Page 29 of The Rancher’s Bride

“You look strange.”

“I always look like this.”

She studies my face. “No, you don’t.”

“I need to say something.”

Her expression changes. “All right.”

I rub my thumb across her knuckles, trying to find the right words. I’m still not good at this part. Probably never will be.

“The agency didn’t know shit about you,” I say.

She blinks. “That’s romantic.”

“They got your age wrong. Got where you were from wrong. Didn’t tell me much besides the fact that you liked books and worked in an office.”

She waits for me to go on.

“I thought I wanted a wife because I was tired of that house being empty. Thought any woman who could stand me might do.” I shake my head. “I was wrong. I’m glad it was you who stepped off that train. I’m glad you argued with me. I’m glad you stayed when I acted like an asshole and gave you every reason not to.”

“You gave me several,” she says gently.

I give her hands a squeeze. “I’m trying to tell you how much I love you.”

Her eyes grow damp. “Damian.”

“I love you so fucking much,” I say. “I’m so glad you’re the woman I get to marry.”

A tear slips down her cheek. I wipe it away with my thumb.

“Don’t ruin your makeup.”

She lets out a broken laugh and throws her arms around my neck. “I love you too,” she whispers.

I hold her tight against me. “Yeah? You sure about that?”

“Yes.”

I kiss her until a horn blares behind us. My mother leans out her window.

“You two have an appointment!”

Sabrina looks toward her, then back at me. “Now I know where you get it.”

The ceremony is quick. My mother cries before it even starts. My sister cries when Sabrina says her vows. My niece drops the flowers she’s supposed to hold, and my brother clears his throat so many times nobody believes his claim about allergies.

When the judge tells me to kiss my wife, I dip Sabrina backward and kiss her until she’s laughing against my mouth.

Afterward, we all crowd into the diner. Steak, potatoes, pie, too many photographs, and several stories from my brother that should’ve stayed buried.

Then I bring my wife home.

I carry her through the front door. She points out that she already lives here. I tell her to shut up. Then I carry her upstairs and keep her in bed for the next few hours.

Later, I’m stretched across the mattress on my stomach while Sabrina sits on top me, digging her fingers into my shoulders.

I groan into the pillow. “Harder.”