And she was happy—happier than she’d dreamed she could be.
She turned to the side, glanced down at the skirt and the chapel train, loving the way the dress moved, loving the way it made her feel.
What would Nate think?
He hadn’t seen the gown. In fact, he hadn’t seen her since yesterday morning at breakfast. She’d packed up and stayed at Marc’s house for the night so that she and Sophie could focus on all the little details—manicure, pedicure, facial—and so that they could honor the tradition of the groom not seeing the bride before the wedding.
Nate had had his hands full anyway, getting the meadow at the picnic shelter ready for the wedding and two hundred guests. Though he hadn’t wanted a bachelor party, Marc and Julian had insisted, getting all the guys together and dragging Nate through the bars of downtown Denver. Meanwhile, Sophie had invited her circle of friends over for a bachelorette party that had consisted of a dessert buffet, romantic comedies—and a few risqué gifts.
And now Megan was twenty minutes away from walking down the aisle.
A knock came at the door, and Sophie walked in, Emily behind her. Sophie was Megan’s matron of honor and wore a Watters gown of soft blue, while Emily was the flower girl, her gown a tiny replica of Megan’s, a crown of rosebuds on her blond head.
“Are you ready?” Sophie retrieved Megan’s bouquet of pink cabbage roses. “The limo is here.”
It was a ten-minute drive to the picnic shelter—the same route they’d traveled by sleigh last November.
Megan nodded, smiled. “Yes.”
She felt like she’d waited a lifetime for this moment.
Another knock.
Sophie opened the door just a crack, then stepped back as Marc entered.
He took one look at Megan—and then just stared at her as if he’d never seen her before. “You look … beautiful.”
Megan smiled at his reaction. “Thanks. You look pretty decent yourself.”
Dressed in a black summer tuxedo with an understated brown vest and brown and black striped silk tie, he looked much better than he had when he’d stumbled in the house drunk at three in the morning. He glanced over at Sophie. “Can I have just a minute with Megan?”
“Just don’t make her cry. That’s not waterproof mascara.” Sophie reached for Emily’s hand, still holding Megan’s bouquet in the other. “We’ll wait for you in the limo. Do you have to go potty, Emily?”
Marc waited until Sophie and Emily were gone, then drew Megan into his arms, and for a moment he just held her. “My baby sister is all grown up.”
Megan fought the lump in her throat. “I wouldn’t be standing here if it weren’t for you. You know that, right? When I think of what I put you through…”
Marc had done so much for her, rescuing her from the streets, risking his life repeatedly, sacrificing six years of freedom to protect her.
He stepped back, tilted her head to meet his gaze. “Hey, you were never a burden. Never. Do you hear me?”
She nodded, felt the pricking of tears.
“Besides, you’ve got to give yourself some credit. You made yourself into the woman you are today. I am so damned proud you.”
“I love you.”
“I love you, too.” He hugged her again, then drew back and looked at his watch. “We need to go. The groom is waiting.”
# # #
Nate glanced at the time.
“Looking at your damned watch every ten seconds isn’t going to make her get here any faster.” The old man sat in the shade of the picnic shelter in his dress uniform, his medals polished, his Ranger tab as crisp and new as if he’d earned it last week and not fifty years ago. He grabbed another folding chair, opened it, motioned for Nate to sit.
Nate had no idea why he was nervous. It wasn’t the stereotypical fear of tying the knot that men supposedly felt. He wasn’t afraid to be married. He’d known a month into his relationship with Megan than he wanted her beside him for the rest of this life. If he could put a finger on what was making him so edgy it would be…
“I want everything to be perfect for her.” Nate adjusted his saber and sat.
“It will be. Hell, son, that girl loves you so damned much you could ask her to marry you in a hog pen, and she’d say ‘yes.’”
This made Nate grin in no small part because it was most likely true. “Were you nervous when you and mom got married?”
His dad frowned as if struggling to recall. “I was a hell of a lot more hung over than you are, but, yeah, I guess I was.”
