Page 72 of Blue Jean Summer

“Long time ago.” He chuckled. “It’s a young man’s game.”

“You’re still a young man,” I said, elbowing him as we stood side by side at the doors as the string quartet began to play.

“I don’t need the adrenaline anymore,” Mason said. “I just need the roses and the mountains.” He cracked a smile. “And the occasional ornery calf that escapes Grey’s herd on the west side.”

The music swelled, and Hallie gave us a nod from her post at the back row of seats. That was my cue to head down the aisle.

Mason donned his nicest cowboy hat and offered his arm. “Take it nice and slow. No running down the aisle.” He paused. “Unless you’re running away. Then just let me know and I’ll give you my keys.”

I took a deep breath and stepped into the early-afternoon sun. “No going back now.” I paused as Mason closed the doors behind me. I expected him to immediately join me but looked over my shoulder when he didn’t.

Mason was kneeling behind me, pulling out the hem of my dress’s train and the edge of my veil so that they lay neatly while I walked. He straightened and offered me his arm again.

“Thank you,” I whispered as tears welled in my eyes. Mason was beyond kind, which was exactly why I had asked him to walk me down the aisle in a pinch. But the ache for it to have been my father still lingered. I slipped my arm through his and took the first step.

Mason patted my hand as we made the slow walk to the floral arch. “I won’t let you fall.”

The moment we rounded the corner, the small crowd seated in neat rows of chairs in the grass rose to their feet. Hayes stood just inside one of the paths that snaked through the rose garden.

We had seen each other dressed in our wedding attire already. He had held me while I cried and waited patiently while I fixed my makeup and cleaned up the spot on his suit. We had posed for photos together at the behest of the photographer.

But nothing—nothing—had prepared me to see Hayes waiting for me at the end of the aisle with glassy eyes that matched mine.

“You alright?” Mason asked under his breath.

The tension leached from my shoulders as Hayes’s solemn expression broke into a smile.

“I’m good,” I said as I quickened my pace.

“You’re walking awful fast. Can’t wait to get up there?” he teased.

I nudged him with my elbow, and he chuckled.

I met Hayes’s eyes and my smile grew. Butterflies danced inside me as we neared the floral arch.

Lewis and his date sat smack-dab in the middle of the front row. He let out a blustering huff of annoyance as Mason kissed my cheek and took my bouquet from me so I could hold Hayes’s hands.

“Thank you,” I said to Mason before he took his seat.

The officiant launched into his spiel about why we were gathered here today, but Hayes paid him no mind. “I know I said it earlier, but you look breathtaking.” The spectators were far enough away that he couldn’t be heard.

“We’re doing this?”

His steeled expression lightened into a gentle smile. “Yeah. We’re doing this.”

“Mason gave me a shot of Walt’s moonshine,” I admitted.

Hayes laughed, earning a glare from the minister.

“Apparently, there’s more hidden around the house,” I whispered.

“Pretty much in every drawer in his study. I’m always finding little bottles while I work.” Hayes squeezed my hands. “Prohibition ended in the thirties, but running stills in the Appalachians became a point of pride for bootleggers, so a lot of them stayed. When Granddad bought the land in the eighties, he made deals with the runners up in the mountains. Promised that he wouldn’t bother them as long as they brought him some hooch once a year.”

I loved Walt Wilder. “You’re serious?”

Hayes nodded. “Go down to the wine cellar sometime. He never drank what they brought him, but he’d label it and put it on the shelf. He liked preserving history that way. Even kept a ledger in his desk with information on each batch.”

The minister cleared his throat, catching our attention. “Catherine Grace Foster, do you come here of your own free will?”