by Pippa Grant
“Don’t be sorry. Let it out. Let it all out, Hope. You don’t have to hold it in.”
And for the first time in my life, I do.
I let it all out.
All the frustration and fear and regret. It all rolls out of me while I hug the man I love, the man I trust, the man I’d do anything for, no matter what.
And while I cry, the pent-up energy that seems to follow me everywhere slowly leaks out too, until I’m a bone-weary mass of uselessness catching my breath on a riverbank while Blake strokes my back and whispers that he loves me, that we’re okay, that I’m okay, and that he’ll always be here for me and my animals.
Finally, I force myself to sit up and inspect his injury. But I’ve barely had time to see that the blood seems to be slowing when something crashes through the woods next to us.
“There you three are,” Ryan says, emerging from the underbrush onto the riverbank, where Chewy is calmly grazing on the tender green grass poking up from between the rocks. He squints across the river and grins. “And I see Clint has everything else in hand.”
On the opposite riverbank, Clint’s sitting on Dean while three sheriff’s deputies hack their way through the weeds to reach them.
Blake pushes into a seated position with a groan, but Ryan and I quickly ease him back again. “Lie down,” I say. “And don’t move until we know it’s safe.”
“You gonna live, little brother?” Ryan asks.
Blake lifts a middle finger while his lips hitch up.
Ryan grins. “Yep, gonna be just fine. Paramedics are on their way though.”
“Oh good, but how did you know where we—” I start, but Ryan cuts me off with a nod behind me.
The boat.
Holy crap.
It’s drifted back into the river, in flames, and is sinking while smoke plumes billow from the carnage.
“Just followed the smoke,” he says. “After calling for backup, because I’m not a moron who rushes into things without thinking first.”
Blake flips him off again.
And then Chewy leans over and licks him.
And we all laugh and the last of the fear gripping my chest fades away. Blake’s right, we’re going to be okay. Better than okay.
We’re going to be a family.
The best family we can be.
Twenty-Seven
Blake
* * *
By the time we get back to Hope’s house a few hours later, my head is still throbbing, but my heart is happy and full.
Chewpaca is safe.
Hope is safe.
And I’m home.
We’re all home. Together.
Hope and Chewpaca and all the animals and me.
She ushers me straight to the bedroom, and I smile, because I love this bedroom. The happy sunshine coming in through the breezy curtains. The soft quilt on the four-poster bed that looks like someone’s grandma made it, even though I know Hope’s grandma wouldn’t have, but still, it feels like love went into it. The romance novels on the nightstand. The way her limited jewelry scattered on her dresser looks like it’s arranged in a smiley face.
Yep.
I love this bedroom.
And that’s not the painkillers talking.
It’s because this is Hope’s room, and I’m welcome here.
“I’m going to make sure the animals are okay, and I will be right back to pamper you and take care of you, understand?” she says as she makes me sit on the bed and bends to pull my wet boots off.
My clothes have mostly dried, but my boots—those are probably shot.
That’s okay.
Boots are easy to replace, unlike one-in-a-million alpacas and one of a kind women like my wife.
“I’ll come help you,” I say, trying to rise from the bed only for her to put her hands firmly on my shoulders.
“Barefoot?” She arches a brow. “I don’t think so, pooky. Leave this room, and I’ll give you a matching injury on your other eye with Dildo Shaggins.”
I grin. “I love you, snookums.”
Her beautiful brown eyes soften, and that sweet smile shoots an arrow of happiness straight through my heart to my soul. “I love you too. I’ll be back in five minutes, okay? Lie down. Rest.”
I want to argue, but my head does hurt.
Who knew Dean was master of the head-butt?
Now he’s master of the orange jumpsuit.
I almost giggle, but I don’t, because that would be unmanly and I’m not that delirious yet.
Still, it’s good to know we helped put a thief behind bars. The sheriff found evidence that he’s been involved in a string of robberies all across Georgia, and all of his private eye credentials were falsified.
