Page 122 of One Wild Chance

She wraps her arms around me. “But you’re the Chance I’m willing to take,” she whispers as she goes up on her toes to kiss me, both of us standing here in a thunderstorm, drenched and a little out of our minds.

My lips caress hers once more, savoring the taste of her mouth, the scent of flowers in the rain. “I’ll always come for you, Wildflower.” I tuck a soaked strand of hair behind her ear. “Rain or shine. There was never a version of this where I didn’t show up for you.”

A smile tugs at her lips. “You’re annoyingly perfect, you know that?”

I can’t stop grinning now. “So I’ve been told.”

She nuzzles her nose into my neck, her breath warm against my damp skin. “But I could get used to perfect.”

I pull her flush against me, our mouths colliding as I thread my hands into her wet hair and chase her lips with mine—then trace the line of her jaw, the curve of her neck—all slicked with rain and the salt from her tears. It doesn’t matter that I’m soaked through my clothes, this is exactly where I want to be—with her in my arms forever.

She’s still holding on to my shirt, fingers knotted into the fabric when she looks up at me. “You kiss like a cowboy, Jaxon Chance,” she murmurs against my lips.

My laugh is low and a little rough. “Never been prouder of that.”

She goes quiet for a second. “I went to see my mom today.” Her voice catches a little on the words. “She called me Wildflower.”

“Really?”

She nods, her eyes bright.

I reach for her hand and thread my fingers through hers. “Just like I do.”

We stand there as the rain eases, holding on to each other. “Can we go see her?” I ask.

She stares at me. “Right now?”

I brush my thumb over her lips. “I want to tell her the good news.”

“And what good news would that be?”

“That I’m not going anywhere.” I drop a kiss on her forehead. “You’ve been mine since you parked your horse in front of my truck.”

She laughs, pressing her face into my chest. “You were a very inconvenient surprise that day.”

“I was?”

“Still are, actually.” I can’t see her face tucked against my shirt, but I can hear the smile in her voice. “The best one I’ve ever had.”

“Well, consider this your warning for the next surprise.” I stroke her wet hair. “Someday, I’m going to do more than chase you down in the rain.”

She tips her head back, chin resting against my chest, looking up at me. “What would that be, cowboy?”

“I’m going to make you my wife.” I brush a thumb over her cheekbone. “When it’s right. When I can do it properly.”

Chapter 36

Summer

Life is full of surprises: some good, some bad, and some that show up right before guests arrive. But on the night of Wildflower Weddings’ open house, I’m not in the market for surprises. I want an uneventful evening that ends with happy brides paying their deposits, full booking sheets, and no disasters involving horses, weather, or best friends freaking out over football players. In other words, unremarkable in the best possible way.

For tonight, I have officially entered the zone where I’m no longer a farm girl, but a walking checklist in a killer dress. Except I don’t have the killer-dress part yet.

I’ve got two hours until we launch this event, and I’m still in cowboy boots and a trucker’s cap. Last night was supposed to be dress-try-on night at Larissa’s, but it was also the Golden Springs youth hockey team’s first game, and I was not missing that for anything in the world.

Jaxon has embraced his new hobby as the team’s coach, and it’s been the best decision to keep hockey in his life without the pressure or the hundreds of miles of travel.

Golden Springs lost in overtime, by a heartbreaking one goal, but you’d have thought from the look on the kids’ faces that they’d won the Stanley Cup. After the buzzer, he gathered all the kids on the team bench, and told them: Failure is how you learn. Anyone who tells you differently has never tried anything worth failing at. Then he made them do their version of bringing it in, their hands stacked in the middle of their circle, yelling, Go Golden Springs! on the count of three.