackson and Jake have transformed it into something magical, clear weather panels enclosing the space and creating an intimate room with a view of the winter sky through the clear panels.
Heaters glow in the corners, keeping the temperature comfortable despite the December chill.
Fairy lights wind around the posts and drape across the ceiling in loops that catch the afternoon sun.
White chairs arranged in a small curve. Friends and family, maybe thirty people, turning to look at me as I step outside.
And Jackson, standing at the far end in a dark suit with a bolo tie, watching me with an expression that makes my throat tight.
He's wearing the orange boots. The ridiculous, perfect, fifteen-thousand-dollar-dance orange boots that started everything, paired with his good suit like it's the most natural combination in the world.
I laugh, and the sound carries across the enclosed space, and I see his answering grin before I start walking toward him.
The aisle is short. My steps are steady. When I reach him, he takes my hands and I feel the slight tremble in his fingers, nerves that match my own. We turn together to face Delilah, who stands with her shoulders back and her eyes suspiciously bright and a small leather folder in her hands.
"Well," she says, and her voice only wobbles a little. "Here we are again."
A ripple of soft laughter moves through the guests. Jake catches my eye from the front row and winks, and I feel my nerves settle into something that feels like joy.
"Five years ago, my son married this woman on this very porch," Delilah continues.
"I stood right over there, next to the trellis, and watched them promise each other forever.
I believed them. I believed they meant every word.
" She pauses, and here come the hand gestures Jackson warned me about.
"They asked me to keep this short. Both of them.
Separately. I've decided not to be offended. "
Jackson's hands tighten around mine. I hold on just as tight.
"Maren. Jackson." Delilah looks at us, and her voice drops into something private despite the audience. "I love you both. I'm very happy to be standing here with you again."
She opens the folder. "Jackson, do you want to go first?"
He nods and takes a breath, and when he speaks, his voice is steady despite the emotion I can see in his eyes.
"Maren." He says my name like it means something.
"I married you because I loved you. I'm standing here today because I've learned what that love actually requires.
Not just showing up when it's easy. Showing up when it's hard.
Answering when you call." His jaw tightens.
"I failed you, and you gave me a chance to do better. I'm not going to waste it."
I want to kiss him. I want to tell him he's doing fine, he's already better, we're already okay. But Delilah's looking at me expectantly, and I have words of my own to say.
"Jackson." My voice comes out stronger than I expected.
"I came back because I wanted our life together.
The laughter. The arguments about your boots.
You waiting to hear how my day went." I swallow.
"You're not my whole world. But you're my favorite part of it.
And I choose to keep choosing you, every day, for as long as we've got. "
The guests are blurry through my tears. Jackson's face is blurry too, but I can see him smiling, that crooked grin I've loved since the first time he aimed it at me across a crowded gala.
Delilah makes a sound that might be a sob disguised as a cough. "By the power vested in me by absolutely nothing official but the fact that you asked me to do this," she announces, "I now pronounce you still married. Jackson, kiss your wife."
He pulls me close and kisses me, soft and sure and full of promise, and the porch erupts in cheers and applause. When we break apart, I'm laughing and crying at the same time, and so is he, and so is Delilah, and Jake is on his feet whistling like he's at a rodeo.
The reception spills into the house, warm and loud and full of people who love us.
Someone puts music on. Someone else presses a glass of champagne into my hand.
Well-wishers pull us in different directions, and I lose track of Jackson for a while, but I catch glimpses of him across the room, the orange boots visible even through the crowd, and every time our eyes meet he grins like he can't quite believe his luck.
I know the feeling.
The afternoon softens into evening. Guests start to leave, hugging us on their way out, pressing kisses to cheeks and squeezing hands. Delilah and Jake are among the last to go, and Delilah holds me for a long time before she releases me to Jackson.
"Take care of each other," she says, and it sounds like both a blessing and a warning.
Jackson keeps his hand at my back as he kisses his mother goodbye. "We will."
And then the house is quiet, and it's just the two of us standing in the living room surrounded by the remnants of celebration, candles burning low and fairy lights still twinkling through the windows.
Jackson brings my coat from the hall and holds it open for me. "I have something to show you. Put your coat on."
We walk across the property in the gathering dark, his hand warm in mine, the stars beginning to emerge overhead. The old foreman's cottage comes into view around a curve in the path, and I stop when I see the lights glowing in the windows.
I tighten my grip on his hand. I asked for a quiet night here, but those lights are new. "What did you do?"
"Made sure we'd have somewhere private." He leads me up the porch steps. "Mom helped. She kept you busy while Jake and I finished setting up."
The cottage is transformed. A fire crackles in the hearth. A bed piled with quilts dominates the main room. Candles flicker on every surface, and a bottle of wine waits on a small table beside two glasses.
I turn to face him in the firelight. "You planned this."
He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. "You asked for the cottage. I thought you'd like it warm when we got here."
I think about all the versions of us who've existed over seven years.
The nervous couple who dated for two years and still shook through their vows.
The wife who kept reaching for him and the husband who stopped noticing.
The broken pair who almost didn't make it.
The people we're becoming now, scarred but stronger, built on intention instead of assumption.
"It's perfect." I help him out of his coat and step closer. "Come here."
"I'll take it." He catches my hands and brings them to his lips. "I love you, Maren. I'm glad I get to tell you here."
"I love you too." I stretch up to kiss him, still smiling about the boots. "Now stop talking and take off those ridiculous boots."
He laughs against my mouth, and I laugh with him, and we stumble toward the bed shedding layers as we go.
The fire crackles warm behind us. The night stretches ahead, full of possibility.
When he pulls me down onto the quilts, I go willingly, joyfully, choosing this moment and every moment that comes after.
Later, I lie in the curve of his arm and watch the fire burn low. His breathing has gone slow and deep, almost asleep, but his hand still moves against my back in absent, affectionate circles.
"Hey." I prop myself up on one elbow to look at him. "Thank you. For not giving up."
His eyes flutter open. "Thank you for coming back."
"Couldn't stay away." I trace the line of his jaw. "Someone had to make sure you didn't ruin the ranch."
He opens both eyes at that, his pride apparently wide awake. "The ranch is fine."
I settle back against his chest, pleased by how easily he takes the joke. "I think it can manage without us until morning."
He pulls the quilt up over my shoulder. "Morning can wait."
The fire pops softly. Outside, the winter wind moves through the trees. I put my cold feet against his leg, and he makes a wounded noise that would be more convincing if he weren't already pulling me closer.
"You married me again. No refunds." I tuck my head beneath his chin, smiling where he can't see it.
Jackson kisses my hair and settles his arm around me. "Good. I've lost the receipt."