A Perfect Wedding

by Zoe Dawson

  “I love you, Booker, and I can’t wait to marry you.”

  Dr. Rust had it perfectly right. Aubree was a healer. She was a talented, brilliant, beautifully flawed woman. She was my healer, my heart, and without her there was no way for me to pump blood, fill my lungs, breathe.

  “I am going to say my vows with complete and utter honesty. I want to marry you, too, Aubree because you are my choice. I won’t force you to choose between your two loves.” I wanted to support her as she grew into a complete woman, my woman, my bad-ass doctor wife, and the mother of my children.

  “Close your eyes,” she whispered. She waited a beat and said, “Are they closed?”

  “Yes,” I whispered back. I heard the rustle of cloth and the squeak of the door. Then I felt the warm press of her lips against mine. I kissed her back with all my passion and love.

  I couldn’t live with anything less.

  And I couldn’t live without her.

  #

  Aubree

  I broke the kiss and looked up at him, the tender look on his face, even with his eyes closed, making me go all weak and warm. The last thing I wanted to do was let this moment go, but I had little choice. We were getting married, and we’d have a lifetime of these moments. I ran my hand up his rib cage in a long caress, then reluctantly stepped back out of his arms.

  “Get to the altar. I’ll be right there.”

  I slipped back into the room and closed the door. I checked the mirror, and, yes, the tears had wreaked havoc with my makeup. I did a quick patch job, picked up my beautiful bouquet, and turned toward the door. Right outside, Mike, my stepdaddy, stood in his tux.

  “Is everything worked out?”

  I smiled from ear to ear. All my concerns gone. “Yes, totally.”

  He offered me his arm. “Good. Your mother was getting worried when Booker left.”

  “We just needed a few more minutes together.”

  He led me to the entrance to the church, and as soon as I became visible, everyone turned. The organ started to play, but it was cut short by Booker’s voice singing the opening words to “I’ll Be.” He’d made that our song that long-ago day at the barbeque just after our mutual declaration of love.

  I stopped in my tracks and took a breath, my throat thickening with the emotions I was trying to keep under control. Booker left the altar, still singing, his powerful voice echoing throughout the church.

  When he got to the chorus, he set his hand on his heart, looking so handsome and sexy in his tux. He stopped, closing his eyes and belting out the words, his hands forming into fists, as the emotion he was feeling came through his voice. Then he continued to move down the aisle, singing all the way.

  When he reached me, Mike stepped back, and Booker cupped my face and sang the second chorus. Then he tucked my arm into his, and we started to walk. About halfway down the aisle, those words resonating in me, he twirled me. At the head of the aisle, he stopped, turned me and finished out the song while he held my gaze.

  As the last words to the song echoed in the church, I whispered, “That was beautiful.”

  “You are beautiful, stunning. Let’s go tie the damn knot,” he laughed softly.

  He gave me back to Mike and went and took his place. There wasn’t a dry eye in the church.

  Booker, my unpredictable Outlaw.

  The ceremony went by so fast, and the reception was in full swing when I finally got up the courage to check my grades. When I saw my o-chem grade I breathed a sigh of relief. Booker, who was looking over my shoulder, smiled and nuzzled my neck. “A minus. Will that do?”

  “That will do,” I said.

  “So, after DC—”

  “DC?”

  “Yeah, I hope you wrote your speech.”

  “It’s written,” I said, sliding my finger along his jaw. “How did you know?”

  “Dr. Palmer sent an email to that wily Dr. Rust. He was the one who told me, and I don’t want you to miss out. I’ve always wanted to tour the White House.”

  “Holy cow. I better alert the authorities. Mr. Outlaw Goes to Washington!”

  “Hey, you.” He knuckled my head.

  “Where are we going for our honeymoon?”

  He looked down and toyed with my wedding band. “How does Tanzania sound?”

  “East Africa?”

  “Yeah, it isn’t exactly a honeymoon at first.”

  “What do you mean? I want a honeymoon with you, Booker. I want to keep you in bed for a week, for the rest of the summer.”

