The sound caught Kip’s attention. Joy was moving around the room, taking pictures with the fanciest camera Kip had ever seen. After snapping a few more, she looked up. “I know it would mean the world to Trace. Go ahead. Put it on,” she said, and then ducked back behind her camera.
They helped her into the dress as if she were made of glass. The lace skimmed her collarbones and stopped just below her knees. Kenzie pinned the hem with straight pins while Tilde brushed Kip’s crimson hair into a low twist. Ruby dabbed concealer under her eyes and added the faintest pink to her lips.
Tilde produced a pair of low-heeled cream leather pumps still in their box. “These were mine. I bet they’ll fit.”
Ruby retrieved the bouquet from the dresser. “Flowers from the greenhouse. They’re not much, but they’re alive.”
Kip touched the lace with trembling fingers. “I don’t deserve this.”
Joy snorted. “If we all waited for what we deserved, we’d all benaked. Speaking of that, once everything calms down, we’ll go to my studio, and I’ll take some pictures Trace will really like.”
When they turned her to the mirror, Kip didn’t recognize the woman staring back. She looked… soft. Hopeful. Like someone who truly belonged somewhere. Her chest cracked wide open. She wanted this. God, she wanted this so much it terrified her.
Downstairs, the grandfather clock chimed four just as they finished.
Judge Langford’s voice boomed up the staircase. “Folks, let’s get these two hitched before the snow starts.”
Taking her place at the top of the stairs, she looked down at Trace. She knew the second he recognized whose dress she was wearing. The smile on his face confirmed Kenzie was right.
As they descended single file, Kelsey Hart’s Doing Life with You began to play. The living room had been rearranged so the chairs formed a half-circle in front of the Christmas tree, its lights twinkling like stars in a cloudless sky. Trace stepped up to the tree in dark jeans, a starched white shirt, and a black bolo tie with a silver tip shaped like a running horse. His eyes met hers and didn’t look away.
Ruby stood as a witness while Boone, Chance, and Tanner flanked Trace like sentries. Kenzie and Tildi stood behind Kip, forming a lace-and-denim honor guard, while Joy wandered around the room taking more pictures.
Judge Langford opened a small leather book. “We are gathered today on this ranch, in the presence of family, to join Ezekiel James Daniels, III, and Kipling Renee Harper in marriage."
Kip barely heard the words. She was lost in Trace’s steady gaze and the warmth of his hands when he took hers.
“Trace, repeat after me…”
Her Daddy’s voice was rough but sure. “I, Trace, take you, Kip, to be my wife. To have and to hold, from this day forward, forbetter or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do us part.”
The vow felt enormous in the small room.
When Kip’s turn came, her voice cracked on the first word. She steadied herself on the second and meant every syllable.
Judge Langford grinned. “By the authority vested in me by the great state of Wyoming, I pronounce you husband and wife. Kiss your bride, son.”
Trace cupped her face and kissed her—slow, deliberate, like he was sealing something that had been true long before the paperwork. The room erupted in cheers and boot-stomping.
When they pulled apart, Trace reached into his pocket and took out a small box. Inside was a Christmas ornament — a delicate glass disc painted with snow-covered pines and the words Our First Christmas Together in gold script.
“I ran back into town while you ladies were upstairs,” he said quietly. “Not much of a wedding present.”
Kip’s eyes welled up again. Together, they hung the ornament on the tree, where the light caught it and scattered tiny rainbows across the lace of her dress.
Later, after cake Ruby had somehow produced from thin air, after toasts with cider because no one trusted whiskey around the judge, and at least one dance with everyone there, everyone blew bubbles as Trace carried her upstairs. She was beyond exhaustion. Her limbs weighed heavy, but her heart was too full for words.
He ran a bath in the old clawfoot tub, water steaming. Peeling the dress off her as if it were sacred, he folded it over a chair. Then, kneeling by the tub, he washed her hair, his strong fingers working shampoo through the strands, rinsing with the handheld sprayer until the water ran clear. He bathed her gently, thoroughly, all the while telling her how beautiful and precious she was to him.
When he lifted her out and wrapped her in a towel, she was half-asleep.
He dried her hair and braided it loosely the way she liked before carrying her to bed. Once he had tucked her under the flannel sheets and quilts, he slid in behind her, chest to her back, arm heavy across her waist.
Kip turned in the circle of his arms until they were face to face.
“Daddy,” she whispered.
“Yeah?”
