by Mae Nunn
After undocking the boat, Mac paddled them out into the water. Jacqueline watched as he dug the wooden oars into the lake’s glassy surface, causing ripples to echo outward in every direction. His arms and shoulders were powerful.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything so sexy as you with those oars.”
“Hmm.” Mac grinned. “I’ll have to remember that.”
The cove they were in was bounded on one side by the place they had picnicked and on two others by cliffs. Jacqueline admired the way the water reflected its surroundings, like a mirror holding itself up to the rocks and trees.
When they were out in the middle of the cove, Mac rested from his rowing.
“Are you finally going to play for me?” Jacqueline asked, eyeing the guitar. He never wanted to, always said he wasn’t any good and he’d embarrass himself. So it was something she didn’t push.
“I thought I might.”
Mac picked up the instrument from where it rested against the side of the boat. It fit in his arms as Jacqueline did, natural and perfect, as if they were made for each other. In the waning sunlight, he began to play a haunting tune.
“What is that?”
“It’s a song I wrote for you.”
Then, to her surprise, Mac began to sing.
“My love, you are the one for me
You are the light I see inside my heart.
Hold me, you’re where I want to be
You are my destiny
You are the one, you are the one inside my heart.”
As Mac set the guitar to the side and moved toward her, Jacqueline brushed the tears from her cheeks. Painstakingly, so as not to upset the balance of the boat, Mac got down on one knee. He reached into his pocket and presented her with a ring.
“Jacqueline Marie Aimes, I love you with all my heart and soul. You, and no other. Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
Jacqueline touched his face, and then she took his hand, and guided it so he could place the ring on her finger. The large diamond solitaire, round, shimmering and gleaming, caught every last bit of the setting sunlight.
“McCarthy James Temple,” she whispered, “I want nothing more than to be yours, and to love you the rest of my life.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
IT WAS AUTUMN. Indian summer, as the locals called it, had come to Kilgore and cast a golden spell over the fields and trees.
The children of Hope House, the home Jacqueline had built with Grandma Violet’s money and named in part for Mac’s lost love, gathered with the rest of the wedding guests on the lawn, facing the entryway. Cream-colored chairs in neat rows draped with tulle formed an outdoor sanctuary that, at sunset, was illumined by candles. Mac’s brothers, as best men, stood beside him at the base of the rock stairway leading into Hope House, a sprawling cedar and native-stone structure that had been featured in Architectural Digest when it was completed the year before.
The windows to Hope House were open and shone with pure beams of light from the cans in the vaulted ceiling. The polished wood floors lent a warm, earthy glow. Dixie, the pianist from Mac’s church, was the lone figure in the house and visible to all as she sat with her back ramrod straight at the grand piano, waiting for her cue. It came in the form of a text from Ella, who was the wedding coordinator.
As Dixie began the first notes of the wedding march, an angel with golden curls toddled down the aisle with her cousins. Each of them were dressed in silk gowns the color of champagne and wore violets in their hair. Meg carried a basket full of more violets, which they tossed out in front and behind them, making their way slowly—as they’d been instructed—to the front of the crowd. When Lily saw Joiner, she ran into his arms. Everyone laughed and clapped.
Next came the bride’s matrons in a row. They all were equally lovely in their river-mist dresses, which draped off their shoulders and fell to the floor. They walked in the order that matched their husbands, who were lined up according to birth. First Sarah, with her red hair flaming, then Gillian with her honey-blond waves and then Stella with her golden pixie. She would stand closest to the bride.
When the sisters were in place, Jacqueline’s mother, in the front row beside Alma and Felix, stood. The guests followed her lead, and Dixie heightened the volume of the music by pounding on the keys. Jacqueline began her ascent down the aisle on the arm of her father.
The little girls gasped at her radiant beauty, and the little boys giggled and held their hands over their mouths. Jacqueline blew kisses to them all. She luxuriated in their love. But as she came closer to the one who was waiting for her at the end of the aisle, the rest of the world seemed to fade away. There was only Mac. Had only ever and always been Mac. As she took his hand and stared into the future, Jacqueline knew she had found her heart’s home.
* * * * *
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ISBN-13: 9781460389492
Texas Miracle
Copyright © 2015 by Mae Nunn and Gwen Ford Faulkenberry
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