  He gave me a wicked grin. “I endorse that,” he whispered, “But first I booked you into a pre-medical shadowing program for two weeks. It’s in Tanzania. Afterwards, we can have our honeymoon there, or we can go somewhere else. You tell me where you want to go.”

  “No.” My heart swelled and his words came back to me. I’m opening myself right here and now to all your possibilities. He was true to his word, had been true to me even when we were still struggling with our own issues.

  “What?”

  I smiled. “Unbook it. I’ll go overseas for that kind of thing next year.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Heart attack serious.’ I wiggled my brows. “Right now, I’m eager to get to the wedding night and you out of that tux.”

  “Me too, sugar. Me too. That laced up thing you’ve got going in the back has been driving me crazy all day.”

  I cupped the back of his head and we didn’t need any clinking champagne glasses to indulge in a kiss. “I do love the idea of the shadowing program, Booker. Thank you for your thoughtfulness. Elephants and zebras are nice and all, but they can wait. If I have a choice, I would have to say Paris.”

  “Whatever you want, Mrs. Outlaw,” he said with another wicked grin.

  We devoured Brax’s food, prepared to perfection as usual, and people were raving over Brax’s cakes. I had two helpings—after all, he did say he took all the calories out. As the reception began to wind down, I rose and moved between Boone and Brax, who were sitting next to us, grasping them both around their shoulders, hugging them tight. “I love you guys,” I whispered.

  “Well, isn’t this a freaking love fest,” Brax replied and I laughed.

  Boone said, “Welcome to the family, Breebree.”

  I kissed them both, hugged my best friends, and sat back down close to Booker.

  He leaned over and said, “Now you’re an Outlaw, too.”

  I smiled, kissed him hard on the mouth while everyone whooped, and said against his lips. “Well, that’s just fucking perfect.”

  Epilogue

  Aubree

  I stood next to the altar while my momma-in-law and Winchester Sutton took their vows. She was dressed in the beautiful off-white dress that all of us girls pitched in to sew for her. Verity was such an amazing designer. I looked out in the crowd to see Minnie and Deke, holding hands, her head on his broad shoulder. I wondered how much longer it was going to be before we had another wedding on our hands.

  Rory and Savannah were sitting next to them, looking just as happy and contented. Who would beat who to the altar?

  My momma had been Evie’s choice for matron of honor and, River Pearl, Verity and I stood up with her as her bridesmaids. Her sons were ushers, while James Sutton acted as Win’s best man.

  It was a balmy day in October, and Booker and I were working every day to stay connected. I was ramping up for my MCAT testing, and Booker was helping me study, quizzing me when he wasn’t busy distracting me with his astronaut of awesome routine. Stress still played a part in causing some minor squabbles and it wasn’t always paradise, but it was real, disarming, fulfilling, and, as usual, darned messy.

  The summer had gone by way to fast, but it had given Booker and me enough time and privacy to reconnect. I was rejuvenated by his love and passion, the trip to DC, our honeymoon in Paris, so romantic. He had sweet-talked me into a shadowing experience in Tanzania and it turned out to be far more than I could possibly have imagined. After it was ove
r, Booker joined me, and we spent another two weeks there, going on safari, taking in the stunning views of Mt. Kilimanjaro, encountering the interesting tribal cultures, and enjoying the warm, sandy beaches. It was wonderful.

  Booker had finished his first Outlaw Legacy book, which told Duel, Amy, and the Colonel’s story with passion and wonderful characterizations. After River Pearl read the final draft, she hugged Booker with tears because he’d portrayed her ancestor, not as a depraved thief and murderer, but as a man driven by his needs, torn, and then devastated by the harm he’d caused. I was so proud of him.

  Who knew how critics and readers would receive it, but I sensed it was going to have a wonderful reception, and his fans would be thrilled.

  After the ceremony, we ended up at Evie and Win’s. They were going on their honeymoon the next day, but wanted a family celebration tonight.

