Annie would be her maid of honor. And Smitty, of course, would be Gabe’s best man. Ben would do his part by walking Sara down the aisle and giving his mother away.
Sara held her arms out.
They all came together for a group hug.
“Having my three best friends here is what makes everything perfect,” Sara told them. “Each of you has been there for me through some of the most difficult times in my life. I can never thank you enough for that.”
“And now we’re here for the most wonderful time in your life,” Betsy said. She looked down at her watch. “But if we don’t get moving Smitty is going to kill me. I promised him I’d have the bride to the ranch on time.”
“That Smitty sure is a bossy old cuss,” Dessie said.
“And that’s a fact,” Sara and Betsy said in unison.
Everyone laughed.
“Your dress qualifies as something old, Sara,” Annie said. She reached out and fastened a pearl bracelet around Sara’s wrist. “This is something new from me.”
“Annie, it’s beautiful,” Sara gushed.
“And I brought you something borrowed,” Dessie said. “When you told me your dress was Victorian, I knew this would be perfect. It belonged to my great-grandmother.”
Sara’s eyes filled with tears as Dessie pinned a pink and ivory cameo brooch on the delicate lace at her throat. “I’ll take good care of it today, Dessie.”
“And did you remember your something blue?”
Sara answered Betsy’s question by pulling up the hem of the dress to display the lacy blue garter Betsy had bought for her.
“Then let’s go get married,” Betsy chirped happily.
As they started down the stairs, Dessie said, “I’m so glad you aren’t going to give up your bakery, Sara. Married or not, a woman needs a little independence.”
As they started out the door, Sara said, “I have Betsy to thank for keeping the bakery. If she hadn’t agreed to become my partner, running the bakery and taking care of things at the ranch would have been too much.”
“Oh, pooh,” Betsy said. “The town never would have forgiven me if I’d let Sara close the bakery. Fresh from the Oven put Redstone on the map after Sara’s big TV interview. Tourists make a beeline for it the minute they hit town.”
As they headed toward Sara’s Jeep, Annie said, “And to think all of this started because of me and my big mouth.”
“Now wait just a minute,” Dessie said. “I was the one who told Sara she should come to Colorado with Gabe.”
Annie and Dessie were still arguing over who was responsible for Sara’s new life when they got into the Cherokee. But Sara knew the truth. Gabe was responsible for her being on the way to her wedding. Over the past three months Gabe had wined her and dined her and wooed her until she often felt silly for making such a request.
But she deserved it.
Sara could say that now and truly believe it.
GABE STOOD beneath the arched trellis the florist had set up on his front lawn, trying to pretend standing in front of the entire town didn’t make him nervous. He was the first one to see the carriage top the hill and start down the long driveway leading up to the house.
Smitty was at the reins in his Sunday best. And the woman Gabe loved, more beautiful than he’d ever seen her, was sitting in the carriage, wearing his mother’s wedding dress and surrounded by a sea of pink and white roses.
His heart was so full, Gabe feared it might burst.
He loved Sara more than life itself. And over the past six months he’d realized how wrong he’d been about what it meant to be married and in love. Love and marriage wasn’t some fifty-fifty deal where you only had to contribute your half to make the relationship work. Love and marriage demanded one hundred percent of everything you had to give one hundred percent of the time. And Gabe intended to give Sara one hundred percent each and every day for the rest of their lives.
“Here comes the bride,” someone shouted.
Everyone stood.
And Gabe stood a little straighter. A big smile spread across his face when his bride’s carriage rolled to a stop.
Sara waved and blew him a kiss.
“I NOW PRONOUNCE you—” the pastor stopped when Ben suddenly left his place between Gabe and Sara and motioned for the man to bend down.
Whispers skipped across the waiting crowd.
When the pastor straightened, he winked at Ben and said, “I now pronounce you husband and wife forever this time.”
Everybody clapped and cheered.
“You may now kiss the bride.”
This time, Gabe did kiss his bride—thoroughly.
Sara couldn’t have been happier as she took Gabe’s arm and walked down the long aisle between the two sections of folding chairs lining their front lawn. Ben ran on ahead. Eager, Sara knew, to show Junior the large feast waiting behind the house and, of course, the wedding cake.
But she felt Gabe stiffen when they reached the last row of chairs. He whispered, “What’s she doing here?”
Sara pulled him along until they were far enough ahead of the crowd following not to be overheard. “I invited Ronnie and Charlie to the wedding,” Sara confessed. “In fact, I delivered the invitation to the Flying-K in person.”
Gabe laughed. “Only to gloat, I hope.”
“Maybe just a little,” Sara admitted. “But no one in town has spoken to Ronnie since the day she broke my window. I wanted to put an end to that nonsense. I know what it’s like to be the outsider, Gabe. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone. Not even Ronnie.”
Gabe pulled her to a stop, the expression on his face filled with more love than Sara had ever seen. “I love you, do you know that?”
“Yes,” Sara said, “and I’ll never doubt it again.”
She was a Coulter.
At last, she was home.
ISBN: 978-1-4268-3616-9
A RANCH CALLED HOME
Copyright © 2009 by Candace Viers.
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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