And yet here it was, offered without conditions, in the most unexpected place.
A family.
They talked over the training logistics on the drive back to the ranch.
Crew stepped out into the sun and spotted Fern on the wide porch, her head bent toward Honor as they talked. She laughed at something, brushing her silky auburn hair behind her ear.
For a moment everything aligned—past, present, whatever came next.
Not in sharp focus.
But enough.
Enough to know he wanted to stay, and he wanted Fern by his side.
For the rest of his days.
* * * * *
Fern perched on the edge of a seat, knees angled together, hands folded in her lap as the women talked over one another in happy, overlapping bursts.
“The barn is perfect. Willow couldn’t have rehabilitated it into a more perfect venue.” Honor held up a photo of the barn that Fern had never seen but thought was totally right for the occasion. Willow and her husband Decker stood in front of the wide doors that were thrown open to the afternoon light on their own wedding day.
“We’ll string lights across the beams,” Honor continued.
“And set up the tables along the sides,” Felicity added. “Long ones. Family-style.”
“Definitely long tables,” Willow agreed. “Nobody wants to feel boxed in. Plus, we need space for dancing.”
Fern nodded along, smiling, listening. The air smelled like hay and sun-warmed wood. When she looked toward the lodge, hoping to see Crew, she was rewarded with a slice of blue sky and distant mountains.
She’d assumed—perhaps wrongly?—that she’d only been pulled into this for advice on flowers. Greenery. Some kind of plant-knowledge contribution.
But no one had asked her about centerpieces yet.
They were asking her opinions on everything, like she was one of them.
“What do you think, Fern?” Honor turned toward her. She held up some photos from a magazine.
She took the glossy sheets and studied them with an eye trained for plant species and hardiness. “I think the flowers will last a long time. No wilting on your special day.” She offered a smile.
Honor tilted her head, looking at the photos in Fern’s hand. “Too much greenery? Or not enough?”
Fern opened her mouth, then closed it again.
Something in her chest shifted. Tightened.
And flowed away as she realized these women weren’t judging her or looking down on her. That was a leftover echo from Chris talking.
“I—” She cleared her throat. “I think greenery always softens things. Makes it feel lived-in. Like it belongs to the place.”
The women hummed in agreement.
“That’s exactly what I want.” Honor’s eyes lit up as if Fern had handed her the answers to the world’s problems. “Lived-in. Like we didn’t just drop a wedding in the middle of a working ranch.”
Fern’s vision blurred unexpectedly. She blinked, hard.
They weren’t waiting for her to solve something. They weren’t politely looping her in because she was useful. They were including her because theywantedher here. Because they liked her. Because—somehow—she’d already been woven into their circle.
