His Winter Rose and Apple Blossom Bride

by Lois Richer

  “I know. And I will be,” he promised. “What about you, Ashley Adams? What do you need?”

  She took her time before answering. “Not a job in Paris.”

  “Oh?”

  “Nope. Too far. And I don’t need a sports car or a big strong he-man like Kent to protect me, either.” She smiled, let him see her joy. “I’ve got God. I’m free, Michael. Free. I faced the monster—and it was me.”

  He didn’t ask questions, didn’t need an explanation. He simply smiled, opened his arms and said, “I’m glad.”

  She relaxed into the warmth of his hold, tucked her head under his chin and told her daddy in heaven how much she loved this man.

  “You didn’t answer my question. What do you need, Ashley?”

  She picked up the challenge without a qualm, leaning back in his arms to study his dear face.

  “I’ll tell you what I need, Michael Masters. I need love. Real love, not the pretend stuff that wears off during the tough times. I need a man who isn’t afraid to tell me the truth, to push me until I figure out the hard parts. I need a man who won’t let me get away with skating by on life, a guy who will insist I dig in and live every moment.”

  “I think I might know someone like that,” he murmured, his eyes dark and melting.

  “So do I.” She drew him close. “I love you. When I was fifteen I had a crush on you. Who would have guessed it would last all this time and then blossom into love?”

  “I always thought you were a very discerning fifteen-year-old when you were hiding behind my mother’s ficus plant.”

  “Say it,” she begged.

  “I love you, Ashley Adams.” He bent his head, covered her lips with his as he told her how much he cared. And he never used a single word.

  By the time she drew away Ashley was breathless—and happier than she’d ever thought she could be.

  “When are you going to marry me?”

  She stared at him as the events of the past months fluttered through her mind. What an amazing God they served.

  “Ashley? You are going to marry me?”

  “Of course I am. In the spring, under the apple blossom tree. And I’m going to ask Ned to give me away. Fitting, don’t you think?”

  “Perfect,” he said.

  “You do realize I have to okay all the wedding plans with Tati first?” Ashley grinned.

  He didn’t say anything for a moment, which was unusual for Michael. Then he touched her cheek. “Thank you,” he whispered.

  “Excuse me, Mr. Masters?”

  “Yes?”

  The nurse beckoned. “Your daughter would like to speak to you.”

  “Ashley’s coming, too. We’re getting married.”

  “Congratulations.”

  They broke the news to Tati who was so excited she couldn’t get back to sleep. Finally Ashley leaned down to whisper something in her ear.

  “But you have to keep it a secret and you have to go to sleep now so you can get better. Promise?”

  Tati’s eyes closed immediately.

  Epilogue

  April in cottage country could be iffy. Sudden snow squalls, frosts, high winds. Anything could happen.

  But on April twenty-sixth the weather turned out to be better than any fairy tale could have promised. Fresh spring flowers bloomed all around Serenity Bay, but especially in front of the old church by the brook, next to the radiantly blooming apple tree.

  The wedding took place outdoors with white chairs dotting the church lawn, balloons tied to the streetlamp and big pots of tulips and daffodils blooming all over. Folks said the bride’s best friend had hauled them all the way from Toronto.

  At precisely two-thirty in the afternoon, a small electric organ sounded the “Wedding March.” All the guests rose as the very handsome groom took his place beside the minister. Next, two beautiful women emerged from the church. The first they knew as their own economic development officer, Piper Franklin. Her husband, the mayor, stood beside the groom.

  Following her, a slim redhead moved gracefully down the aisle clad in a sleeveless gown of the palest pink imaginable. Each woman carried a small round bouquet of baby’s breath and tiny pink rosebuds.

  Once they’d taken their places a hush descended on the group as a small girl stepped out of the church. Her dark curls gleamed in the sunlight, a perfect foil for the tiny seed pearls sprinkled among the curls. She stepped down the aisle in a frilly white organza dress nipped in at the waist by wide satin ribbons. Her full rustling skirt burst out like a flower in full bloom all the way to her shiny white shoes. She carried a small white wicker basket and from it she chose tiny pink rosebuds to drop all the way down the aisle. Then she took her place beside her father who just happened to be the handsome groom.

  “Aren’t I pretty, Daddy? Wanda said I couldn’t do it, but I did!” At which point she dropped her basket.

  Her daddy only smiled, lifted her into his arms and kissed her cheek. Then they all waited.

  Finally the bride emerged from the church, tall and slim. She walked very slowly, perhaps because of the very high heels she wore. Rumor had it the groom had chosen the shoes.

  Everyone in Serenity Bay knew that the bride could have shopped in Paris but had instead asked their very own Emma to make her dress. And what a dress! Gossamer silk, as delicate as butterfly wings, swathed around Ashley’s creamy shoulders framing her beautiful face. Then it tucked in, caressed her model-thin figure in a smooth elegant flow of pearly iridescence that tumbled down to skim the tips of her white sandals.

