by Liz Isaacson
She curled her fingers along the back of his neck and skated them over the short hair there, eliciting a shiver from him. “All right.”
The Next Summer
When Tate said he needed time, he wasn’t kidding. Wren honestly hadn’t minded—until he’d proposed. That had finally happened on Valentine’s Day, and the last four months had seemed to drag by in one eternal block of time.
“Did Berlin bring the flowers?” she asked as her mom bustled into the room with a makeup kit the size of a small suitcase.
“She and Fabi are setting it all up now.”
Wren nodded and turned back to the mirror where she sat. Over the course of the last year, she’d managed to grow her hair out enough to have several locks of hair twisted into roses and pinned along the nape of her neck.
She’d spent some time over the past twelve months looking at wedding magazines, following stylists and dress makers on social media, and mapping out her plan for a wedding the town of Brush Creek would never forget. Because practically everyone was coming.
Her father and brothers had been setting up tables and chairs for two days. Jazzy and Fabi had tied the bright yellow and pink bows to the backs of the chairs, and Berlin had secured tablecloths to all thirty-one tables situated in the back yard.
“Let me in here.” Her mom set the makeup kit on the vanity in front of her, and Wren scooted back. Being the first Fuller sister to get married was a huge to-do for her mom, and Wren had counseled with her for many hours over how to make this a grand affair without going over the top.
She’d told her parents why Tate had backed off early in their relationship, and they’d agreed to do everything they could for as little money as possible. Thus, everyone in the family was pitching in to help, and the most expensive item in the budget had been the food.
“Granny Ebony will finish up the dress in no time,” her mom said.
Wren nodded, though she automatically pressed her lips together in worry. She could practically hear the sewing machine humming as her grandmother hurried to finish the last-minute alterations on the homemade wedding dress she’d been working on for months.
Of course she couldn’t. The sewing room was in the basement, and she and her mother were in her old bedroom, which had been turned into the bride’s room. She was getting married right here in her parent’s back yard, by Pastor Peters and with her family and friends in attendance.
Tears sprang to her eyes and her mother swept them away. “It’s going to be a wonderful day,” she said kindly. “Nothing to cry about.”
Wren gave a short burst of a nod and pulled back on her emotions. She was just so happy. “Is this what it was like when you married Dad?” she asked.
Her mom began pulling out pots of makeup and consulting the list she’d made for blush colors and eye shadow combinations. “Yes, dear.” A smile crossed her mother’s face. “It was the happiest day of my life. We’re still very happy together.” She picked up a brush. “You and Tate will be too.”
Wren closed her eyes as her mother began sweeping foundation onto her face. “I know, Mom.” And she did know. She and Tate had attended twelve weeks of counseling together, provided by the Marines for their retirees and their families. Though she and Tate weren’t quite a family yet, he’d asked her to go with him.
She’d learned a lot about him just by spending time with him over the months, but the counseling sessions revealed a deeper man. One who hurt deeply. One who learned from that hurt. One who used it to drive himself to be better. She’d fallen in love with him over and over again as they completed the counseling courses.
“Did everything go okay with the paperwork yesterday?” her mother asked. “You never said.”
“Mm hm.” Wren kept her eyes shut as her mom switched to a powder and a softer, wider makeup brush. “And I hired Pat and Brennan to move my stuff next door while Tate and I are gone.”
“Do you know who bought your cottage?”
Wren had never imagined that she and Tate would live in her house. After all, he owned his and not having a mortgage payment—not to mention a bigger space—made more sense than living in the cottage, no matter how much she loved it.
“A young couple,” she said. “I think their name was Grigsby.”
“Huh. Don’t know that name.”
Wren said nothing. Brush Creek was growing, and soon it would be impossible for her mother, despite her lifelong habitation in the town, to know everyone.
“He’s a chemistry teacher at the high school,” Wren said. “Been there a year, I think.”
“Hmm.” Her mother worked in silence after that, and Wren stayed as still as possible. It seemed like only minutes later that her mom announced, “All right, dear. Take a look.”
Wren opened her eyes, taking a few seconds for her eyes to focus. The beautiful woman staring back at her in the mirror looked mature, wise, and ready to marry the love of her life.
“You’ll have to do the mascara,” her mom said. “I’m no good at that.”
“But brilliant at everything else.” Wren stood and embraced her mom. “Thanks, Mom.” She reached for the tube of mascara but only had one eye done when the door opened and Granny Ebony came through, both arms straight out in front of her to support the wedding dress.
“Finished,” she said, positively beaming.
Her mother moved to help her, but all Wren could do was watch. Her other grandma came in too, and Wren’s gratitude was so overwhelming she sank back into the chair where she’d been sitting.
Sometimes her family annoyed her. Sometimes they were loud and obnoxious. Sometimes she had to deal with problems they caused through no fault of hers.
But she loved them. And they loved her. They had shown her for years how to be a family, how to love unconditionally, and how to make things work even when they weren’t perfect.
