She didn’t know what the evening would bring. But, like the picnic on the bluff, she intended to stop her busy brain from analyzing and just enjoy it.
First, he took her to what he said was the best steakhouse in San Antonio, an elegant building boasting linen tablecloths, waiters in tuxedos, and a wonderful balcony view over the famous River Walk. He insisted she order the most expensive filet mignon on the menu and accompany it with a prime red Bordeaux blend from a wine list that boasted premier vintages from all over the world.
Just before the steak came out, a young woman appeared at their table with a wrist corsage, a delicate creation of miniature yellow roses, baby’s breath, and rosemary. “For the lady,” Duncan said, smiling at her.
“Thank you!” she said as he fastened it around her arm. “You make me feel like a princess.”
“Good. There’s more to come.”
And while they enjoyed their main course of steaks, golden roasted potatoes, and sweet new peas, a mariachi band arrived to serenade them.
Clapping for the musicians before they left to regale another customer, Harrison said, “You sure know how to celebrate!”
“A momentous occasion deserves to be made memorable. Now for a decadent dessert. Like the steak, the dessert here is the best in San Antonio.”
“Do you want to get the paperwork out of the way before dessert comes?”
He waved a hand. “We can do it later. Let’s just enjoy the music and the ambience.”
And there was much to enjoy. The twinkle of multi-colored lights outlining the shops and restaurants along the River Walk, the crowds of people strolling along the narrow sidewalks, the lighted barges of tourists and revelers that passed by every few minutes, the sound of laughter, chatting, and mariachi music.
Not wanting to break the spell by asking about anything serious—like his intentions—Harrison instead prompted Duncan to talk about what it had been like growing up on the ranch, about his Daddy and Miss Dorothy and his brothers and what all the boys had chosen to do when they grew up. By the time he finished his recitation, they’d worked their way through an enormous slice of carrot cake flanked by good strong coffee.
“Enjoying yourself, Cowgirl?” Duncan asked with what she was almost certain was tenderness in his eyes.
“Completely!”
“See? Sometimes you do like dressing up and kicking up your heels. In fact, I think you need to do some more of it.”
She groaned. “You have a honky-tonk in mind?”
“No. Something a little more private.”
Refusing to give her any further explanation, he led her out of the restaurant, down the crowded sidewalk bordering the river, and then to an embankment where several smaller boats rode at anchor. Taking her hand, he helped her step into a flat boat about half the size of the usual River Walk tour barges.
“Is this all for us?” she asked when the boat captain signaled to the first mate to shove off.
“Just for us. Thought we’d end up with a private party.”
He led her to a table and chairs in the center of the boat, where he instructed her to put down her purse and shawl. Placing his cell phone on the table, he said, “I never got that slow dance I wanted. I’ll take it now.”
She looked at him, her eyes widening. “Now? Here?”
He chuckled. “Here and now, Cowgirl.”
He punched a button on his phone. When the first chords of Thomas Rhett’s “Die a Happy Man” rang out, he pulled her into his arms.
As the boat slowly traversed the sunken waterways of the river, under bridges and past hotels, restaurants, lighted gardens, and quiet alleyways, Duncan held her close, dancing with her to a preselected playlist of some of country music’s most romantic songs.
And when the music for Randy Travis’s “Forever and Ever, Amen” began, he held her even tighter, swaying her to the music. As the song swelled to the final chorus, he leaned closer to sing the lyrics in her ear.
Magic. It was pure magic. She had no doubt now that he was falling in love with her just as he’d claimed. Whatever happened with the ranch, they would be all right.
As the last chord faded, he simply held her, his arms wrapped around her, his lips against her ear. She’d never felt so treasured. She could have stood there, wrapped in his arms in that little barge in the middle of the river forever.
But he gently pushed her away, took her hand, and led her back to the table. From a basket, he pulled out two wineglasses—and a bottle of the California red Bordeaux blend she’d told him was her favorite.
“Okay, you can have the ranch for free,” she said as he poured her a glass.
“Speaking of the ranch, maybe we can do that paperwork now. After a toast.”
As she dutifully raised her glass, he clinked with it. “To our new association.”
She still wasn’t sure what he meant by that, but for now she was content to go back to their original plan. Take it slow, let trust build, and see where the road led.
Putting down her glass, she retrieved her purse and fished out the documents.
Duncan picked them up and scanned the page. “I’m no lawyer, but it looks good. Do you have a pen?”
Harrison extracted one from her purse and gave it to him.
He took it from her and made as if to begin signing, then stopped. “Nah. I don’t think I need this after all,” he said—and tossed her pen into the river.
“What are you doing?” she said indignantly. “That was my favorite pen!”
“I’ll get you another one. All I really need is this.”
Pulling a lighter from his pocket, he clicked open the flame and touched it to the corner of the sale document. An instant later, the paper caught. While Harrison looked on, dumbfounded, Duncan turned and maneuvered the sheet until it burned to a curl of ash. He dropped that overboard too.
“I hope you didn’t spend too much on the lawyer,” he said with smile. Then, the smile fading, an intense look came over his face.
