“So freaking happy,” I muttered, though my chest tightened with every passing minute. My heart felt like it was dragging me forward, restless, anxious, begging for him.
A sudden burst of laughter carried across the grass, and then Ivy came running, her purple cast wrapped in lace to match her flower girl dress. She was radiant, curls bouncing,cheeks pink, the tiny ring glinting on her finger like she’d been waiting her whole life to wear it.
“Daddy!” she squealed, skidding to a stop and holding her skirt out for me to see. “Is my dress pwetty?”
My throat closed up. “Beautiful.” I bent down and straightened the hem. “You look like a princess.”
She blinked up at me. “Where’s other Daddy? I need to show him my dress.”
“On his way,” I promised, praying the words didn’t crack. “He’ll be here soon.”
“Going to find Nana!” She smiled, satisfied, and darted off in Mom’s direction.
A crunch of footsteps announced Rowan, who looked immaculate in a tailored cream halter waistcoat that nipped smartly at the waist, paired with wide-legged trousers that skimmed the floor. The ensemble was sharp yet fluid, equal parts runway and wedding chic. Gold hoops gleamed at his ears, and a delicate chain caught the light at his throat, the whole look pulling together with that effortless flair that always made Rowan appear as though he’d stepped out of a glossy magazine spread.
“The groom is ready,” he declared, voice rising with enough drama to make half the guests chuckle. “Places, everyone. Time to make magic happen.”
The land stretched wide around us, the place I had chosen to build our home. The view swept over the valley, the late sun turning the fields gold, the mountains standing steady and silent at our backs. Wildflowers dotted the edges where Cameron had tucked blooms into hand-tied bundles, simple but perfect. A wooden arch, rough-hewn and strung with greenery, framed the spot where we would say our vows.
Our circle was small. Dad and Ozzie. Mom, regal asalways. Cameron, arms folded, watching his flowers with sharp eyes. Pastor Spencer, who we’d ended up choosing to officiate after Cameron vouched for him. Gertie, beaming like the mother of the groom. And, hurrying last minute with feathers in tow, Opie and Lawson.
The music—fiddle and guitar—strummed softly, and the procession began. Ivy stepped carefully, scattering petals from her little basket, her cast no hindrance to her pride. My chest ached watching her, my girl, my daughter, a gift from Hudson, doing this for us.
Then came the hen. Ms. Cluck strutted forward with a little ribbon tied to her leg, wings twitching nervously. For one blessed second, it looked like she might actually pull it off.
“Ms. Cluuuuck!” Ivy shrieked, eyes going wide. She dropped her basket and bolted straight down the aisle toward the hen.
The hen squawked in panic, flapping and darting away from her. Chaos erupted, guests trying not to laugh, Rowan muttering murderous things under his breath, Ivy chasing our failed experiment like a determined shepherd.
“A little humor in the day isn’t such a bad thing,” Dad said as Opie scooped up the bird as if it were a part of the act. With a sheepish grin, he walked her down the rest of the way, leading Ivy with his other hand.
“Sorry,” he whispered as he passed me. “But technically, it’s your girl’s fault.”
I didn’t respond. Couldn’t.
Because Hudson was there.
Walking toward me, each step steady, certain, like nothing in the world could pull him off course. I was struck by how handsome he was. He already knew how seeing himin a Stetson and dusty jeans got me all hot and bothered, but this polished version stole my breath.
My chest seized, and my vision blurred.
Dad’s hand appeared in front of me, pressing a handkerchief into my palm without a word.
“Thanks,” I mumbled and dabbed at my eyes.
Hudson reached me at last, his boots steady against the packed earth. He stopped in front of me, his eyes scanning my face like he was making sure I hadn’t fallen apart while waiting.
“Sorry, I had to make you wait,” he whispered, reaching for my hand. “I’ll explain later.”
I swallowed hard and nodded, clutching the handkerchief Dad had slipped me. “It’s okay. I’m happy to wait for you anytime.”
And I meant it.
Pastor Spencer stepped forward, his tone calm but carrying. “Family, friends, we are gathered here not just to witness the vows of Hudson and Matty, but to join with them in the place where they will root their lives together. This land”—he gestured around us at the valley, the wildflowers edging the field, the mountains standing watch—“will not only be the ground they walk today, but the ground where their love will grow, where they’ll build their home and family.”
I squeezed Hudson’s hand tighter, blinking fast as the words sank in. Pastor Spencer beckoned, and Cameron stepped forward with a small, hand-carved wooden box tied with ribbon. “Before the vows, they’ve chosen a simple act of grounding—literally. A keepsake to remind them where this family began.”
Hudson went first. He kneeled, pressing his fingers intothe soft earth. He trembled as he lifted a handful, cradling it like something fragile before letting it fall into the box.
