“Does it worry you at all?” I ask.
“What?”
I look away, searching for the right word. “The novelty of it?”
She giggles, staring down at her bouquet. “It wasn’t what I expected. That’s for sure. But I couldn’t imagine anyone else. He’s myeverything.”
The words put a lump in my throat. My eyes blur as I adjust one stray hair, pushing it behind her ear. “You deserve this.”
A soft rap sounds at the door.
“It’s time,” Martin grumbles.
“Thank you, Grandpa,” she calls.
“Okay. Let’s do this,” she says, reaching out and squeezing my hand.
I grab another tissue, shove it into the hidden pocket of my dress.
Ash and Jo say their vows in front of an expansive field of minty sage and yellow cheatgrass. Time-blackened boulders shoot up from the earth around us like an island, the sun glistening against ancient symbols and drawings etched in stone.
I should’ve guessed Jo would insist on marrying among her rocks. Her passion and field of study… apart from Ash.
The wedding party is small, consisting only of the oldest families in Raven’s Ridge. The original ranching ones and the ones called Wildbloods like Ash and Kael.
Jo’s mother and stepfather didn’t come despite an invitation. Some kind of bad blood between them. I didn’t want to dig into it. As a small-town waitress, I already have enough gossip floating around my head.
Mags officiates, eyes scanning the ridge often. Storm clouds gather over the Starborn Range as they always do.
Soft booms warn of impending thunder and lightning. The wind picks up slightly, and it throbs through me all at once like a great ache.
My eyes search the distant treeline, dark and brooding. Looking for the impossible.
Him.
But it’s been two weeks since I last saw Kael ride away with Ash. And though he and Mags have sworn the cowboy made a full recovery, something just doesn’t sit right.
Maybe I can’t imagine him leaving me like that… without another word. Maybe it’s something worse.
Tears splash over my bottom lashes as I stand next to Jo, her sole bridesmaid. In the turquoise shimmer of Ash’s eyes, I find an echo of Kael’s heated gaze.
His hot breath on my cheek, his lips so close I could almost taste him.
Mine.
The wind presses harder into us, Jo’s veil climbing into the sky, a lacy trail of white against periwinkle.
Reddish dust swirls around the bride and groom’s feet. Mags’s face goes determined, eyes squinting through dust, voice projecting as she says words passed down from generation to generation.
That’s when I feel him. Somewhere far off.
Like a memory in blood and bone. The electric impulse behind each heartbeat.
Kael Guthrie.
A dark vision—one I can’t erase.
Ash’s eyes catch Mags, and they exchange a knowing look. Clay and Wilton, two members of the council, lift their heads, surveying the crowd. The air goes thick.