At least the old man could admit it.
Nate took a deep breath, willed himself to enjoy the anticipation of watching Emily come down the aisle, of seeing Megan as a bride, of slipping the gold band his father carried in his jacket pocket onto her finger. “You do have the rings, right?”
His dad chuckled. “For the hundredth time, yes.”
Paid staff bustled around, making sure everything was set up according to Nate and Megan’s wishes. Guests milled about, some walking around the meadow, commenting on the view, others talking and laughing, some already seated. Old friends mingled with new, including the tight circle of friends Megan had inherited through her brother.
The men—most of them ex-military or law enforcement—had met through their wives, all of whom had worked for the Denver Independent’s Investigative Team, or I-Team, at some point. Nate had gotten to know them all pretty well over the past several months. They were good people. He supposed he felt the strongest bond with McBride, who’d also served in special operations forces in Afghanistan—and earned a Medal of Honor for it. McBride lived pretty close by, and the two of them had knocked back more than a few beers sharing stories about friends they’d served with, both those who’d made it and those who’d died downrange.
It looked like everyone was already here except McBride. Still looking hung over, Darcangelo sat with his wife, Tessa, holding his six-month-old son, Tristan. Their daughter, Maire, who was a bit younger than Emily, bounded among the trees on imaginary horses with Hunter’s son, Chase, and Reece and Kara’s kids, Connor, Caitlyn and Brendan. Reece and Kara, meanwhile, were watching over Hunter and Sophie’s little girl, Addison, who wanted to run and play with the others, but at the tender age of two couldn’t quite keep up. Behind them sat Rossiter and his wife Kat with their little girl, Alissa, and baby boy, Nakai.
“Oh, McBride, it’s just you.” Nate heard Julian say. “I saw a flash of white and thought you were the bride.”
“Head still hurting, Darcangelo? Drink less next time.” A grin on his face, McBride appeared walking arm in arm with Natalie. He was wearing his Navy dress whites—complete with his Medal of Honor.
Nate and his father stood as McBride approached and saluted.
“Knock it off.” McBride grinned, shaking their hands. “Congratulations. You’re looking good. I always thought the Marines had the best dress uniform.”
“Thanks.” Nate grinned. “And, yes, we do.”
“Thanks for joining us, McBride,” Nate’s dad said. “You honor us with the uniform. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a Medal of Honor.”
McBride ignored the praise, far too modest, in Nate’s opinion, for a man who’d done so much for his country. “I’d like to introduce my wife, Natalie Benoit McBride. Natalie, this is Jack West, Nate’s father. He served as an Army Ranger in Vietnam.”
Natalie, a pretty brunette, smiled and shook the old man’s hand, her New Orleans accent charming. “I’ve heard so much about you, Mr. West.”
The old man chuckled. “Try not to hold it against me.”
“Is there anything we can do to help?” Natalie asked.
“Nope,” Jack’s dad shook his head. “You just make yourself comfortable.”
McBride leaned in, whispered in Nate’s ear. “Relax. You’ll do great.”
# # #
Megan sat in the limousine holding her bouquet, Marc on one side of her and Sophie on the other, Emily sitting across from them with
her little white basket of flower petals.
“You remember what you’re supposed to do?” Sophie asked.
Emily nodded. “I walk toward Grandpa Jack and Daddy and throw my petals.”
“That’s right.” Sophie shared a smile with Marc and Megan.
Megan looked out the window, watched the scenery pass. Perhaps it was her imagination or just her own joy that colored the afternoon, but the mountains seemed to be putting on an especially beautiful show today. The sky was cloudless and blindingly blue, the peaks still white with snow, green aspen leaves shivering in the breeze, columbines, purple penstemon, and golden banner scattering color across the forest floor.
This was her home. It would be her home for the rest of her life. Emily would grow up here on the Cimarron in the shadow of these mountains, together with any brothers or sisters that came along. Somehow knowing that gave Megan peace.
