When a bailiff ushers our group forward, the hush of an empty courtroom accentuates the weight of what Davie and I are about to do.
We’re getting married.
We’ll legally be tied together until death do us part.
“Good morning,” the judge says, “IDs, please.”
The four of us place our licenses on the raised platform. While he signs more papers and checks the IDs, I hand Jesse over to Connor while Linnea pulls out her phone. I’m not sure if she’s taking pictures or videoing the ceremony, but either way, I’m thankful for her foresight.
“Okay, face each other, and we’ll conduct the vows.”
Unlike previous weddings I’ve attended, these vows are professional rather than romantic, especially when prompted by the no-nonsense tone of the judge.
Seeds of regret niggle into my mind. Maybe we should have waited. Davie deserves flowers and music. She deserves more than a perfunctory recitation of a basic oath.
“If you’d like, you may kiss the bride.” For the first time since we entered the room, a glimmer of happiness shone on the judge’s wrinkled features.
Davie’s eyes widen and the slightest shiver runs down her body as I draw her closer with a hand on her waist.
Cupping her cheek, I bend my head then pause, searching for permission. I won’t force Davie to do something she doesn’t want to, no matter how much I crave the feel of her lips beneath mine.
She’s my wife now; we have time.
But hell, if that doesn’t stop me from praying for—that. Davie’s lashes flutter closed as her head tips back in silent consent, and I don’t waste a second.
Our mouths connect in a gentle brush before I dare to swipe my tongue over her lower lip. There’s the slightest sigh, letting me inside the sweet cavern of her mouth, and it’s then that I know I’m done for.
This is my last first kiss, and it belongs to my wife, Davie Madsen.
14
DAVIE
Sunrise on the ranch whispers of warmth and safety. As orange, yellow, and pink stretch across the Washington sky, a sense of calm wraps around me even as I snuggle deeper into my long cardigan.
I shouldn’t feel so comfortable.
Not with a baby to raise and an older rancher who is now my husband.
The screen door creaks before heavy footsteps vibrate through the porch’s floorboards with Cormac’s arrival. Strong arms bracket my sides against the porch railing, and a wave of heat sweeps down my backside from the intimate brush of lips on the side of my neck.
“Morning, wife.” Four little letters spoken in that rough, gravelly tone shouldn’t have such an effect on me, but the immediate shiver that runs over my skin before settling between my thighs in a dull ache isn’t easy to ignore.
God, we’ve been married for less than twenty-four hours. How am I supposed to survive months of this?
We haven’t discussed divorce, but surely, once everything is settled with Jesse and our marriage is no longer necessary, he’ll want to end it, right?
“Good morning,” I say quietly, partially in deference to the early hour, but mostly due to the growing confusion at my feelings for this man.
Cormac had a one-night stand with my younger sister and fathered a child with her. Full stop. Any wayward attraction threatening to bloom should shrivel into a dead carcass each time I remember that fact.
Even if he is my husband.
It’s a legal arrangement to protect my nephew.
Nothing more.
So why am I leaning into his firm strength as if this is a cozy morning with the man I love and not a man who is totally off-limits?