I’ll be talking to Kyle about his shit taste in PI’s later.
And then I’m going to talk to Hope about taking her clothes off and snuggling me naked.
That would make my head feel better.
It’s the last thought I have before the sun is suddenly slanting low through the windows.
I wake up disoriented, my head not throbbing quite as much, with a warm body curled up next to me. I gingerly touch soft hair and smooth skin, and Hope squeezes me tighter.
“You’re awake?”
I pet her hair again. “Good girl. Good beta alpaca.”
She goes stiff.
I try—and fail—to squelch a low chuckle.
“You—you—” she sputters, but I can hear the smile in her voice.
“Ah-ah, Mrs. O’Dell. Five nice things about me, remember?”
She doesn’t speak. Instead, she pushes up just far enough to lean her face in to mine and press a soft kiss to my lips. “One,” she whispers.
“That was very nice,” I agree.
“How’s your head?”
“Better.”
“Good.” She sits up, and I get a better look at my wife while she slides off the bed. She’s only wearing a tee shirt and underwear—which is fabulous—but she could, and should, be wearing fewer clothes.
And soon will be if I have anything to say about it.
I push up on my elbows. “Wait a second. Where are you—” I start, but then stop as she turns to face me, peeling her tee shirt off to reveal a white bra cradling her sweet breasts.
My lips part. My tongue goes dry.
And then my wife reaches for the waist of her panties.
My body flushes hot, and all my blood rushes below my belt.
“I love you,” she says, her lips curving.
“That’s definitely two good things.” I can’t keep the huskiness from my voice while I watch her work the simple white panties lower on her hips.
“And I don’t want to hide from you ever again.”
I lift my gaze to meet her soft, vulnerable brown eyes.
“I want to give you my body,” she continues while she steps out of her underwear, “but that’s just the beginning. I want to share everything with you, husband. The good and the bad. The happy and the sad. The ups and the downs and everything in between.”
She reaches behind her back and unhooks her bra, stealing the breath from my lungs. “But most importantly, I want to share my heart, the one thing I’ve never dared to do with anyone else. Because no one else has ever deserved it the way you do. No one else has ever made me believe in it, in myself, the way you do.”
“Hope,” I whisper.
“You make me feel so loved. And not because I’m perfect. But because I’m perfect for you, just the way I am.” She slides the bra down her arms and tosses it to the ground, revealing my brave, beautiful wife.
“I want to do the same for you,” she says. “I want you to know you’re always safe. And loved. And treasured. Always.” She crawls back onto the bed, straddling my body. “Tell me when it hurts, and I’ll stop.”
“Don’t ever stop.”
I thread my fingers through her soft hair while she leans forward to kiss me again, her hands pushing up my shirt and setting my skin on fire. I want to stroke her everyw
here, memorize every inch of her.
“Shh,” she whispers while she helps me out of my shirt. “My turn. Let me take care of you.”
And she does.
She strips me carefully out of my clothes. She kisses me slow and deep. She runs her hands over my body so thoroughly, I wonder if she’s checking to make sure I’m all here, or if she’s trying to memorize me the way I want to memorize her.
And when she takes me inside her, I know she’s holding nothing back.
No more secrets.
No more hesitation.
She’s all in.
I’m all in.
And this is where we’re finally supposed to be.
She tries to keep things slow, gentle, but I want her so badly. Within minutes, we’re both slick with sweat and I’m so close to coming, but I want—I need to feel her come for me first.
“Oh, god, Blake,” she gasps. “I love you. I love you.”
It sends me over the edge. “I love you,” I moan as the first tremors of her orgasm squeeze me tighter, and it’s not about sex or getting off.
It’s about being one with the woman that I was born to spend my life with.
Finally.
And forever.
Epilogue
Blake
Later That Year…
* * *
It’s the happiest day of my life.
Again.
Hope is giggling, beaming, shining as she hurries through the door of Jace’s bar, the Wild Hog, flanked by Cassie and Olivia, who are acting as unofficial bridesmaids for our most unorthodox wedding yet.
