An Alaskan Wedding

by Belle Calhoune

  She immediately stopped laughing. Boone was looking up at her with such a look of devotion it made her weak in the knees. A crowd had gathered nearby. People were looking and pointing. For this moment, all she wanted to do was focus on the man she loved. Grace wanted to remember this act of love for the rest of her years. She wanted to imprint every last detail on her soul so she could someday relay it to their children.

  “Gracie, we met in the most unlikely of circumstances. You came to Alaska looking for a story. I told myself I wasn’t looking for love, but deep down inside I yearned for it. I never expected to be bowled over by a city girl in four-inch heels. I am so deeply in love with you I can barely think straight. I can’t for the life of me imagine my life without you in it.”

  Grace couldn’t hold back the tears now. She was sniffling and choking back the sobs. Tears were coursing down her cheeks. She swiped them away with the back of her hand.

  “So, Gracie, if you would do me the honor of becoming my wife, I vow to never let you regret it for a single, solitary moment.”

  She leaned down and wrapped her arms around his neck, showering him with kisses. “Yes, Boone. I’ll marry you. I can’t imagine a better life than one we can share together.”

  Tears welled in Boone’s eyes. “I don’t have a ring on me, but I do have this.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out his sheriff’s badge. “Not many things in this world mean more to me than this badge. It represents truth and dedication and commitment. All the things I intend to give you, Gracie. For the rest of our lives.”

  Boone stood up and pinned the badge on Grace’s shirt, causing her to smile so wide she feared her face might crack. She ran her hand over the shiny star. It served as living proof of the principles they would build their lives around and of the strength of their love.

  For now, and always, she would be the sheriff of Love’s lady.

  “Thanks for coming after me, Boone,” she whispered. “It’s the loveliest thing anyone has ever done for me.”

  “Oh, Gracie,” he said with a sigh. “It was never really a choice. A life lived without you isn’t really a life at all. At least not for me.”

  Grace stood on her tiptoes and placed an emotional kiss on Boone’s lips. He was a keeper. Thank You, Lord. For answering my prayers and pointing me in the direction of this wonderful man.

  “Let’s go home, Boone,” she murmured, knowing that from this moment forward they would be walking in love.

  Epilogue

  New York Tribune

  Weddings

  Grace Corbett of New York City was married today to Sheriff Boone Prescott in Love, Alaska. Grace, a journalist for the Tribune, met Mr. Prescott while on assignment for the paper. Her popular series, “Finding Love in Alaska,” details her courtship with her now husband. The couple plan to honeymoon in Hawaii and will reside in Love, Alaska, with their malamute, Kona.

  Grace nestled against Boone as they sat on their couch while her husband read the wedding announcement out loud to her. Kona was sitting at their feet, curled up in a ball. Grace was still dressed in her elegant vintage wedding dress with the faux fur collar and rhinestones on the bodice. Her ivory shoes, bejeweled with brilliant crystals, sat prettily on the hardwood floor. Boone, looking dashing in a black tuxedo, smiled down at her as he closed the computer and placed it back on the coffee table.

  Their wedding this morning had been conducted by Pastor Jack in the presence of family, friends and an abundance of love. Sophie, Honor and Hazel had stood up as Grace’s bridesmaids, with Liam, Declan and Cameron acting as Boone’s groomsmen. Aidan, decked out in a little black suit, had marched down the aisle as the ring bearer. Grace brought Jasper to tears by asking him to walk her down the aisle. There hadn’t been a dry eye in the chapel as they recited their wedding vows with both of them adding their own heartfelt words of commitment and devotion. In the morning they’d be flying to Anchorage to catch their flight to Oahu for ten days of paradise.

  “The Tribune promised to send me a copy of the print edition. I can’t wait to have it framed so I can put it in a place of honor,” Grace said with a smile.

  Boone leaned down and pressed a kiss on her forehead. “I can’t wait to see our future unfold.”