As she’d continued to volunteer at the library, Wren had learned a lot of the same lessons. How to love people who were different from her. How to put someone else’s needs above hers. How to get along with people even when she didn’t agree with them.
She closed her eyes again and said a prayer. Dear Lord, thank you for the experiences of the past year. Thank you for transforming me into the person who can love and support Tate. Help us to love unconditionally, work through things that aren’t perfect, and put each other first.
“Wren,” her mom said, jolting her out of her private moment.
With her eyes open, she added And thank you.
“People are starting to arrive.” Her mom nodded toward her grandmother, who stood at the window. “Finish up your makeup so we can get you dressed.”
Chapter 17
Tate stared at himself in the mirror, his heartbeat pulsing in the vein in his neck. Though he was sheltered from the events happening just outside the door and down the hall, he was aware of the increased energy in the air.
“Almost time,” his father said.
Tate ran his fingers down the buttons on his jacket, though they were all in place. He adjusted his belt a hair to the right.
“You ready?” His dad’s presence had calmed him, and it had been fun to introduce him and his girlfriend, whom he’d brought with him from Shiloh Ridge, to the Fullers. He’d called them all the wrong name at least once, and Tate didn’t feel so bad for taking several weeks to get them all straight.
“Yes.” He turned from the mirror without a trace of doubt in his voice or his system. He was ready. It may have taken him a while to get to the ready point, but he’d reached it. That was all that mattered.
A knock sounded on the door, and his dad got up to answer it. Cory, a dark-haired cop who was now Tate’s partner entered. He wore his full police uniform too, and Tate smiled at him.
“Are they ready?”
“Guests are in place.” Cory scanned him. “I should’ve joined the Marines. That’s way better than this.” He gestured to his getup.
“None of it breathes,” Tate said. He took his
hat from his dad and tucked it under his arm so he could put on his gloves.
“I’ve already got Sully at my house,” Cory said. “And I’ll check on the house every couple of days, just to make sure the sprinklers haven’t flooded or something.”
Tate nodded, grateful this past year had provided him with new friends and new opportunities to grow. Some of it may not have been pleasant, but he felt more like the person he wanted to be. Less angry. Less depressed. More like someone who could actually be a good husband for someone like Wren.
“All right, then,” Cory said. “We better go. They don’t want you seeing Wren before the ceremony.”
“Isn’t she all the way upstairs?” Tate positioned his hat on his head, disliking the limited sight it created. He wanted to see everything and everyone—especially Wren as she walked toward him to become his wife.
“Yes, but word is she’s ready to start. So let’s go.” Cory opened the door and stepped into the hall. Tate started to follow him, pausing in front of his father.
“Do I look ready to get married?” he asked.
His dad wore such pride on his face. Such love. “You sure do.” He hugged him, and a rush of gratitude for his dad filled him. No, his family wasn’t huge. Or traditional. But they still stuck together and loved each other.
Tate stepped back and tugged on the bottom of his jacket to get it back in place. His legs moved him outside, and he drank in the splendor of the Fuller’s back yard. Dozens of tables had been set up for the meal that would follow the ceremony, and the bright colors Wren had wanted complemented the blue sky and green grass beautifully.
Everyone stood as he entered the yard and walked down the aisle Wren soon would too. Tate blinked back his emotion as he saw the entire police force there, including Dahlia, who’d stayed in contact once she’d been appointed one of the joint detectives. They all saluted him, and Tate stopped and clicked his heels together. He saluted them back and continued toward the pastor at the end of the aisle.
A hush had fallen over the yard, but once he was in place, people began whispering again. Tate turned back the way he’d come, his eyes trained on the French doors so he wouldn’t miss a moment of watching Wren.
She hadn’t told him anything about her dress, other than her grandmother was making it. He couldn’t wait to see her in it, see if she chose to wear the glasses she didn’t need or not, see what magic her old high school friend at the salon had done with her hair.
“No matter what it is,” she’d told him. “It will be a miracle if it looks good.”
Tate thought her hair always looked good, but she’d just rolled her eyes when he’d said that.
Her two grandmothers came out first, and one of them paused to start the wedding march on the CD player. Speakers had been set in the crowd, so everyone could hear the music as the bridal party moved down the aisle.
Finally, only Wren stood opposite of him, wearing miles and miles of lace. She held a bouquet of pink and yellow roses and a tiny flower crown with delicate white flowers in it. Her face beamed with light and happiness that mirrored the way Tate felt every time he looked at her.
His breath caught in his chest, and he couldn’t get a full breath until she reached him, passed her bouquet to her mother, and laced her arm through his.
“Wow,” she whispered, a giggle escaping her mouth as he led her around the altar so they were facing their families and friends. “Don’t you look handsome and regal?”
“Oh yeah?”
She reached over and fiddled with a button on his jacket, a flirty, sexy thing to do right in front of everyone.
