“So Carrie’s gonna be your partner for today, and you are gonna close this.”
Casey looks like he’s gonna throw up. He’s more brains than me, and he’s tough, but together we are exponentially more intimidating and stronger than apart. But he’s gonna have to man up, because that’s the only way we get this deal.
And despite my personal feelings about Smith or Ryder or whatever, and his maggot of a son, I’m ready to take the money his conglomerate is offering. I just can’t be at the table when the contract is signed.
I spin on my heel, jogging backward toward the exit, shaking my head and pointing at Casey. “He’s coming. I gotta go.”
6
Emily
“It’s the biggest Boot Barn in the state!” I clap as Roman parks the truck in front of the store. Carrie and Casey are in the back seat, and Chris Stapleton is coming through the speakers.
Everything is perfect.
My belly does ten kinds of turns. We’re all riding high. There was some sort of hiccup, and Carrie bailed on me during our second episode of Drag Race to go step in for Roman.
When he came back to the room, he wasn’t in a talking mood, and I’m all for poking the bull, but even I know when to turn into a purring kitten and sit tight.
Half hour later, Casey came through the door whooping, and even Carrie did a little jump clap. The deal got signed, and now we’re on our way to some surprise Wyoming wedding destination Roman’s cooked up somehow, but before we say the ‘I do’s’, we’re stopping for some new wedding gear all around.
I don’t care if Roman has money or not, but now he does, and this signed deal has unlocked my one-way ticket to pound town.
We stopped at the county courthouse before coming here, and we have our marriage license all ready to be signed by a presiding official and two witnesses, who are, I think, as excited as we are. And scared, of course, of what our collective parents are going to do to all of us when they find out we have something a little more serious on our schedule than mani-pedis, shit-talking each other, ordering pizza, and swimming in the hotel pool.
“These.” Roman comes from around the corner of one of the towering shelves of boots, holding a pair of white Lucchese’s, with platinum-embossed toe tips and turquoise embellishments set into the side seams. “These are your wedding boots.”
He smiles one of his rare smiles, and that dimple comes out to play ‘you’re it’ with my ovaries and womb spasms.
“They’re beautiful. Are they expensive?” I fuss, and his face falls. I immediately clench my teeth, realizing that was not the correct response. “I’m sorry, cowboy, I love them!” I throw myself forward, latching my arms around his waist, my head barely hitting his chest, and squeeze, looking up with my best little girl smile. “But not as much as I love you, Daddy.”
And just like that, the light comes back into his eyes, and all is right in his world again.
“That’s my girl. Now, you girls pick out whatever you want.” He nods to Carrie, who is carefully studying a pair of red Tony Llama Premiums like they’re alien technology, then swings her head around in surprise that he’s speaking to her. “I want you both looking like you’re getting crowned Miss Rodeo Wyoming when we leave here.”
“Yes, butwhereare we going?” Carrie’s OCD sends her voice higher. She doesn’t like surprises, so being roped in at the last minute to get the deal across the line likely has her covered in hives.
Add on a last-minute wedding, and she needs a shot and a beer, pronto.
“You’re gonna have to trust me. It’s not far, and it will be a low-key affair.” Roman winks, and I forget how to breathe.
“We got friends in low places.” My smile stretches to my ears.
I hope I feel like this in ten years, twenty, eighty.
“What about our parents?” Carrie asks again as Casey comes down the boot aisle to join us, tapping on his phone and looking distracted, before looking from Carrie to me to Roman.
“Yeah, they’re gonna lose their collective shit.” He nods with a twist of his lips.
Roman puts up a hand, his black felt Stetson shadowing his eyes from the fluorescents overhead. Waylon Jennings is playing through the speakers.
I’m in a happiness haze when I feel Roman’s rough hand pull on mine, bringing it up between us as he holds something pinched in the fingers of his other hand.
“This was my grandmother’s. I never met her.” His face is solemn, and I swallow back the tears that threaten to burst from my lower lids. I know what’s coming. I waited for this moment for so long, but now that it’s here, I’m woefully unprepared.
A rose gold ring meets the tip of my ring finger. Roman doesn’t ask, and I can tell by the way his jaw is set, words are going to break him right now, and one thing I will never, ever do is break my cowboy. Spirit or otherwise.
“Put it on me, Saint Roman. I’m ready.”
