She had to experience it, their pride and admiration and gratitude.
Hell if it isn’t on full display when our wedding day comes.
The entire town joins us on the outskirts, turning the old Ursa ghost town at the edge of Holt and Libby’s property into a spectacle for the ages.
We’re talking old-timey buildings festooned with flowers that came from—I don’t even know where, considering it’s nippy as hell and all the local plants have wilted. Ms. Wilma has a magic touch when it comes to plants, that’s for damned sure.
We’re deep into autumn, right on winter’s edge, with everybody feeling a little more festive each passing day.
Even so, everything from the old medic’s shack to the farrier’s place to the dashing wild western saloon breathes with green, covered in white lilies and baby’s breath. The air itself swirls with their bright scent, streamers of white and yellow ribbons everywhere, fluttering in the chill breeze.
It’s an unforgettable sight, so striking I puff my chest out in pride.
The saloon was the only building big enough to hold everyone.
I should know, remembering how I helped Holt with the restoration and renovated it into a tourist destination. Most of the folks are packed inside, including a few of the gossip girls who were once rattlesnakes in their whispers about Fliss.
They’re decked out to the nines in pretty dresses and standing by, watching with envious eyes.
Believe me, they begged mighty hard to get invites. I kept questioning whether or not it was wise, but Felicity showed she was the bigger woman once and for all by letting ’em come.
I haven’t gotten a chance to see the blushing bride yet—she’s still got a lick of superstition about bad luck, being a black cat, and wouldn’t dare break that old tradition where a man can’t lay his eyes on his bride before the wedding—but I can imagine I’ll have stars in my eyes when it finally happens.
I’m in a small room off the bar, letting Holt fuss with my tie.
“Quit squirming, or you’ll catch yourself on something and bust right out of that suit!” he orders.
Outside I can hear the restless, merry chatter. Everyone’s getting amped up and excited.
I almost feel like without Morgan Randall here to give Felicity away, the whole town’s stepped up to stand in for him. Every last one of them tells me without words that I—newcomer that I am—had better be good enough for their girl.
I’m gonna try.
I’m gonna try my damnedest.
Because I know in my heart there’s no one in this world who’ll ever be better for me than the coffee girl with those bewildering blue-violet gems for eyes.
“Hey.” Holt settles my tie, then adjusts the shoulders of my trim black waistcoat with a little jerk. Best we could manage, ’cause there wasn’t a tux shop for three states around that carried my size jacket. “Calm down. You’ve done this once before, haven’t you?”
“First weddings aren’t a practice run for number two,” I mutter. My heart’s hoofing it like a dozen racehorses, my palms sweaty. “I was young and dumb the first time around. Clueless, really. This time, with Fliss, I’m going in with eyes wide open. I’m scared as hell I’m gonna fuck it up again, Holt.”
“Far as I know, you didn’t have much fault in that whole mess, yeah?” He looks at me with those glowing gold eyes.
“Yeah. Plenty of mistakes to go around, but damn if I didn’t try to make impossible work till I couldn’t,” I say.
“Exactly. Do that again with the right girl this time. You risk fucking it up, you fight your battles, and you always kiss and make up after.” Holt folds his arms over his chest, looking at me with unexpected gravity when he usually looks a second away from telling a dirty joke. “You think Libby and I don’t still fight like the dickens?”
I blink at him and let a slow smile turn up my lips.
“Holt, fighting was what got you two together.”
“That’s a fair point.” He smirks. “Still, we get in some knock-down-drag-outs sometimes. Not because that’s who we are, but because we’re human. Sometimes someone’s gonna be careless or forgetful, or they’ll say something the wrong way, or maybe they won’t understand something like the other person means it. Feelings get hurt, egos bruised, trying to talk about it goes wrong, and next thing you know you’re yelling and storming off to your separate corners to lick your wounds, wishing down hellfire on each other’s heads.”
I grimace. “This doesn’t sound like much of a pep talk.”
“It is, if you let me finish.” He punches my arm lightly. “Look, you can’t expect two people to spend their whole lives together and never have any friction. It’s not realistic, Alaska. What matters is what you do about it, each and every time. Me and Libby, we choose to love each other no matter the weather, storms or sunshine. We give each other time to cool off, we back off before we cut too deep, and then we come to the table as equals and remind each other we’re always on the same side. We try to never be afraid to say we’re sorry. That’s more important than striving for perfection. Perfect ain’t possible. Choosing each other every time things go a little sideways? That is.” He grins, wide and encouraging and surprisingly down to earth. “Our Miss Felicity chose you once. Somehow, I don’t think it’s gonna be that hard to get her to choose you again and again, no matter what happens after today.”
“And remember, Dad,” Eli pipes up from where he’s standing behind Holt, fidgeting with the box holding my cufflinks. “If you mess up with Fel, I’m gonna be real mad at you. So you’ve gotta make it right.”
I roll my eyes, then catch him by the back of the neck and drag him over to rough up the hair on the top of his head.
“You think you’re in charge of your old man around here, huh? Grown-up enough to hand out love advice because you keep sending love letters to a certain little someone in Seattle?”
“Hey, no!” Laughing, he bats at me, turning beet red. Then he darts a shy glance toward the door, where I catch a glimpse of a ruffled skirt. Yep, there’s a certain someone in the bridal half of the wedding party. “Dad! Cut it out! Not in front of Tara,” he whispers.
“Hmph, it is my wedding day, so I’ll let you have your dignity. Still leaving your hair a mess, though, polecat.” I ruffle his hair into a fluffy black thatch again, then thrust my wrists out. “Go ahead. Cuff me.”
Eli rolls his eyes and groans before dutifully slipping my gold cufflinks into the buttonholes of my shirt. He fastens them neatly and beams up at me.
“Mr. Holt’s right, Dad. It’s gonna be okay. Just sayin’.”
Well.
If Elijah thinks so, I’ve got to believe it, don’t I?
Gray Caldwell—Doc—sticks his head inside with a gentle knock, letting us know it’s almost time.
“Gentlemen, if you please,” he says, waving his arm with a dramatic flourish.
Here we go.
I lift my head as the sound of the slow wedding march starts, warming up the crowd and telling everyone it’s time.
Straightening up while Holt smiles on, I suck in the same kind of deep breath I’d take before diving and demo ops.