  Grace reached up and placed a kiss on his cheek. “You’re not the only one, Sheriff Prescott.”

  Boone gazed at her lovingly. “Any regrets about hanging up your hat at the Tribune?”

  “Not a single one.” Grace let out a contented sigh. “I’m right where I should be. And I can submit articles as a freelance journalist whenever I want, not to mention there are a few things I want to submit to other papers here in Alaska.” She grabbed Boone’s arm. “How does this sound? How to Survive in the Alaskan Wilderness. Alaskan Spelunking 101. Or how about this... Finding the Man of Your Dreams in Love, Alaska.”

  “I like the last one, especially since you’re the woman of my dreams, Grace Prescott.”

  “Grace Prescott,” she said in a dreamy voice. “I like the way that sounds. It has a certain ring to it, don’t you think?”

  Boone brushed his lips across Grace’s, his kiss full of tenderness and emotion.

  “I think God blessed both of us the day He sent you to Love. Right from the beginning He gave us a sign when you fell right into my arms.”

  “Now I know what prayer He answered. I found everything I’ve always wanted right here in Love. Right here in your arms, Boone,” Grace whispered, her voice husky with emotion. “I’ve always wanted a tight-knit family. Now I get to share yours.”

  “I’m not sure I want to share you with anybody just yet,” Boone teased. “After all, we’ve barely been married a few hours. I like having you all to myself.”

  Grace giggled. “Jasper sure is tickled that we’re the first couple to be married as a result of Operation Love.”

  “Something tells me we won’t be the last. There are a lot of people who need love in this town,” Boone drawled.

  “Oh, Boone. We should help them. We could become the official ambassadors of Operation Love.” Her voice rang out with enthusiasm. She tapped her finger alongside her jaw. “Imagine all the possibilities.”

  “That sounds a lot like matchmaking,” Boone said with a raised eyebrow.

  “It wouldn’t really be matchmaking. Just giving the people we love a push in the right direction. Think about it. There’s Cameron, Declan and Sophie. And of course there’s Liam. And Honor.”

  Boone let out a groan. “Why can’t you just be happy about Jasper and Hazel? Our wedding was their first official date. I haven’t seen Jasper look so delighted in years.”

  “Oh, Sheriff Prescott, I am happy. Deliriously, ecstatically happy that I walked down the aisle toward the man I love. A man who greeted me at the altar with tenderness and joy and enthusiasm. Not to mention forgiveness. And with promises of a future to be lived out in love. I couldn’t be more blessed.”

  “We couldn’t be more blessed,” Boone said as their lips met in a wonderful celebration of what they’d found in one another and everything the future held in store for them.

  * * * * *

  Keep reading for an excerpt from THE AMISH MOTHER by Rebecca Kertz.

  Dear Reader,

  Thank you for joining me on this Alaskan adventure. I hope you enjoyed reading An Alaskan Wedding. Writing this book was a wonderful experience. It allowed me to inject a little humor into my work, which is always a treat. Alaska is such an exciting setting for a love story. Northern lights. Moose crossings. Frozen tundra. Good-looking bachelors! What’s not to love?

  Grace and Boone are perfect for one another in that both characters have a hole inside them that needs to be filled up. Boone isn’t expecting a woman like Grace to crash into his life in such a meaningful way. Grace is so focused on her career as a journalist that the last thing
she wants is to fall in love. Meeting and falling for Boone, as well as the residents of Love, is a priceless gift. In Alaska she finds a soft place to fall and people who treasure her, imperfections and all. And after taking care of his siblings for so many years, Boone deserves his own happily-ever-after with Grace.

  Finding a place to call home is a universal theme. Who doesn’t want to be loved and protected and sheltered from the storms of life? I truly feel fortunate to have met my husband when we were in college. Whether we’re watching a movie together at home or going out on the town, I always feel as if I’m safe, protected and deeply loved. My prayer is that each of you has a place to call home filled with love, happiness and a soft place to fall.