He took her hand, his fierce gaze holding hers. “Surely you know I didn’t really mean that stupid remark I made all those years ago when I was angry and hurting and lost. When I didn’t really even know you. The ranch can remain yours, Harrison. All I want is you. Your love.” Leaning down, he picked up her wrist and inhaled the fragrance of the yellow roses. “Sweet and precious and freely given.”
Awe and joy and affection expanding her chest, she said, “So you didn’t come here to get the deed. You really came . . . for me.”
“You know the line from the Robin Hood movie, Cowgirl. Of course, I came for you. I’d die for you. Do you believe me now?”
“I’ve always believed in how wonderful you are. It was me—and us—I worried about. But no longer. Parker stopped by to see me here, and just talking with him for half an hour was enough to make me realize how different you are. How different what we share is. How beautiful and special. I’d already decided to come back to Whiskey River and ask you to forgive me for doubting us and to tell you I was ready. For everything.”
His smile was tender. “Seems like we’re back on that same road together. Let’s see if we can make it all the way to the end this time.”
“I’d like that.”
“I’d love that. I love you.” Going down on one knee beside the table, he said, “Harrison Scott, will you marry me? My geeky, wine-obsessed, herd bull-petting, impossible darling? The woman I never want to be parted from again?”
Tears in her eyes, Harrison said, “Yes. Oh, yes!”
At which point, he pulled her into his arms for a long, sweet kiss that promised all the passion she could wish for all the years of her life.
When he broke the kiss, the boat captain tooted the boat whistle, while he, the first mate, and the people milling on the sidewalk beside the river cheered.
Feeling her cheeks heat, Harrison said, “I think we’re providing a spectacle.”
“Let ’em look.”
At that moment, a burst of firewor
ks exploded in the distance over in the direction of the Alamo Dome.
Laughing with sheer joy, Harrison said, “Did you order that too?”
“No, but it’s perfect. A perfect end to a perfect evening. As you’ll be the perfect complement to the rest of my life. Better pick up your purse and shawl. We’re about at the end of the cruise.”
“Shall we go back to my hotel?” she asked . . . hoping he understood that she wouldn’t want him to leave.
“Yes. Let’s pack up your things and go home to Whiskey River.”
“Tonight?”
“Why not? It’s only an hour drive. We can pick up your car when you bring the paperwork back to the city for your new boss. I want to hold you in my arms under a Hill Country sky spangled with stars and bay at the moon so the whole county knows how happy I am that you’ll be mine.”
Harrison tucked her hand in his arm. “Why are we still on this boat then? Will you stay with me when we get home?”
“Forever, Cowgirl. Once I bring you home, I’ll stay with you and love you forever and ever, amen.”
*
Three weeks later, Duncan stood beside his brothers on the high plateau at the Scott Ranch under the old-growth cedar and live oaks. Where he and his brothers had once made their campfires, an arbor of flowers had been erected. And in a very few minutes, he and Harrison would stand there before the preacher and recite the ancient words of the wedding service that would make them man and wife.
“Didn’t I tell you?” Brice said to Grant, Duncan’s middle brother.
“Tell him what?” Duncan asked.
“That you were going to marry that girl.”
“He surely did,” Grant confirmed.
“When?” Duncan demanded.
“I called him right after I met you for chili that day at the ranch,” Brice said. “Told him you were a goner and he’d better prepare himself for having a new sister.”
“He did?” Duncan asked Grant incredulously.
“He did, big brother. See, you’re not the only one who knows things. Even though, growing up, you tried to make us think you were the only one who got it.”
Brice gave an elaborate sigh. “I hope the poor girl knows what she’s getting herself into. He’ll have her out hauling hay, chasing cows, and mending fences every day of her life.”
“And I’ll love every minute.”
Duncan whirled around to see Harrison smiling at him, and caught his breath. For their wedding, she’d chosen a simple long flowing white cotton dress that accentuated her curves, and a wreath of yellow roses for her hair.
While he tried to get his tongue unstuck from the top of his mouth, Brice said, “You look stunning. Are you sure you want to throw yourself away on our workaholic brother?”
“I might be able to work a little less if I could convince my lazy brother Grant to come back and help us run the ranch. We’re going to need more help now that we’ll be combining both spreads permanently. What do you say, Grant?”
“I shouldn’t deny you anything on your wedding day . . . so let me think about it.”
“Before the ceremony, I wanted to thank all of you,” Harrison said. “Duncan told me how special this high plateau is to all of you. How much a part of your growing up you spent here together. I feel . . . honored that you agreed to let us be married here.”
“Of course we agreed,” Brice said. “You’re family now. Besides, last time I checked, you own the land.”
“We’ll both own it now. And it’s all going to be Triple A land again.”
“That will fulfill Duncan’s dream, for sure,” Grant said.
“No,” Duncan said, shaking his head at his brother. “She fulfills my dream.”
“I see the preacher’s arrived. Ready to make it official?” Grant asked.
Duncan held out his arm. “Shall we go, Cowgirl?”
“I’m ready.”
“Good,” he said as he walked her toward the arbor, nodding to the fellow ranchers and friends who sat on chairs around the circle, ready to witness the event. “I can’t wait to take my bride home. So we can give each other everything.”