They were getting close, cars lining the road. And then just ahead she saw the white event tent that marked the south end of the meadow. Jack had rented it to serve both as a shelter for her in case of rain and to act as a kind of entrance to the meadow, preventing Nate from seeing her—and her from seeing Nate—until the wedding started.
“A bride needs to make a grand entrance,” Jack had said. “Why the hell else spend that much money on a dress you’re only going to wear once?”
And Megan felt a nervous flutter in her stomach.
The limo drew to a stop just behind the tent. Marc climbed out ahead of her, took her hand, and steadied her as she got out, while Sophie helped Emily. They walked into the tent together, the sound of chamber music drifting in from the other side. In the center of the tent on a little table, Megan found a small velvet-covered box sitting beside an enormous bouquet of white roses, a card with her name on it propped up between them. She opened the card.
Here’s a gift from an old man who’s proud to welcome you officially to the family. Theresa would have adored you.
Love,
Jack
Megan opened the little box and gasped, fighting tears again.
Resting on velvet were Theresa West’s mabe pearl earrings—the earrings she wore in the photograph on the fireplace mantel.
Emily bounced and hopped around the tent, but Megan was barely aware of her daughter’s antics. Hands trembling, she removed her diamond studs, placed them carefully in the box, and put on the glowing pearls instead, slipping the box in Marc’s tux pocket.
“The earrings belonged to Nate’s mother,” she explained to her brother, who peered over her shoulder at the card then at her earlobes.
“Emily, honey, it’s time to be quiet, okay?” Sophie said. “Listen for the harp so you’ll know when it’s your turn to go.”
Megan tried to contain her emotions, taking deep and slow breaths while Marc and Sophie took turns peeking out the tent’s front flap.
Sophie let out a little gasp. “Oh, look at Zach! I had no idea he was going to—”
And then music shifted, the harpist playing Pachelbel’s Canon in D.
Megan bent down, gave her baby girl a kiss on the cheek. They’d come through so much, just the two of them. “Okay, Emily, sweet pea, it’s time for you to walk down the aisle like we talked about.”
Megan stepped back as Sophie opened the tent’s door flap, a collective “aww” going up from their guests as Emily stepped out and started down the aisle.
Megan’s gaze met Sophie’s. “Thank you, Sophie. For everything. You’re the greatest sister-in-law ever.”
“Don’t you dare make me cry.” Sophie smiled, dabbing at teary eyes with a tissue. “I am so happy for you.”
And then Sophie disappeared out the door, a bouquet of pink cabbage roses in her hands.
Marc offered Megan his arm, his gaze warm. “If you ever need me…”
She smiled. “I know.”
Megan stepped out on Marc’s arm, guests rising to their feet as she appeared.
The meadow had been transformed. It was bisected by a plush red runner, rows of chairs on either side forming an aisle, their backs garlanded with white organza, white ribbon, and bouquets of pink roses. Larger bouquets flanked the meadow sitting atop tall white stands that looked like Greek columns. The picnic shelter stood in the background and had been decorated like the chairs, with garlands of shimmering white organza, white ribbon, and pink roses.
But all Megan could see was Nate.
He stood at the end of the aisle beside Jack and Rev. Marshall wearing not a tux, but his Marine Corps dress uniform, the left side of his midnight blue jacket glittering with medals, a saber at his side, a white cap on his head.
He looked so stunningly handsome, so proud, that it made her heart ache.
And his gaze was riveted on her.
# # #
Nate had imagined this moment a dozen times over the past few weeks, but nothing he’d imagined could come close to the vision that was Megan. She walked slowly toward him, head high, sunlight striking sparks of copper off her hair, the breeze tugging at the filmy cloth of her slender skirts. Her gown was simple, understated, feminine, the neckline low enough to draw his gaze, the narrow waist emphasizing the soft curve of her hips.
She looked like an angel—his angel.
God, he loved her. He loved her more than he would ever be able to tell her, but at least he had the rest of his life to try.