  I heard Booker groan when I saw Boone with a jar of fruit punch moonshine, toting a Monopoly board game under his arm.

  Boone cleared his throat portentously. “The word is ‘go.’ Every time someone says go, we drink.”

  “Set up the board,” Brax said, “and I’m watching you, Ma. You always have an abundance of pink fifties.”

  She laughed. “Are you saying that I’m a cheater?”

  “If the pink fifty fits…” We all laughed, and I went to make sure there was enough pain reliever in the medicine cabinet.

  It rained all the way home and, of course, leaving Suttontowne was always difficult, but in the morning after our crazy, drunk, barely-remembered Monopoly game, we were quite blissfully happy.

  Since Evie couldn’t resist looking for things when she went antiquing, she sent me home with a vintage clock I set on the mantle while Booker carried in a gorgeous chest, raindrops clinging to his hair and jacket, moisture slicking his skin. He glanced at me, his expression unreadable. “Is there enough wood, or do I need to bring some more in?”

  I shook my head, “No. The wood box is full.”

  He went back outside, and I stared at the empty doorway, wondering at his pensiveness. I shucked my jacket and went into the kitchen to start some coffee brewing and get out cups.

  Booker returned with two more boxes of dishes that Evie had found, and I was thrilled with the pattern. Booker picked up my jacket as he passed and hung both his and mine by the door. He walked over to the fireplace and began to lay the fire while the scent of freshly brewed French Vanilla flavored the air.

  I poured two cups, the gurgling blending with the crackle and snap from the brightly burning fire. Booker was standing near the windows looking out at the rain, his hands in the back pockets of his jeans.

  I watched him, the warmth of my love stronger and deeper than the fire could ever penetrate, the dark beauty of him setting off a wild flutter in my chest. We had overcome some heavy duty feelings and emotions, made monumental decisions, and were weathering the storm of working side by side for our future.

  I set the cups down on the coffee table and crossed the room. He was lost in thought. I wrapped my arms around him and he sighed. “What are you thinking so hard about?”

  He stared out, the muscle in his jaw tensing, his expression going tender. His jaw flexed; then he answered. “Ma.”

  I ran my hands up his waist, one settling on his chest where I could feel the strong beat of his heart.

  “I had no idea that everything was going to turn out this way. Back when I was loving you from afar, I was miserable. Unrequited love is so painful. But then we found each other, overcame our bullshit, and are now married.

  His hands covered mine. “Boone and Brax…”

  “Yeah, they are pretty situated. You know it’s just a matter of time before Brax falls.”

  “Falls,” I said. “Like getting married dumps you in a ditch or a pit?”

  He laughed, and the sound of it was like music.

  “No, falling, as in not having a choice because there is nothing you can do but open your arms and embrace the air and the impact when you hit.”

  I pressed my cheek to his back, breathing him in.

  I went to turn away and grab up my MCAT book, but Booker caught my wrist, palm sliding against palm as he gripped my hand. The instant his fingers slid through mine, I understood what he needed, and I closed my eyes against the wild surge of emotion that made me shiver.

  I needed to study, but this time out of time with Booker now automatically made me shift my schedule. In the past, I would have protested, but my newfound confidence, and my promise, shifted everything. With a low moan, I turned blindly into his arms, sliding my hands up his back and holding him close. For several heartbeats, he looked into my eyes, taking me in, while I absorbed our closeness, our physical touch, our need and desire for each other.

  He caught me against him in a viselike embrace, emitting a ragged groan as he found my mouth with a kiss that shattered my senses. His hand supporting the back of my head, he locked his other arm around my hips, hauling me up against him. His mouth opened hungrily against mine, feeding the need that raged in him, it was in the flavor of his kiss.

  And then passion claimed us, consumed us, pulling us under, the fire fusing us into one.

  Awareness returned in fragments—like slivers of light infiltrating my mind—and I tightened my arms around him, twisting my face against his damp neck, the softness of the large array of throw pillows beneath me and his weight on top of me the only reality.