  As always, writing for the Love Inspired line is an honor. I feel very blessed to have my dream job.

  I love hearing from readers, however you choose to contact me. You can reach me by email at scalhoune@gmail.com, at my Author Belle Calhoune Facebook page or at my website, bellecalhoune.com. If you’re on Twitter, reach out to me, @BelleCalhoune.

  Blessings,

  Belle

  We hope you enjoyed this Harlequin Love Inspired story.

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  The Amish Mother

  by Rebecca Kertz

  Chapter One

  Lancaster County, Pennsylvania

  The apple trees were thick with bright, red juicy fruit waiting to be picked. Elizabeth King Fisher stepped out of the house into the sunshine and headed toward the twin apple trees in the backyard.

  “You sit here,” she instructed her three youngest children, who’d accompanied her. She spread a blanket on the grass for them. “I’ll pick and give them to you to put in the basket. Ja?”

  “Ja, Mam,” little Anne said as she sat down first and gestured for her brothers to join her.

  Lizzie smiled. “You boys help your sister?” Jonas and Ezekiel nodded vigorously. “Goot boys!” she praised, and they beamed at her.

  “What do you think we should make with these?” she said as she handed three apples to Jonas. “An apple pie? Apple crisp?”

  “Candy apples!” Ezekiel exclaimed. He was three years old and the baby of the family, and he had learned recently about candy apples, having tasted one when they’d gone into town earlier this week.

  Lizzie grinned as she bent to ruffle his hair. Ezekiel had taken off his small black-banded straw hat and set it on the blanket next to him. “Candy apples,” she said. “I can make those.”

  The older children were nowhere in sight. Elizabeth’s husband, Abraham, had fallen from the barn loft to his death just over two months ago, and the family was still grieving. Lizzie had tears in her eyes as she reached up to pull a branch closer to pick the fruit. If only I hadn’t urged him to get the kittens down from the loft...

  Tomorrow would have been their second wedding anniversary. She had married Abraham shortly after the children’s mother had passed, encouraged strongly by her mother to do so. She’d been seventeen years old at the time, but she’d been crippled her entire life.

  “Abraham Fisher is a goot man, Lizzie,” she remembered her mother saying. “He needs a mother for his children and someone to care for his home. You should take his offer of marriage, for in your condition you may not get another one.”

  My condition, Lizzie thought. She suffered from developmental hip dysplasia, and she walked with a noticeable limp that worsened after standing for long periods of time. But she was a hard worker and could carry the weight of her chores as well as the rest of the women in her Amish community.

  Limping Lizzie, the children had called her when she was a child. There had been other names, including Duckie because of her duck-like gait, which was caused by a hip socket too shallow to keep in the femoral head, the ball at the top of her long leg bone. Most of the children didn’t mean to be cruel, but the names hurt just the same.

  Lizzie had spent her young life proving that it didn’t matter that one leg was longer than the other; yet her mother had implied otherwise when she’d urged Lizzie to marry Abraham, a grieving widower with children.

  Abraham had still been grieving for his first wife when he’d married her, but she’d accepted his grief along with the rest of the family’s. His children missed their mother. The oldest two girls, Mary Ruth and Hannah, resented Lizzie. The younger children had welcomed her, as they needed someone to hug and love them and be their mother. And they were too young to understand.

  Mary Ruth, Abraham’s eldest, had been eleven at the time of her mother’s death, her sister Hannah almost ten. Both girls were angry with their mother for dying and angrier still at Lizzie for filling the void.

  Lizzie picked several more apples, handing the children a number of them so that they would feel important as they placed them carefully in the basket.

  “Can we eat one?” Anne asked.

  “With your midday meal,” Lizzie said. She glanced up at the sky and noted the position of the sun, which was directly overhead. “Are you hungry?” All three youngsters nodded vigorously. She reached to pick up the basket, which was full and heavy. She didn’t let on that her leg ached as she straightened with the basket in hand. “Let’s get you something to eat, then.”