  The bride didn’t wear a veil but had instead tucked a few white rosebuds into her upswept silver-blond hair. She carried a single long-stemmed pink rose in one hand. The other clung to the arm of a tall man wearing a plain black suit. Friends claimed the pearl earrings she wore were a gift from Ned Ainsworth.

  He walked with her down the aisle then passed her hand from his to her betrothed when the minister asked, “Who gives this woman to be married?”

  He turned and took a seat beside the bride’s mother in the front row while the groom set down the flower girl and nodded at his mother to watch her.

  “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here—”

  Tears welled in many eyes as the ceremony that joined a man and a woman neared the exchanging of rings.

  “Is it time now, Daddy?” the little girl asked loudly.

  He nodded and she dug in her basket, found what she wanted and handed it to him. The groom slipped a perfect wooden circlet onto the bride’s ring finger. Those in the know said he’d painstakingly carved it from a piece of the old oak tree that had once stood in the backyard of her childhood home.

  “I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss your bride.”

  A torrent of “oohs’’ filled the little glade as the couple sealed their pledges in an age-old fashion. Then a torrent of rice filled the air as Ashley and Michael Masters walked down the aisle, Tatiana skipping happily behind them.

  Folks from the Bay said the afternoon was a delight of funny stories, good food and love. Around five the bride prepared to throw her bouquet until the flower girl, who’d been having the time of her life, suddenly yelled, “Wait!”

  She rushed up to the bride, pulled at her skirt until Ashley leaned down to hear her whisper. The bride nodded once, kissed her rosy cheek and brushed away a smudge of dirt.

  Tatiana ordered everyone into a circle, and when they had complied she gave the bride a signal. The single pink rose was held up high as the bride turned her back and tossed it way up into the air.

  The little girl followed its progress down as she darted here and there among the guests. At the last moment she bumped against one of them, knocking her out of the way so the rose landed in the hands of brides
maid Rowena Davis.

  Tatiana and the bride share a grin of fulfillment before the groom kissed his daughter goodbye.

  “You do what Uncle Ned and your grannies tell you to do. No disobeying. Right?”

  “Yes, Daddy. I will.” She waited, then hugged Ashley and whispered something in her ear.

  “You’re welcome, sweetheart. I think you look exactly like Snow White.”

  “Me, too,” Wanda said in utter amazement.

  Tati glowed.

  “Daddy and I are going to send you a card and a present so be sure you check the mail every day.”

  “Goodbye!”

  “Goodbye!”

  The groom held the door while the bride climbed into the sports car. They drove down the road, empty cans rattling behind them. After a moment they paused, looked back and saw Tatiana and Wanda picking icing roses off what was left of the wedding cake.

  The groom turned his attention to Ashley.

  “Welcome to my world, Mrs. Masters.”

  “Welcome to mine, Mr. Masters.”

  He kissed his new wife, cast one last frown at his icing-covered daughter, then shrugged.

  “Is marriage anything like you expected?” she asked.

  “It’s getting better by the moment.” He lifted his arm so she could snuggle against his side. “Let’s keep it that way for the next sixty years or so.”

  “Piece of cake,” she told him.

  Their laughter carried into the hills and the valleys of Serenity Bay, and bounced right up to the Father who had arranged it all.

  *

  Keep reading for an excerpt from Rancher’s Refuge by Linda Goodnight.

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  Chapter One

  Left hand riding lightly on his thigh, Austin Blackwell held the reins with the other and picked his way through the thick woods above Whisper Falls, Arkansas. If one more calf strayed into this no-man’s land between his ranch and the cascading waterfall, he was putting up another fence. A really tall one. Barbed wire. Electrified. Let the folks of the small Ozark town whine and bellow that he was ruining the ambience or whatever they called the pristine beauty of these deep woods. They just didn’t want to lose any tourist money. Well, he didn’t want to lose any cattle money, either. So they were on even playing field. He’d never wanted to open the waterfall to tourism in the first place.

  Now, every yahoo with an itch to climb down the rock wall cliff and duck behind the curtain of silvery water traipsed all over his property just to mutter a prayer or two. Wishful thinking or pure silliness. He’d made the trek a few times himself and he could guarantee prayers whispered there or anywhere else for that matter were a waste of good breath.

  Something moved through the dense trees at his left and Austin pulled the horse to a stop. Cisco flicked his ears toward the movement, alert and ready to break after the maverick at the flinch of his master’s knee.

  “Easy,” Austin murmured, patting the sleek brown neck while he scoped the woods, waiting for a sight or sound. Above him a squirrel chattered, getting ready for winter. Autumn leaves in reds and golds swirled down from the branches. Sunlight dappled between the trees, although the temperature was cool enough that Austin’s jacket felt good.

  He pressed his white Stetson tighter and urged the bay onward in the direction of the falls, the direction from which the movement had come. Might be the maverick.

  “Coyote, probably.” But black bear and cougar weren’t out of the question. He tapped the rifle holster, confident he could handle anything he encountered in the woods. Outside the ranch was a different matter.