I can’t wait to say “I do” for the third time in front of family and friends and let the whole world know this marriage is going to stick. For good.
Forever.
And this time I get to get married with my entire family present, including Clint, who’s finally back home for the foreseeable future. He’s been transferred stateside for an assignment nearby and it looks like we’ll have him home for a nice long stretch.
It’s a good time to be an O’Dell, no doubt about it, and there are days when I get worn the hell out just counting my blessings.
Like today.
Half the town of Happy Cat is crammed into the bar.
I’m flanked by my brothers and my parents, who, as Hope reaches me in front of the jukebox, close in for a group hug.
Hope decided she didn’t need anyone to walk her down the aisle, after all, but she and my dad get closer every day. They’re fishing buddies, who head down to the river almost every pretty Sunday evening to cast their lines, drink a few beers, and gossip about what hell-raisers my brothers and I were when we were little.
She always asks me to come along, but I always say no. She needs solo time with a loving parental figure, and I need to cook her a kick-ass dinner while she’s gone. Because wooing my wife is my favorite hobby as well as my mission on earth.
“Let’s get married every day,” Hope murmurs into my ear.
“Sounds like a plan,” I agree, taking her hands with a grin as my family steps away to take their places and wrangle the furry members of the wedding party.
Chewpaca, George and his family, and Jace and Olivia’s hedgehogs—Princess and Duchess—have been given special permission from the health department to attend tonight’s gathering. And they’re all in fine, wedding day form. Chewpaca is dashing in a paisley scarf and straw hat with holes cut for his ears. The hedgehogs wear tiny flower crowns in their spikes, George wears his formal bow tie, and his main squeeze, Sticky Fingers, rocks a big red bow tied around the base of her tail that George clearly finds nearly as mesmerizing as his lady’s generous backside.
He’s a butt man, our George, a condition I can completely identify with.
I lean back, taking a discreet peek at my wife in her jeans. She’s wearing the tight pair that drives me crazy, boots, and a heavier, winter-friendly buttonless blouse that reminds me of that night in the tasting room, when I finally dared to think she might be mine for real someday.
And now, here we are, and I couldn’t be happier. I honestly didn’t know happiness like this was possible until I found my way back to her.
“Are you checking out my ass?” she murmurs, as Ruthie May, the town gossip and the officiate of our Friends and Family Wedding takes her place in front of us.
“Guilty,” I confess, slipping my arms around my bride and bending her back for a kiss so steamy soon half the bar is hooting their encouragement.
“Whoa there, mister, save it for after the vows,” Ruthie May chides with a laugh. “Young folks today, always wanting to eat dessert first.”
“Speaking of dessert, the cupcakes ain’t here,” Gerald calls from over by the bar. “Want me to run back to the bakery and grab some of the leftover muffin tops from this morning?”
“No, thank you, Gerald,” Hope says. “I’m sure she’ll get here eventually.”
“If not, I’ve got an incredible vegan no-bake cake recipe. Wouldn’t take me but twenty minutes to throw it together,” Star calls out from one of the hammocks we’ve hung around the room, wanting our guests to feel relaxed and at home.
Though maybe not this at home…
“Y’all hush now,” Ruthie May says. “You’re sweet, but you’re chattin’ when I’m supposed to be marryin’.” A wave of laughter sweeps through the room in response and Ruthie May grins. “Good, then let’s get started.” She slips a quarter in the jukebox, and a second later, the first raunchy notes of “Honky Tonk Badonkadonk” rumble from the speakers. Immediately, the visor club of naughty bingo fame starts to sing along, Ruthie May shushes them, and Hope cracks up.
Because that definitely isn’t one of the songs on our approved “getting hitched” list.
“Shoot,” Ruthie May says, her brow furrowing as she runs a hand through her salt and pepper hair. “I thought I hit the Elvis song.” She sighs. “Oh, well. Should we just go with it?”
