“Hmm, coffee, yes. Plans? No.” She slanted a smile at Colt. “Not until Colt and I have time to talk.”
Their mother mostly complied with the dictate, although talk of venues and flowers and dates dominated their coffee klatch. Holly tolerated the conversation, because really? She was as excited as they were.
She studied his profile as they turned into her driveway. “I cannot believe you looked at your mama and said, ‘I was thinking we’d go to the courthouse.’ You are lucky to be alive.”
A grin played about his mouth, and he killed the ignition. Lord, he was such a tease. And he was hers. In a few months, he’d be even more hers.
In a few months, he’d be her husband.
She adored the idea, could see their life together opening up before her, an extension of what they shared now. He would be there, steady, dependable,hers, every single day.
The dress, the flowers, the venue — all that sounded great, but more than anything, she wanted him, the wry way he teased, the warm arm he hooked over her waist in bed, the way he treated her like she was incredibly valuable.
Half-turned in the seat, he gripped her headrest, a quizzical twist to his brows. “What’s that smile all about?”
If anything, her smile widened, and she let her gaze trail over his face. She reached out cup his jaw in her palm, a slight burr of stubble beginning to appear. “I was thinking how excited I am to marry you. To have you be my husband.”
Light flared in his dark eyes. “Huh.”
A laugh bubbled up from her throat. Of course that was his reply.
“That excitement is mutual.” He hooked his other hand about her nape, gaze holding hers. “Can’t wait for you to be my wife.”
“Hmm.” She looped her arms about his neck, although the seatbelts made the position awkward. “Let’s go to the courthouse Monday.”
A bark of laughter rumbled from his chest. “No.”
She fiddled with the edge of his hair. “You know, most men would jump at the chance to skip out on the fuss of a wedding.”
“Most men don’t have Sue for their mama or Mona for their future mother-in-law.” He tapped the end of her nose. “They’d take turns killing me.”
She leaned closer. “I’m going to have a say in my own wedding, Colt.”
“I’m going to make sure you do.” His mouth hovered over hers. “But I want you to have all the stuff . . . the showers and parties and the planning.”
And she really loved that, too, how he wanted the best for her. She fanned her fingers over his cheek, warm skin against hers. “I love you.”
“Yeah?” His gaze glowed brighter, a sense of ease to his posture she hadn’t witnessed in . . . well, the last time she’d seen him completely relaxed, completely joyful, they’d been kids.
She brushed the side of his nose, touched the corner of his mouth, learning the lines of his face, this new expression she treasured. “Yeah.”
“That’s good.” His voice was low, a honeyed bourbon, a little bit of sweet burn around the edges. “Because I love you, too.”
The joy fizzing through her required more than a kiss. She pressed close, buried her face in his neck, squeezing him in her embrace, and his deep laugh vibrated through her as he closed his arms about her, hugging her as near as he could get her.
He washers.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Colt laid the sheaf of loading paperwork on his standing desk and flipped his cell phone over to check the call he’d missed while talking to one of their distribution drivers on the loading dock.
Gene
He cringed from the name on the screen, thought about not tapping the voicemail icon. Since Thanksgiving weekend and that blasted golf game, he hadn’t avoided Grandaddy per se, but he’d used work or his relationship with Holly to schedule his time with the old man when his cousins or D provided cover. No more one-to-one lunch outings, and he’d ditched a couple of Sunday dinners at Sue and D’s because he’d known his grandparents would be there.
Maybe he was weak, but admitting his moral lapse to Gene of all people was worse than Tick witnessing it. Tie in how Tick was Grandaddy’s boy and Colt wasn’t ready to be alone with their grandfather. This wasn’t like confessing to D.
Giving up on Tick kind of meant giving up on Grandaddy, too, and his soul grieved.