  A tremor coursed through me, the rush of emotion so intense it was almost unbearable, and I clenched my jaw against it. God, but I loved this man. So much. So very much. Drawing a deep, painful breath, I slid my hand up the back of his neck, cradling his head against me with infinite tenderness. Booker shuddered and pressed his face against the curve of my shoulder, his hold on me tightening convulsively. I closed my eyes, waiting for the ache of emotion to ease a little; then I stroked his head and pressed a tender kiss against his neck.

  Booker raised his head and looked at me, his blue, oh-so-blue eyes filled with such intense, unguarded emotion they made my heart contract all over again.

  I smiled at him as I gently caressed his scratchy face. “See? Told you these throw pillows would come in handy.”

  He laughed and nuzzled and blew on my neck until I squealed. “You were right. Let’s run out and get some more. Spread them all through the house. Then we’ll always have a soft place to land.”

  I dug into his ribs at his sarcastic tone, and he jerked and made the cutest laugh noise.

  “Seriously, it’s time we stopped fooling around and get back to your da-da-da-daaaaa, dreaded MCATs.”

  “Are you always going to say that with a drumroll?”

  “Yes, it needs music of its own.”

  “Come on. So far they haven’t been bad.”

  “That’s because you are so damned smart.”

  I dug in his ribs again, but the wily Outlaw blocked me, and it was he who got to my ribs. I went crazy wiggling and giggling beneath him.

  “Oooh, keep doing that, and we’ll be heading upstairs for round two, my sexy redhead.”

  “You are a wicked, bad boy.”

  “Only when it comes to you and your delicious body.” His chest expanded, and he slid his arms around me and held me fiercely, protectively, surrounding me all over again with his deep, abiding love.

  “Geezus, I love you, Aubree.”

  His voice was so full of emotion, it was impossible to say more. I closed my eyes and turned my face against his neck, holding him just as fiercely, as protectively as he was holding me.

  After a moment, he sighed. “Okay, I got your next test question.”

  I sighed right back at him.

  “All right, I’m ready.”

  “It’s an essay.”

  “I’m Hemingway when it comes to essays.”

  “Oh, the girl shoots and scores, because she’s got game.”

  “Ha! What is the question, Quiz Master?”

  “Explain what you think the
following statement means: How do you feel about our sex life lately?”

  I burst out laughing. “That is not an MCAT question! You silly man.”

  He gave me a mock serious look, his blue eyes full of equally mock innocence. “Totally a question. You have to answer it.”

  “Do, I?”

  “Yes. And I have follow-up questions.”

  “Oh God, my stomach hurts from laughing. You are so bad.”

  His face went soft. “I can be badder….and that means oh-so-good.”

  “Well,” I slipped my hand down his body and cupped him. “I’ve been thinking I have something I want to do with my hot, wet mouth that my wonderful, sweet husband will love.”

  When I stroked him, he started to get hard, then when I ran my palm over the tip of him, he groaned.

  I licked his neck and bit him, and his breathing speeded up. Pushing him onto his back, I bent down.

  “You have those questions fully formed,” I said, then gave him what he and I wanted.

  His voice was ragged when he said, “I’ll work…oh shit…on them later.

  And, we did, until we got hungry and went out to dinner. As we settled in at our table and I picked up the menu, then dropped it and looked at Booker. “Just so you know, I’m so eating whatever dessert you order.”

  The rich laughter of my gorgeous, unpredictable, smarty-pants Outlaw husband was all mine…for ever after.

  ********

  The stories in Hope Parish continue with Boone and Verity Outlaw as they struggle with a shocking and heart-wrenching remnant from their past. Is their relationship strong enough to weather this upheaval? You’re all invited to an Outlaw Holiday. Come back to Hope Parish for the release of A Perfect Holiday!

  Zoe Dawson’s Book List

  Romantic Comedy

  Going to the Dogs Series

  Leashed #1

  Groomed for Murder #2

  Hounded #3

  Collared #4