“See, it wasn’t a crazy idea,” Wyatt said to RJ a moment before he joined Tate and Hardwin at the altar.
Maybe not crazy at all.
After all, when the Montana Marshalls did something, they did it in a go-big or go-home way.
It was nice of the hospital to allow them the use of the chapel. And their chaplain, Scott Faris, who stood at the front, beaming as one by one the brides walked down the aisle.
Glo wore her fancy, frilly short dress, freshly cleaned, with her sparkly white cowboy boots and a vintage hat with a short veil, no fear in her eyes as she grinned at her groom.
Tate wore a blue suit, his cowboy boots, and the expression of a man who wasn’t looking over his shoulder. Somehow, with the capture of Crowley, he’d been able to exhale. He leaned on a crutch, his knee still on the mend from where the bullet nicked it. He was counting scars with York these days, but he wasn’t stepping down from his role as head of Glo’s security.
Swamp and Rags might look like ushers, but RJ knew they carried weapons under their suits, despite hospital rules.
Coco went next, dressed in a simple white silk gown, V-necked, with a cutout back. No frills, her freshly dyed red hair a dramatic statement as she held Mikka’s hand, her eyes on Wyatt. Oh, the man cleaned up well—no wonder he landed on the cover of magazines. Tousled brown hair and a broken nose only added to his tough mystique. He wore a pair of gray trousers, a white shirt, and a vest that only accentuated his athletic goalie shoulders. RJ had somehow talked Coco into a pair of heels, but she still appeared so petite next to him. The beauty and the beast.
“Are you ready, Ma?” RJ asked, squeezing her mother’s hand. Her mother sat in a wheelchair but now took a breath and stood up.
“Completely,” she said.
RJ had woven orange cone flowers into her mother’s fluffy hair, and her mother had picked out a dress online, a simple A-line, knee-length dress with ruching under the bodice and lace on the long arms. “To hide these stupid IV bruises,” she’d said, although RJ knew that Hardwin wouldn’t care. Her mother could wear a pair of her dirty work jeans and an old flannel shirt and walk down the aisle barefoot as long as she said I do.
For his part, Hardwin had said I do, at least silently, through his actions the moment the family arrived back at the hospital.
He’d asked their mother to marry him again. And this time, she wanted her family’s blessing before she said yes.
A resounding hello, and yee-haw yes because Gerri was done with wondering if marrying Hardwin would make her less.
Because anyone could see that Hardwin thought she hung the moon and stars and would only give her the world. With Hardwin, she was more.
Just like RJ was more with York.
More creative. More courageous. More…herself.
Somehow just knowing he was in the room to catch her made her believe in herself…more.
Reuben came up to stand beside her, offering his arm. He looked completely resplendent in a pair of dress pants and a black suit coat, the right man to lead their mother down the aisle into the next season of her life.
Gerri took his arm, leaning on it. “I’m so glad you’re back, Rube. The ranch couldn’t be in safer hands.”
RJ thought she spotted a glistening in his eyes.
“Off you go, Ma,” she said and kissed her mother’s cheek as Reuben started them down the short aisle.
She felt York reach for her hand and slipped her fingers through his.
Oh, the man cleaned up well, yet another version of his amazing persona. He wore a blue suit and tie and had gotten a haircut—a high and tight, just like when she’d first met him. It only made his blue eyes devastating, especially when he turned them on her and smiled. “You okay?”
She could turn into a puddle right here. “Perfect.”
Right now, at least.
The last week, however, as she’d watched her mother in pain and slowly come back to herself…
York led her into the chapel just as the chaplain began the opening remarks. They took their seats on the groom’s side.
She still couldn’t believe that she hadn’t figured out Crowley’s involvement. And the moment York went over the edge with Gustov still made her shudder, awaken in a cold sweat.
And the information Coco had quietly dug up about Imagine, Inc. still hung under RJ’s skin. Namely the educational grants Imagine had given to humanitarian aid organizations in Chechnya. But maybe it was all just coincidence.
Looking at Senator Jackson now, sitting in the front row, bride’s side, it seemed a little far-fetched to think she might helm an international conspiracy to reignite the Cold War. She wore a red pantsuit, on her way to yet another speech in California, her jet waiting at the Helena airport.
Apparently, she was less than thrilled to have to touch down between stump speeches to attend Glo’s wedding again. But with the election one week away, no one blamed her, really.
Glo had agreed to a fancy reception in a few weeks, after the dust had settled.
The chaplain was on to the vows. First Glo’s and Tate’s, written a week ago. Then Coco’s and Wyatt’s, written last night, probably on the back of his airplane ticket as he traveled home from a game. And then Gerri’s and Hardwin’s, the traditional vows that included to love, honor, and obey.
Obey. She glanced at York. She might consider obeying a man who would give his life for her.
Not only that, but York had stood up to her brothers, refused to leave her, and had helped her forgive herself for calling Crowley to tell him about their trip to Vegas and their whereabouts in Montana, which had inadvertently put them in danger.
Apparently, she was very, very good at that game.
But she wasn’t going to do it anymore. She had enough with her conspiracy theories and grandiose ideas of treason.
“You can exchange rings.”
Kelsey and Knox sat in the pew behind the senator, beside Dixie and Elijah Blue and Cher. Reuben and Gilly across the aisle. Ford and Scarlett sat behind them.
Hardwin’s daughter had driven down from Kalispell with her husband, but they were driving back later today.
And then it would be over.
RJ hadn’t a clue what would happen next.
Back to DC?
And what about York?
Lasagna.
Oh, she wanted that life with him. But she couldn’t deny the stir inside that this wasn’t done.
Stop. No more conspiracy theories.
“You may kiss your brides.”
She looked at York, and he grinned and even though they weren’t at the altar, he leaned down and kissed her. Oh, he tasted good, and he smelled of his aftershave…and she could get lost in his kiss forever.
So maybe it didn’t matter where they lived.
Hardwin gently lifted her mother into his arms to carry her up the aisle. Her mother laughed, a quiet, soft breath. In it, RJ heard her words. See, sometimes we get so wrapped up in what we think we need to do to make something happen, we forget that God is actually the one orchestrating it all.
Yes, God. You know the ending.
I trust You for it.
Tari, the chaplain’s wife, had ordered cupcakes and some lemonade for them, setting up a tiny reception in a staff room. Gerri sat in her wheelchair, holding Hardwin’s hand. Wyatt was sitting with Mikka, peeling the paper off a cupcake. And Glo and Tate were saying goodbye to her mother, about to leave with her security team.