There she is, I thought.
At the meadow's near edge, Brisket materialized with his ears at half-mast, regarding all of it with the flat expression of someone reserving judgment.
I took my hat off and held it at my side.
Stoney came to the arbor and I gave him his ring, which was my primary job and I'd been ready for it. The officiant said the words, and Bobbie-Jean and Stoney said the words back, and the horses stood while the ranch hands held their bridles, and the meadow went quiet in the genuine way that means everyone has decided to pay attention.
I caught Jules in my peripheral vision three times during the vows.
Not looking for her—just tracking, the way you do when something is at the edge of your field and you don't look away from what's in front of you. First time she was moving along the far row, camera up. Second time she'd found the angle where the arbor framed the couple and she was in it, steady. Third time she'd stopped moving. The camera was down. She was watching the vows.
Not working. Just watching.
I put my attention back on Stoney.
The kiss got a sound out of the crowd that had years of relief in it. Stoney was a man who'd been working toward something for a long time and had arrived without ceremony at the thing itself, which was exactly what had happened.
I put my hat back on and stepped off the arbor.
THE COCKTAIL HOUR HADset up along the near side of the reception tent: three bars, Smokestack Earl's team running a grazing table that had drawn a crowd before the ceremony had even cleared, string lights overhead that weren't lit yet but would be when the sun got lower. I found a longneck and spent some time with Big Jim, who was in a good mood in the quiet way of a man who doesn't need confirmation from anyone around him to have one.
Jules was at the edge of the dance floor with her camera bag open on a chair beside her, switching out a lens.
I'd been aware of this for approximately forty-five seconds before I crossed the floor.
I stopped close enough to reach her. Not touching. Just close.
Her hands were working the lens mount—she had it half-seated, and then they stalled. Just for a moment. Color broke across her cheekbones before she'd made any decision about it.
She finished seating the lens. Didn't raise her eyes right away.
"You got the entrance," I said.
"I got the entrance." She zipped the camera bag. "I also got Judge Judy, off-camera, which is probably my favorite frame of the weekend."
"She has a gift for context."
"She doesn't know she's not the photographer." Jules raised her eyes to me. The flush had settled at her cheekbones and she'd decided not to do anything about it, which meant she'd decided I was going to see it. I already was. "She's appeared in four frames today and she's not technically in any of them."
"That's Judge Judy's whole career," I said. "Technically not in it. Completely in charge."
Jules laughed, and I stood there with a warm longneck in my hand not minding any of it.
THE RECEPTION DINNERwas plated ribeye, roasted potatoes, asparagus, and a wedding cake engineered by someone with serious and specific opinions about buttercream. The champagne went around. The room was loud in the comfortable way of people who've been outside all day and are now fed and seated.
I'd written the speech two weeks ago and trimmed it three times. Stoney introduced me and I stood up, took my hat off, and gave it.
Two minutes. Maybe two and a half. I told the room about Stoney driving four hours in a sleet storm to pull my truck out of a ditch without being asked, and about the first time he'd mentioned Bobbie-Jean—four years ago, after a cutting horse trial outside Amarillo—and how the way he'd said her name had been enough to tell me the whole story. I told them I'd neverseen him be wrong about a horse, and he wasn't wrong about this one either.
The room laughed at the horse line, which was the right place to laugh.
I sat down.
Jules was at the edge of the tent to my left, camera at her side. She'd had it up at some point in the last two minutes, I hadn't watched her raise it, only lower it, and she had her eyes on me now. Not through the lens. Just watching, with the direct, clear attention she gave to things she'd decided to see properly.
I knew what it meant that she'd pointed her camera at me.
THE CAKE CUTTING WENTsmoothly for approximately thirty seconds.