Hope and I exchange a glance and nod at the same time. “Let’s do it,” I say, not caring what song I marry this woman to, as long as I get to promise her the rest of my life in front of our nearest and dearest.
“Dearly beloved,” Ruthie May says, “we’re fixin’ to finally get these two lovebirds hitched up the right way. Blake. Hope. Put your hand on the monthly Sunshine Toys subscription box and repeat after me.”
She holds out a pink and white box with a bright yellow winking sun on the top, and Hope starts giggling again.
“Ruthie May,” Cassie, who is massively pregnant and about to give birth any second now, calls out from the booth where she, Ryan, and the Cooney family are sharing a large bowl of popcorn in hopes of keeping the critters out of the cupcakes if they ever arrive, “that’s for swearing someone in to the board of directors at the factory, not for conducting a wedding.”
“Well, they can’t keep what’s inside if they don’t say their vows on the box.” Ruthie May lifts her nose with a sniff. “And you know they loved their prize from bingo.”
Hope and I lock eyes, grin like the shameless Dildo Shaggins-loving people we are and as one, each put a hand on the box.
“There. That’s better,” Ruthie May says. “Now. As I was saying, marriage is a time-honored tradition of vowing to love one person and only one person for the rest of your life. And it’s hard sometimes, and it’s ugly sometimes, and sometimes you need a shot of tequila or a punching bag to get through the day.” She sighs. “And the nights. Sometimes the nights can be even worse. What with nothing to do except lie there and think about all the mistakes you’ve made, the things you might have done differently, and the chances that passed you by while you were busy doing other things.” A bittersweet smile curves her lips. “It all goes by so fast. You’ve gotta make every second count. Take the morning off. Make pancakes. Have seconds. Leave the dirty dishes in the sink.”
She trails off and the room grows uncomfortably silent, the awkward moment broken only by a coughing fit from Gerald and an orgling sound from C
hewpaca who, as usual, has found his way to Olivia’s side. If his crush is in a room, it’s a fair bet he’ll soon be beside her.
I glance his way to see him nuzzling Olivia’s neck and the blonde nodding seriously. “Of course,” she murmurs to our fluffy best man before lifting a hand to Ruthie May. “Um, excuse me, but might I take over, please?” Olivia glides in, touching Ruthie May on the arm. Clover, who’s very mobile now, is riding on Olivia’s back in some sort of silk scarf contraption, chewing on an apple slice, while Jace wears a matching sling with the two hedgehogs tucked inside.
I’d call him whipped, except I’m the guy currently hunting for three more alpacas to round out Chewpaca’s herd. I might also be the guy looking for matching nameplates for their pens in the stable and a specially-decorated drinking trough.
“I have a few things to say,” Olivia continues, making the baby giggle happily, because apparently she likes her mama having things to say. “And Hope did such a lovely job with my wedding it seems a shame not to return the favor.”
Ruthie May blinks like she’s coming out of a trance and swipes at her shining eyes. “That’s a lovely idea. I didn’t realize I’d get so emotional.”
“A lot of big feelings on a day like today,” Olivia says kindly as she steps into Ruthie May’s place and our original officiate is welcomed at the visor lady table, given a beer, and complimented on her words of wisdom for the young couple. Which seems to encourage some of the drunker visor-wearing grannies to shout out their own advice.
“And don’t go to bed angry!” one calls out.
“Or forget birthdays and anniversaries,” another shouts.
“Or put being right over being sweet,” a third barks. “You’re going to win more honey with sugar than from pouring salt in a wound and calling it medicine.”
Hope and I are exchanging covertly confused looks when Gerald calls out for Olivia to, “Get this thing started already. The game’s starting in an hour and at this rate we’ll still be sitting here waiting for the honoring and cherishing.”
“Gerald, for the love of muffin tops, just shut it and be patient,” Maud calls out from the other side of the bar just as the front door bangs open, and the cupcake lady races in, a pack of apparently feral kittens at her heels.