  The children followed her into the large white farmhouse. When she entered through the back doorway, she saw the kitchen sink was filled with dirty dishes. She sighed as she set the basket on one end of the counter near the stove.

  “Mary Ruth!” she called. “Hannah!” When there was no response, she called for them again. Matthew, who was eight, entered the kitchen from the front section of the house. “Have you seen your older sisters?” Lizzie asked him.

  He shrugged. “Upstairs. Not sure what they’re doing.”

  “Matt, are you hungry?” When the boy nodded, Lizzie said, “If you’ll go up and tell your sisters to come down, I’ll make you all something to eat.”

  Jonas grabbed his older brother’s arm as Matt started to leave. “Mam’s going to make candy apples,” he said.

  Matthew opened his mouth as if to say something, but then he glanced toward the basket of apples instead and smiled. “Sounds goot. I like candy apples.” Little Jonas grinned at him.

  Matt left and then returned moments later, followed by his older sisters, Mary Ruth, Hannah and Rebecca, who had been upstairs in their room.

  “You didn’t do the dishes,” Lizzie said to Mary Ruth.

  The girl regarded her with a sullen expression. “I didn’t know it was my turn.”

  “I’ll do them,” Rebecca said.

  “That’s a nice offer, Rebecca,” Lizzie told her, “but ’tis Mary Ruth’s turn, so I think she should do it.” She smiled at the younger girl. “But you can help me make the candy apples later this afternoon after I hang the laundry.” She met Hannah’s gaze. “Did you strip the beds?”

  Hannah nodded. “I put the linens near the washing machine.”

  Lizzie smiled. “Danki, Hannah.” She heard Mary Ruth grumble beneath her breath. “Did you say something you’d like to share?” she asked softly.

  “Nay,” Mary Ruth replied.

  “I thought not.” She went to the refrigerator. “What would you like to eat?” Their main meal was usually at midday, but their schedule had differed occasionally since Abraham’s death bec
ause of the increase in her workload. Still, she had tried to keep life the same as much as possible.

  “I can make them a meal,” Mary Ruth challenged. Lizzie turned, saw her defiant expression and then nodded. The girl was hurting. If Mary Ruth wanted to cook for her siblings, then why not let her? She had taught her to be careful when using the stove.

  “That would be nice, Mary Ruth,” she said. “I’ll hang the clothes while you feed your brooders and sisters.” And she headed toward the back room where their gas-powered washing machine was kept, sensing that the young girl was startled. Lizzie retrieved a basket of wet garments and headed toward the clothesline outside.

  The basket was only moderately heavy as she carried it to a spot directly below the rope. She felt comfortable leaving the children in the kitchen, for she could see inside through the screen door.

  A soft autumn breeze stirred the air and felt good against her face. Lizzie bent, chose a wet shirt and pinned it on the line. She worked quickly and efficiently, her actions on the task but her gaze continually checking inside to see the children seated at the kitchen table.

  “Elizabeth Fisher?” a man’s voice said, startling her.

  Lizzie gasped and spun around. She hadn’t heard his approach from behind her. She’d known before turning that he was Amish as he had spoken in Deitsch, the language spoken within her community. Her eyes widened as she stared at him. The man wore a black-banded, wide-brimmed straw hat, a blue shirt and black pants held up by black suspenders. He looked like her deceased husband, Abraham, only younger and more handsome.

  “You’re Zachariah,” she said breathlessly. Her heart picked up its beat as she watched him frown. “I’m Lizzie Fisher.”

  * * *

  Zachariah stared at the woman before him in stunned silence. She was his late brother’s widow? He’d been shocked to receive news of Abraham’s death, even more startled to learn the news from Elizabeth Fisher, who had identified herself in her letter as his late brother’s wife.