Page 55 of Saddle Storm

This feels familiar.

I’ve seen weddings here before. Even before Dallas and Wilder took over, Mom and Dad loved hosting weddings at the ranch, each one unique in their own way.

But I love the simplicity of Dallas and Willow’s ceremony. Same oak tree, same view, same time of day. With the setting sun hanging low over the mountains, throwing everything into that soft gold. The river catching the light just below the hill, reminding me of that late afternoon Max and I sat on the other side of the ranch watching the golden ripples on the water’s surface.

The guest list is bigger this time. Louder too. Or maybe it’s just me. Maybe I’ve just been seeing everyone in town show up here except for Storm. She took the last two days off and I’ve left her alone to respect her wishes. As much as I wanted to drop Max at school and drive right back to her apartment to take care of her—it would have only stressed her out more.

Even if I did wish I had the opposite effect on her.

I’ve never seen Dallas so pissed at himself for her burnout.

He’d asked me how it went—my plan to move her to a guest cottage—and I muttered I needed more time. That she wasn’t feeling herself when I asked and I needed a new approach.

He shook his head, muttering something that sounded like “Knew you’d fuck it up.”

And hell, if that comment didn’t feel familiar enough to sting.

More people spill across the field behind Dallas’s house, folding chairs stretching farther toward the river than I thought we’d ever need.

I’m hiding out on the back porch, allowing myself a finger of whiskey with Wilder and Dad. “Well,” I start, holding up my glass. “At least it’s to the same woman.”

Dad doesn’t appreciate my joke, but I catch a smirk from Wilder.

Dallas steps out from the back door. “Heard that.” Then he takes my glass and throws it back. “Damn that’s good.”

“Thanks,” Dad says. “Been savin’ this one.”

“How you doin?” Wilder asks.

Dallas adjusts his tie. “Startin’ to wonder why we’re doing this.”

“You see her yet?” Dad asks his oldest son.

Dallas shakes his head.

“It’ll come to you when you do.”

I jerk back. “Who knew Dad’s the romantic out of all of us?”

“What do you mean? I’m renewing my vows not one year later and have two babies.”

“Because your first marriage was a fake. I’m the romantic here,” Wilder argues.

Dallas laughs. “Following your girlfriend to New York after you crushed her heart isn’t romantic. It’s groveling 101.” Then he points to me. “Don’t get me started on Romeo over here.”

“Speaking of which,” Wilder starts, pulling a set of keys out of his pocket. “This is guest cottage number five. It’s a two-bedroom, best on the strip. Show it to her. She’ll change her mind.”

“That’s cheating,” Dallas objects unconvincingly. “She said no. I win.”

“No, no. Don’t give her number five,” Dad argues. “It gets windy on that side of the river late fall and winter. Give her number nine, best spot all year round.”

“What are you all doing?” Rose hisses from beneath the porch steps. Her hair is styled in a fancy updo, braided and whirled together in the shape of a rose and dyed in a pale pink.

“Nothing,” we all manage to say in some odd unison, Wilder slipping the keys back in his pocket, smiling at his girlfriend. “We all set?”

“Yes, everyone’s seated, band’s playing, and Storm’s got three horses getting antsy. Get out there.”

My brothers and I march down the steps. Following Rose’s order, Wilder and I make our way down the aisle, taking our place off to the side. Dad is next, and as he passes a few folks, they stand and cheer. He nods graciously and meets us under the tree, where Wilder and I are now standing.