  The roar of the falls increased as he rode closer. Something moved again and he twisted in the saddle to see the stray heifer break from the opposite direction. Cisco responded with the training of a good cutting horse. Austin grappled for the lariat rope as the calf split to the right and crashed through the woods to disappear down a draw.

  Cisco wisely put on the brakes and waited for instructions. Austin lowered the rope, mouth twisting in frustration. No use endangering a good horse in this rugged, uneven terrain.

  At least the stray had headed in the right direction, back toward the ranch.

  “Yep, I’m puttin’ up another fence.” He patted Cisco’s neck with a leather-gloved hand. Somewhere along the meager stretch of old barbed wire the calves had found a place to slip through. Maybe in one of the low places or through a washout from one of the many creeks branching from the Blackberry River. Finding the break across three miles of snaggy underbrush would be a challenge.

  But Austin liked it up here on the grassy, leaf-and hickory-lined ridge above Whisper Falls. Always had, especially before the stories started and people came with their noise and tents and plastic water bottles. Before the name changed from Millerville to Whisper Falls—a town council decision to attract tourists. He understood. He really did. Ruggedly beautiful, this area of the Ozarks was isolated. Transportation was poor and there was little opportunity for economic growth, especially since the pumpkin cannery shut down.

  The remoteness was why he’d come here. The economy was why he ranched.

  Those were also the reasons the little town had changed its name and started the ridiculous marketing campaign to attract tourism. Whisper Falls. Austin snorted. No amount of marketing moved God to answer prayers.

  He shifted in the saddle to look toward the ninety-feet-high waterfall.

  Here, the Blackberry River tumbled faster than near the ranch, picking up speed before plummeting over the cliff in a white, foamy, spectacular display of nature’s force and beauty.

  The solitude of the woods soothed him, helped him forget. Nature didn’t judge the way people would. He could be himself. He could relax.

  The air was clean here, too, tinted with the spray of freshness from the bubbling falls. It almost made him feel clean inside again. Almost. He breathed the crispness into his lungs, held the scent. Hickory and river, moist earth and rotting leaves. Good smells to an outdoorsman. Great smells to a man whose past stank like sewage.

  “Better get moving, Cisco. Maybe we can find the fence break before dark.”

  He pulled the bay around and that’s when he saw the woman. A slim figure in dark slacks and bright blue sweater moved quickly from tree to tree in some game of hide-and-seek. Curious, Austin took out his field glasses to look around, expecting a child or lover to join the game. No one did.

  Austin swung the binoculars back to the woman. What he saw spurred him to action.

  *

  Annalisa Keller stifled a sob. She had to hide. She had to get away. “Please, God. Help.”

  She heard him coming, thrashing, crashing through the dry leaves and underbrush like the madman he was. Knees rattling, she cradled her left arm and stumbled down the rocky incline. Straight ahead, the falls roared, a rush of sound with the power to sweep her away. The thought tempted, beckoned. Jump in and be swept away. He could never find her. No one would.

  Teeth chattering, she resisted the frightening urge. The instinct to survive was too strong. She couldn’t give up now.

  “Help me, God,” she whispered again, grappling to the sides of slick rock, edging closer to the beckoning water, to the screaming falls. The footpath was worn and well-used, as if others had co
me this way before her. She followed the stones, clinging with cold fingers to the jutting rocks as she edged along the cliff face, hoping to hide from searching eyes above.

  The roar of the falls grew louder still. Her heart thundered in answer. Before her was the waterfall. Behind her was the direction she’d come. An awful thought engulfed her. Why had she begun the descent to the falls? If he spotted her, she’d be trapped between him and the raging water.

  But she knew why. She’d been running blindly with no destination in mind other than escape.

  She sensed him coming, felt the air change with another presence. In desperation, Annalisa moved forward, praying there was sanctuary against the wet cliff face. One more step and…

  The world went silent. A deafening silence.

  Shocked, Annalisa wondered for one beat if she’d actually jumped into the foaming pool below the waterfall, if she was dead.

  Trembling, she reached out, touched the silver curtain of water in front of her. A hard rain shower soaked her hand, cold and prickly like needles of ice.

  In awe, she glanced to each side and then upward. The sight was dizzying. Behind was solid rock, wet and slick and shiny, with a jutting overhang high above. Water rocketed over the cliff with such force that a quiet space, like a white-noise machine, formed behind the cascade. She stood on a two-foot ledge, protected in the back by a wall of rock and hidden in front by the waterfall. It was like something out of the movie The Last of the Mohicans.

  Her shoulders relaxed a tiny bit. Maybe James hadn’t seen her descend. Maybe he wouldn’t know she was here. Warmth oozed from her nose. Swiping at the liquid with the back of her hand, Annalisa came away with blood. She shivered, both from cold and shock.

  James had nearly killed her this time. He’d kicked her out of the car, tried to run her down and then driven away. She’d seen him angry plenty of times, but never like this. Never so completely out of control.