Page 43 of Lost Trust

The outdoor arena looks nothing like the place I saw when I arrived yesterday morning. It’s been converted into something magical. Pale woven rugs cover the packed dirt, running beneath rows of rustic wooden benches that frame a wide center aisle. Each bench is accented with small bundles of wildflowers.

At the far end, a simple wooden arch, made of thick woven branches, stands beneath the open sky, draped in greenery and heavy with white, cream, and soft green blooms. Glass lanterns at its base hold flickering candles, whose light shifts gently with the evening breeze.

To one side, a small platform holds a harpist and a guitarist. As guests begin to take their seats, their music rises—delicate harp notes threaded through the easy strum of the guitar. Soft and beautiful.

Quiet conversation and scattered laughter drift through the air as Ryder slips his hand more firmly into mine, and we walk together through the entrance, find a seat at the end of an empty bench, and settle in.

Royce

The office at the rodeo academy is barely big enough for the six of us when we’re all in here at once, and right now, it looks like a tornado came through the place.

Suit jackets rest on the backs of chairs. Flannels are slung over the old leather couch. The scent of cologne hangs in the air. A pair of cowboy boots sits underneath Bryce’s desk. His father, Chord, paces while Cabe adjusts his belt buckle in front of the full-length mirror—an antique pedestal number that Grandma Evelyn had someone bring in here this morning.

I’m wrestling with the cuff of my shirt when Bryce steps out of the little bathroom attached to the office.

“Somebody tell me if this looks right.”

I glance over my shoulder.

He stands there in his white dress shirt and black vest, the shirt tucked neatly into a pair of dark jeans. His boots are polished, his hair is combed back, and his expression is the same one he’s worn all morning.

Nervous.

Axle looks up from where he’s sitting on the edge of the desk. “You look like a groom to me.”

Bryce frowns. “I’m talking about the bow tie.” His eyes look to me. “Royce?”

I look up from the credenza behind the desk that Ax and I turned into a makeshift bar, loaded down with bottles of whiskey. “It’s crooked.”

“Fuck. I thought so. I’ve retied the damn thing three times.” He turns back toward the mirror and reaches for his collar.

Albert chuckles from his seat on the couch. He sets his glass aside and stands. “Let me help you with that.”

Bryce turns to his soon-to-be father-in-law and lowers his hands. “I’ve been struggling with the damn thing for fifteen minutes. Why the hell couldn’t we just wear normal ties?”

“And by normal, he means clip-on,” Chord says.

“Exactly.”

“Because it’s Charli,” Cabe says. “Matty didn’t even make us wear ties.”

Matty married her husband, Caison, in the front yard of the farmhouse. She wore her late mother, Miriam’s, wedding dress and carried a bouquet of wildflowers, and her sisters were in lavender sundresses. Caison wore black jeans and a black dress shirt with pearl snaps, with the rest of us guys dressed the same. It was simple—a handful of the people she loved stood around the two of them, and after, a cake baked by Imma Jean, along with champagne, was served on the front porch.

But Charli went all out. A gown handmade by a designer from Dallas. A guest list that includes the whole damn town. And catering from one of her favorite restaurants in Jackson Hole. A party planning company has been working for days, transforming the academy’s indoor arena and event barn into an elegant cowgirl wedding dream. And Bryce even had country music star Garrett Tuttle and his band flown in for the reception. He said something about him playing at the hotel in Oklahoma where he had first realized he was falling in love with Charli.

Romantic sap.

“He can ride the rankest bull, but he’s losing a fight with a piece of fabric,” I tease.

Axle laughs.

Bryce throws his middle finger up at the both of us as Albert nimbly loops the tie around his collar, straightens the silk, and starts working the knot.

“Hard to believe,” Albert mutters.

“What?” Bryce asks.

“Another of my baby girls is getting married.”