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Why did he have to make so much sense? She hated that about him.

No, she didn’t. She was thankful he loved the Lord. Thankful he kept pointing her back to Jesus.

If she were thankful, why wasn’t she… more grateful? Was it possible she liked to cradle the feelings of injustice against her heart? She’d harbored them for so long that she had the entire litany memorized.

Poor little Christian girl. Always doing the right thing. Never shaking things up. Never rocking the boat. Always smiling, being an obedient daughter, being a trustworthy friend, being a worker people could count on whether at the bank or at the church or in her friend group.

Didn’t she deserve recognition? Happiness?

Tate saw her. Tried to make her smile. She knew he did. Why wasn’t it enough? Had she worn the ruts in her brain so deep she couldn’t climb out of them?

This time, the poor little good girl had come out on top. She’d caught the most amazing, godly man — how could she still manage to be unhappy? Because she’d brought herself to her marriage. She’d brought that dratted poor-me refrain, but how could she get rid of it?

It was toxic.

It was also true.

Wasn’t it?

In Stephanie’s periphery, Tate came up beside her on Geronimo. He cast a worried look her direction but remained silent.

She released a long breath. She was pushing her husband away. She could blame him — or at least, his grandfather — for working long hours, but she’d known that was part of the package. She knew he was trying, that he was torn. And what was she doing? Harassing him.

Married two weeks and already a nag. Go, Stephanie. You’re a winner.

“I love you, sweetheart.”

She bit her lip. “Why?”

He hesitated. Of course, he did. “Because you’re smart, and funny, and beautiful. Because you adore Jamie. Because you’re the other half of my soul. You complete me.”

His sweet words might not have caught in his throat, but they caught in hers. Or, at least, they somehow clogged her ability to speak, to think, to even breathe. Tears filled her eyes. “Do you mean that?”

Tate reined in Geronimo and dismounted in a fluid motion that made it look like he’d done it a hundred times instead of less than a dozen. He reached for her.

Stephanie looked down into her husband’s upturned, pleading face. Felt the warmth of his hand on her thigh. “I love you, Tate.”

“Come here.” He tugged lightly on her leg.

Her body gave in long before her mind had made a decision. She slid off Mirage while Tate looped the mare’s reins with Geronimo’s and caught her in his arms.

Tate’s hungry mouth found hers as she responded to his kiss, as she melded her body against his. His hands roamed her back, tangled in her hair, pressed her against the length of him.

“Stephanie, I love you so much.” Her husband’s voice was ragged, the words coming between frantic kisses. “I thank God for you every day.”

She was married to this man. He was hers. She was his. She didn’t need to worry anymore about what her parents thought of her. What anyone else thought, only Tate, and he loved her despite her failings. She’d practically run him off the road at their first meeting, and still, here they were, locked in an embrace so intimate it would be a terrible idea if they weren’t married.

Her past was behind her. Tate was her future. All she brought into it besides herself was her belief in Jesus, which he shared. Sweet little Jamie was her future. Any children she and Tate might conceive were her future.

It was time to let all her issues go. But, could she? How? Was it simply an act of the will? If so, she’d make up her mind.

Chapter Twenty

Tate stared at his grandfather. “You can’t mean it.”

Grandfather waved his hand. “Take Stephanie and Jamie with you. Has she ever been to Chicago? She’ll love it.”