He blinked, his vision suddenly blurry.
Tears?
“Breathe, son.”
Nate drew in a deep breath, blinked, glanced down—and saw that the old man had tears in his eyes, too.
As Megan drew near, their gazes met and held, her green eyes glittering, her cheeks flushed, her lips curved in a soft smile.
Nate stepped forward, held out his hand. Hunter took hers, placed it in Nate’s—and then just stood there.
“Marc?” she whispered.
“Yeah?”
“Let go.”
“Right.”
Nate met Hunter’s gaze, gave him a nod, a silent understanding passing between them.
You’d better damned well take care of my little sister.
You damned well know I will.
Then Rev. Marshall began to speak. “We are gathered in this beautiful place to celebrate the joining of this man and this woman in matrimony.”
Nate knew he should be paying attention, but he couldn’t seem to wrap his mind around anything beyond the woman beside him—the glow of her skin, her scent, the warm feel of her hand in his. Somehow he managed to say his vows, slip a gold band on her finger, help her slide a gold band onto his, the rest of the world seeming distant, time frozen as he looked into her eyes. “I love you.”
“I love you.”
And then he was kissing her—or she was kissing him—soft lips caressing, the scent of her skin filling his lungs, the taste of her on his tongue. He drew her closer, needing to hold her, needing to feel her against him.
“What God has joined so perfectly and miraculously, let no one put asunder.” From somewhere far away, Nate heard Rev. Marshall’s voice. “I was going to say, ‘You may kiss the bride,’ but they beat me to it.”
Laughter.
“Lord have mercy!” The reverend was chuckling. “By the authority vested in me by the state of Colorado, I pronounce you husband and wife.”
Cheers. Applause. Whistles.
Little arms around Nate’s legs.
He looked down, saw Emily, crowned with roses, smiling up at them, a living ray of sunshine. He bent down, scooped her up, kissed his little girl on the cheek.
“Now you’re my real daddy!”
“You bet I am.” Nate met Megan’s gaze.
And in her eyes, he saw forever.
Keep Reading for an exclusive I-Team Short, Marc and Julian Make a Beer Run
Marc and Julian Make a Beer Run
An I-Team Short
Dedicated to the members of the I-Team Facebook group
Pamela Clare
Mar
c Hunter kicked back on Zach McBride’s deck, letting his bare chest soak up the rays and sipping a cold Fat Tire. The newlyweds—Megan, Marc’s younger sister, and her husband, Nate West—had just gotten back from their honeymoon in Scotland, and Zach and his wife Natalie had invited the gang over for a barbeque to welcome them back. Food, beer, a day in the mountains—what was there not to love about that?
Inside the McBride house, the women were looking at Megan’s photos from Scotland and watching over the smaller children. Down on the lawn, West, Gabe Rossiter, Reece Sheridan, and Joaquin Ramirez tossed a pigskin back and forth with the older kids. But here on the deck it was where Marc wanted to be—sunshine, beer, and the scent of sizzling beef.
“Okay, here it is.”
Marc opened his eyes to see Julian Darcangelo step outside carrying his new baby, ready to show it off for the first time. Darcangelo set the black case down on the patio table and opened it, giving Marc just a glimpse before West, Rossiter, Sheridan, and Ramirez, who’d ditched the pigskin, blocked his view.
“Hey, guys, I can’t see a damned thing with you in the way.” Marc gave an impatient kick.
The guys ignored him, “oohing” and “aahing” over Darcangelo’s latest acquisition.
“Try getting off your ass.” McBride offered with a grin, flipping burgers on his new fancy-ass built-in gas grill (which, Marc suspected, was the real reason they’d all been invited over).
Marc glared at him, got to his feet, and peered over West’s shoulder at a brand spanking new SIG Sauer P239 Tactical pistol. As a former Army Special Forces sniper who now worked as a marksman for Denver SWAT, Marc’s gun lust was reserved mostly for rifles and optics, though he always carried a concealed 9mm for personal protection. “Nice.”