9. Epilogue Holden
EPILOGUE: HOLDEN
One Year Later
I’m standing at the altar.
Well, technically, it’s the front of the barn. But it’s draped in white linen and overflowing with more flowers than I’ve ever seen in one place. So for me, it may as well be a cathedral. There’s no place more sacred than the ranch, and nowhere else I would’ve wanted to do this.
Now I’m trying not to fidget with my tie while half of Texas watches me sweat through this moment.
A year ago, if someone had told me I’d be getting married out here in front of two hundred people, I’d have laughed them off the ranch.
As Pa would say, I’m nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs.
But I’m also steady, because today Ms. Zara Platt becomes Mrs. Zara Kingridge.
And that still feels completely surreal.
The woman could’ve had a wedding anywhere…
and I do mean anywhere. Tuscany. Malibu.
The rooftop of some glittering New York hotel with chandeliers and champagne fountains.
She could’ve booked the Four Seasons and flown in a celebrity guest list so rich in blue checks it would’ve crashed the algorithm.
I’ve seen the pictures on her phone. I’ve seen the life she left behind.
Hell, Taylor Swift once commented on her Insta. That’s not normal.
But Zara didn’t choose any of that.
She chose simple and real. She chose me . She chose this dusty, imperfect, beautiful place full of stubborn men and wild animals with terrible names. So as the sun sets low over the fields in the distance, all I feel is gratitude.
The music starts. It’s an acoustic version of a song I don’t recognize, but I’m pretty sure it’s got a million streams. Everyone stands, but I can’t see a thing beyond the end of the aisle.
And then I do.
There she is, and holy hell, she’s beautiful.
The dress isn’t simple… not even close. It’s a masterpiece of delicate beading that catches the afternoon light like a thousand tiny stars. The skirt that trails behind her is like something out of a dream. But it’s not the dress that floors me. It’s her.
Zara, smiling at me like I’m the only man in the world. Her dark hair is tucked back in soft waves. Her eyes locked on mine. She looks like herself. No filters, no facade, a whole lot of sparkle. It’s just Zara, and it makes my heart skip a beat.
Tucked into her bouquet is a sprig of wildflowers.
I don’t know much about flowers, but these were picked here at the ranch.
There’s no doubt about it. You’d barely notice it unless you knew to look, but I’d recognize them anywhere.
Seeing them clutched in her hands somehow fits.
I can’t for the life of me figure out how I got so damn lucky.
Zara reaches the altar, and her smile wrecks me. It’s not the curated, camera-ready version of her I first saw on her social media feed. It’s soft. Real. Radiant.
From there, time speeds up and it’s a blur.
One moment, we’re locking fingers. Next, we’re repeating vows and promising forever.
I promise to dedicate my life to taking care of every version of her.
The pretty, the polished, and the especially messy.
Even as I say the words, I know full well that a lifetime with her won’t be enough. Not even close.
When Pa says I can kiss my bride, I don’t waste a second. I cup her face, tilt her mouth to mine, and kiss her like I’ve been waiting my whole life for this moment… because I have.
The crowd erupts into cheers. Someone sets off an early firework. But all I hear is her laugh against my lips. It’s bubbling with pure, unfiltered joy.
The reception is everything Zara dreamed of and nothing like anyone expected.
There was no ballroom. No signature cocktails or crystal chandeliers, no celebrity guests.
It was just a standard barn strung with lights, fresh flowers in vintage vases, a local band playing country classics, and enough food to feed a battalion.
The whole family is here and a whole lot of friends who have become family too. Zara’s parents came in high spirits and even higher cowboy boots. Patty June made the cake herself. It’s a three-tiered masterpiece topped with sugar-dusted berries and fresh cream.
The day is perfect for us. Zara is perfect for me.
I watch her work the room like she’s known these people all her life.
She laughs with Brynn Rose and Priya. She hugs Cassidy and pats Hunkleberry on the head as he wags his tail.
Every time she passes me, Zara reaches out.
Her fingers brush my back. She saves me a wink or a smile… I swear I’ve never felt more seen.
The best part is, none of this is for show. Zara made only one post earlier. It is a single photo of our hands. Our wedding bands caught the light.
The caption reads… Home.
Who’s ready to meet the final piece of this Kingridge puzzle? There’s a cowboy Christmas coming to the ranch and Eliza’s coming with it . Pa’s secret daughter is ready to make things merry and bright at a party that will lead to a night that’s anything but silent…