Feeling he had come home at last with the person who made him complete, he placed a kiss on her cheek and led her up to the preacher.
The End
See Grant’s story in The Cowboy – Buy now!
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The Cowboy
Julia Justiss
Book 2 in the McAllister Brother series
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As dawn sun painted a rosy stripe along the eastern horizon, Grant McAllister kicked the banked embers of last night’s campfire back to glimmering life. Patiently feeding in bits of dried grass and tinder under the crisscross tower of oak branches he’d constructed over the coals, he watched until the wood smoldered and caught, then stepped aside to fetch the grill that fit over the fire’s framework. Adding water to the battered-tin coffeepot, he placed it on the grill to heat for the morning’s first cup.
Once all was in readiness for coffee and the bacon and eggs he’d cook when his brother Brice arrived, he sat back on one of the wooden stumps that served as stools. With the nearest town miles away and this high ridge reached by isolated ranch roads, only the chatter of birds and the lowing of cattle in the nearby fields broke the silence. Grant closed his eyes, letting the beauty and stillness of the early June morning flood his soul.
His mind filled with images of campfires past. Many built here, on this high plateau sheltered by old-growth cedar and live oaks, where he and brothers, Duncan and Brice, had camped innumerable times while growing up. Later, in dusty bivouacs thousands of miles away, surrounded by his fellow Recon Marines, brothers in all but blood, drinking coffee made on their Jetboils, sharing tall tales and goodies from home.
It had taken a long time to reconcile himself to the anguish and loss, but after eight years in the service and two more living in a high-rise San Antonio condo, working with an organization that matched veterans with jobs, he was back in Whiskey River. The itchy feet that had compelled him to leave right after high school, carried him to various Marine bases across the US and to rocky battlefields halfway around the world, had finally led him home. To McAllister land and the Triple A ranch.
When injuries had forced him out of an active role in the Corps, working with vets had been a way to hang on to some involvement in military life. After spending two years in that role, when Duncan had asked for Grant’s help, he’d decided he might at last be ready to close the book on that phase of his life.
The decision to come back felt right.
The sound of scrabbling rocks and the growl of a distant engine had him opening his eyes. Must be Brice driving up. Better get the coffee going.
By the time his brother’s SUV rounded the last curve and drove across the flat plateau toward his campsite, he was pouring boiling water into the French press, filling the morning air with the rich smell of dark-roast coffee.
He heard the engine die and the slam of car doors—two car doors. Looking up in surprise, he saw his older brother, Duncan, walking toward the fire with Brice.
“Good thing you made a whole press full,” Duncan said as he came over to grasp Grant’s hand and give him their traditional one-armed hug. “I’m thirsty.”
“What’s the bridegroom doing up here?” Grant asked. “Surely Harrison hasn’t thrown you out yet.”
“She’s up early working on the breeding books, then plans to head into town. She’s been doing some tax work for Reba’s Java and Mel Gardiner’s bookstore, and wanted to get them the paperwork to sign before the June fifteenth deadline. So she sent me out for some ‘brother b
onding time.’”
Brice rolled his eyes. “Did she really call it that? Women!”
“Careful, now. That’s my darling wife you’re disparaging. She looked so cute saying it with that serious expression of hers; I didn’t have the heart to tease her.”
Grant looked at Brice and both brothers shook their heads. “Completely besotted,” Grant said. “I’d call it nauseating, if Harrison weren’t such a nice girl.”
“Why she ever hooked up with our workaholic brother, I’ll never understand, but otherwise, she’s pretty smart,” Brice agreed.
“Obviously I couldn’t leave my beautiful bride, but why didn’t you camp with Grant last night?” Duncan asked Brice.
“If you weren’t so oblivious to everything beyond your new wife, you’d remember that I had to work undercover. Didn’t finish until too late to join Grant. Besides, I think he wanted a night alone to . . . to ease into being home again. You were . . . okay, weren’t you?”
The anxious looks on both his brothers’ faces told him they were remembering a time not so many years distant, soon after his return from his last deployment and his decision to leave the Marines, when he hadn’t been okay alone, here or anywhere. Recuperating from the injuries suffered on that last patrol, dealing with the grief of losing friends—and the guilt of having survived them—had been a difficult struggle. But he’d won the battle against those demons—mostly. “I’m fine. Meditation, therapy and time—the recipe to heal all wounds. Or at least make them bearable.”
“I’m just glad you’re back,” Duncan said, handing a cup of coffee to Brice before taking one himself. “Now that we’ve recovered the Scott Ranch property and restored the Triple A to its original size, I really am going to need your help. Especially after the town doc confirmed last week that Juan Cortez, whom you may remember had been helping Harrison’s dad run the Scott Ranch, is barred from doing any heavy work permanently.”
“Is he still in a lot of pain?” Brice asked as they settled onto log seats by the fire.
“He says he isn’t, but Harrison’s going to press him to see a pain management specialist in Austin. When that mama cow knocked him around, he apparently aggravated some disc problems he’s had for years. With hay-cutting season upon us, I don’t know what we would have done if you hadn’t agreed to move back and help, Grant.”
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