Page 143 of Blue Jean Summer

He pressed his forehead to mine as he lowered to one knee where the tipped over table used to be. “You promise? This is what you want?”

“You are everything I want and more.”

Hayes tipped his head to the side and kissed me. “You’re sure? Cath, I don’t want you to do this just because you think I—”

“I’m sure.” I cupped his cheeks. “You have given me everything I’ve ever wanted. I have always wanted to be a Wilder. Not because of the name, but because I have always wanted you.”

“I’m not saying this is going to be easy. It’s gonna be hard. It’s gonna be real hard.” His words were strangled, but honest and pure.

After the losses he had experienced with his parents and grandparents, I wasn’t surprised that he was scared about making our relationship permanent. I was scared too. But more than being scared, I was certain that we could make it. That we would make it.

I held his hands the way we had when we said our wedding vows. “I know. I know it’s going to be hard. But hard things don’t scare me.” I blinked away my tears. “So it’s why I, Catherine Grace Foster, take you, Hayes Thomas Wilder, to be my lawfully wedded husband. For better or worse. To walk through this wild life as your partner, from this day forward. Till death do us part and we find ourselves in the roses again.”

“I do.” Hayes cupped my cheeks and kissed me. “I always have. I always will.”

Epilogue

Catherine

One Year Later

I had propped the patio doors open to let in the early-summer breeze, but the soft slide and thump of cowboy boots carried into the house instead.

I looked up from the grant applications I had been perusing for the better part of the afternoon and found Hayes lingering in the doorway.

Hello, handsome.

His workday had started hours earlier than mine, which meant he had cut out early and gone to work with Mason. The outdoors helped clear his head after stressful meetings or negotiations.

From nine to five—or whatever eight-hour window he worked—Hayes was in slacks and a neatly pressed button-up. After that, he was my cowboy.

I sat back on the couch and whistled as he lifted the Stetson off his head. “Look at you. Coming in for the day?”

He grinned down at his boots. “I don’t wanna track dirt through the house. I was hoping I could get you to come out.”

I sighed and looked at the stack of paperwork I had yet to go through. It had been just under a year since Lewis had been arrested and removed from the Wilder Foundation and yet I was still sorting through his mess.

A few months ago, we had gotten the green light from the horde of forensic accountants and attorneys Hayes had hired to undo everything Lewis had done, and I had officially taken the position as the head of the Wilder Foundation.

Since I didn’t want any worthy cause to fall through the cracks because of the damage Lewis had done, Hallie and I were reviewing each grant application by hand.

Between getting the foundation back to its former glory and growing the Learning Cottage, I was swamped.

“I should keep working,” I said with a sigh as I rubbed my temples. “At least for a little longer.”

Amusement danced in his eyes. “Cath. Clock out. It’s an hour and a half past quitting time. Work will be there tomorrow.”

I set the papers on the coffee table and tidied up the stacks. “I know. But if I could just get through a few more—”

Before I knew what was happening, Hayes crossed the room and hoisted me over his shoulder. The world turned upside down.

“Hayes!” I shrieked, swatting the back of his thigh. I spat out gobs of my hair that had fallen into my open mouth. “What are you doing?!”

“You’re clocked out,” he said as he paused on the stone patio and grabbed the pair of boots I kept there.

Over the last year, the estate house had become home. We kept every bit of opulence that Hayes’s grandparents had left behind, but now there were shoes by the door. Paperbacks, not decorative books, were on nearly every end table. Pictures had been added to the fireplace mantel—recent ones of Hayes and me.

That wasn’t to say that the last year had been easy. Even though Lewis’s legal dispute of the will had been dropped, Hayes had been put through the wringer with Lewis’s federal trial. Stress from our jobs had given us short fuses and a few nights of sleeping alone. But more than the stress, the last three hundred and sixty-five days had given me a clearer perspective.