“Well, you look beautiful,” he whispered, pressing his lips to her temple and facing the pastor. He was aware of the sea of faces beyond Pastor Peters, but he didn’t allow himself to get lost in them.
He focused on the feel of Wren’s body next to his, and the words Pastor Peters said.
“When we join together in marriage, each partner must leave behind something of themselves and become one.” He smiled at them and began to recite a poem. He counseled them to talk to each other always, and include the Lord in their lives and marriage.
Finally, he said, “Well, I think we need to get this wedding done, before this Marine melts.”
The crowd twittered, Tate along with them. He turned toward Wren and lost himself in the beauty of her gentle soul, in the fact that someone as wonderful as her could fall in love with him. He marveled that thirteen months ago, he’d come to Brush Creek to build a new life—and he’d actually done it.
He’d been so lost, so lonely, so low. Somehow he’d replaced that man with the one standing in the gardens today—and he’d never been happier.
“You may kiss your bride.”
Tate startled, realizing he’d missed part of the vows as he gazed at Wren. She smiled up at him, and he swept his hat off his head and swooped her closer so he could kiss her.
And though every kiss with Wren was filled with magic, this first one with her as his wife was definitely the sweetest.
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FOR THE FIREFIGHTER, coming next week! Preorder A Fiancé for the Firefighter, the next Fuller family novel in the Brush Creek Brides series, coming on June 19.
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Sneak Peek! A Fiancé for the Firefighter Chapter One
Cora Wesley tipped her head back, the bottom of her ponytail brushing down her back as she laughed. The atmosphere in the karaoke bar vibrated with energy, with sound waves from the stage, with chatter and laughter and friendship.
She quieted, realizing she was the only woman at the table of firefighters. She’d been in Brush Creek for a year and had gotten used to the nearly female-free department, but she knew she sometimes stuck out like that one Christmas light that kept blinking when it was supposed to stay steady.
She picked up her strawberry lemonade and licked the sugary rim while the firefighter currently telling jokes started in on another one. A pause of silence in the music behind her alerted her to the change in singers, and the next song began. A horrible, nasally voice started on the lyrics, causing her to twist to see what poor soul had decided to take the mic and try to sing an Adele song—clearly out of her vocal range.
Not that Cora was a good singer by any stretch of the imagination. But she knew her limits and wouldn’t embarrass herself on purpose. The redhead on stage glanced around nervously, her eyes landing on a table of women a couple over from Cora and her squad of bulky firefighters. All the women had been eyeing their table the entire evening, and while none of her firemen buddies had made a move, they’d all noticed.
The amount of flexing and loud laughter testified of that. Cora couldn’t help joining in. She liked her friends at Station House Two, and if she didn’t come out on Friday nights with them, she’d be excluded in their camaraderie by more than her gender.
Plus, she liked going out with them. There were only so many hours in a day that she could run and lift weights. She drained the last of her lemonade, vowing not to order another. She wasn’t big by any stretch of the imagination, but she needed to meet certain physical standards to apply for the interagency hotshot crews. She wanted the Great Basin crew, so she could stay in Utah, Idaho, and Nevada. But Cora would take any crew that would take her.
So with a determination to put in another fifty pushups after she returned to her solitary, quite apartment that night, she tuned back in to Jorge’s joke about a duck and why he couldn’t cross the road.
As the other men broke into another round of raucous laughter, her phone blinked and vibrated the table in front of
her. She swiped it into her lap to read her sister’s text. Helene was already married and settled in Vernal, where Cora’s parents lived. Where she’d been raised.
Mom wants to know if you’re coming to the family anniversary party.
Cora’s stomach twisted and her mouth felt sour—and not because of the lemonade she’d drunk. The family anniversary party was a celebration of the day the Wesley family had begun—the day her parents had gotten married forty years ago.
She started thumbing out a response when Helene added It’s a big one. Forty years.
Cora erased her rejection to her older sister. She couldn’t miss the forty-year anniversary. Thirty-nine, sure. Forty-one, definitely. But not this one.
She sighed, her mind far from the party atmosphere now. The waitress approached their table, and her friends ordered more sodas, but Cora waved her hand. Someone asked her something, but her thoughts lingered on what family functions used to be like for her. They were so much easier when she had someone to attend them with.
“Do you want to add your name to the list?” Charlie, the man seated next to her, asked.
“Yeah, sure,” she said distractedly, an idea churning in her head now. If she could take someone to the family anniversary party, things would be easier for everyone. No one knew what to say to her now, without Brandt on her arm. She glanced at the six men she spent most of her life with. Maybe one of them….
She banished the thought before it could truly take root. Her ex, Brandt, had been a firefighter, and she wasn’t interested in getting involved with another one. They were great friends. Great boyfriends. Not great husbands, at least in her experience.
She knew she was being totally unfair. There were several married firefighters and their wives seemed happy enough. It was just a bad match, she told herself, signaling for another lemonade despite her promise to herself.
