Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 70264 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 351(@200wpm)___ 281(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70264 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 351(@200wpm)___ 281(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
Taylor’s eyes widen with genuine fear. Has she never seen a dress before? Jesse’s gaze drifts to her worn clothing, and she seems to get the hint.
“I’ll take you upstairs,” I say quickly, grabbing the hanger from Jesse.
Taylor stands, avoiding making direct eye contact with any of us, and follows me into the hallway and up the wooden stairs. We pass photographs of generations of the McGraw family and friends, lifetimes of happy memories. I wonder what’s going through Taylor’s mind right now. Probably a bales’-worth of questions and a shit-pile of fears.
“You can change here.” I open the door to one of the spare rooms. Taylor looks down at my wrist, frowning. I follow her gaze and find her focused on the colorful friendship bracelet that Katherine tied onto my arm last week.
“Jesse’s niece,” I say. “She wanted to make our friendship official!”
When Taylor looks at me, there seems to be less panic in her eyes. Maybe the bracelet and the story associated is reassuring in some way.
I hand Taylor the dress. “This room is going to be yours.”
She doesn’t look around, just zeroes in on the dress. “What if it doesn’t fit me?”
“I’m sure it will.” I speak with utter confidence, but who the fuck knows. Jesse bought it before he ever laid eyes on the girl who would wear it. How would he know what size to buy?
“I’m going to get ready myself. I’ll be back in five minutes to take you back down.”
I turn my back before Taylor can express any more of her uncertainties. We’re all trapped in this situation now, brought together in an unholy alliance. No point in making a mountain out of a molehill.
I busy myself in my room, doing my best to tame the hurricane of a mess that’s built up over the past week. If anything good is going to come from today, it’ll be having a woman around to keep me in line. I fix my hat hair, wetting the curls so they twist again.
When I think Taylor’s had enough time, I head out into the hall. She’s standing in the doorway, wearing the loose-fitting, white summer dress. Her feet are bare, and she’s run damp fingers through her hair, tucking it behind her ears. She’s done her best to look the part with her limited resources. Truth be told, she’s pretty as a picture with all the glow that comes from a girl in the early bloom of womanhood. She makes me feel old, even though thirty-two is still considered young these days. She hasn’t experienced long days working in the sunshine like I have. I hope she hasn’t lived through the grit of a childhood like mine, either.
“Perfect,” I tell her, and she flushes.
“I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“You don’t need to do anything except follow me down the stairs and stand next to Clint. Okay?” I start walking, hoping my momentum will give her some.
Jesse’s waiting at the bottom of the stairs and his eyes widen when he glimpses Taylor. I know that look. He’s attracted to her, but it’s more than that. He’s seeing past her, into the future he always wanted but was snatched away. She’s like a portal into his twenty-five-year-old self. The reality is she’s fifteen years and too much trauma too late.
Clint is still at the table, with his hands hanging at his sides. Where Jesse’s having a spiritual experience, Clint looks like a man facing the gallows. He’s going to need to climb those stairs and make this marriage official in ten minutes. I can’t help him with that.
“All right, all right. Let’s get this show on the road.” I sound like a cheesy gameshow host, but fuck it. Weddings are supposed to be light and fluffy. This one needs all the humor I can shoehorn into it.
Clint rises, and Taylor approaches. They stand too far apart, so I urge them closer with one hand on each of their upper arms. “The happy couple,” I quip.
Behind me, Jesse makes a low, growling sound of disapproval. “Quit ye jawin’, Maverick.” He’s not always a fan of my fun attitude.
Before anyone can bolt—and it looks like it’s a serious possibility—I read through the vows. The happy couple say, ‘I do,’ and the ceremony is over. I get them to sign the documents and Jesse witnesses. We take a quick photo for posterity. And that’s it. Done. Taylor is now Taylor Lawson, the official wife of Clint, the man who never wanted to get married.
When the ink is drying, I shake Clint’s hand and lean in to kiss Taylor’s soft cheek. She smells of peach pie, my favorite, and for the first time since she climbed into the truck with us, I wish I was the one getting to take her upstairs. Instead, I have to urge my best friend into some awkward conjugals. “Time to take your bride upstairs.”