Page 19 of Fern’s Date with Destiny (Heart Falls Vignette and Novella Collection #4)

S ome days, Cody woke up and still felt the itch to run.

Old habits died hard, and the habit of bolting—of thinking the only way to protect people was to vanish—had a hold on him so deep he sometimes wondered if it was in his bones.

But he stayed.

He was learning that staying took a different kind of courage.

He sat down with Karen and Finn in early July, palms damp, heart thumping so hard he could barely hear himself.

“I don’t know what my life is going to look like,” he said quietly. “But as long as there’s work I can do, I’m willing to be here for you.”

He half-expected them to thank him for his honesty and start drawing up a plan to transition him out.

Instead, Karen smiled. Not kindly, but the way she smiled when she was about to hand someone their ass in a meeting. Finn just sat there, arms folded, eyes steady.

“Good,” Karen said. “Because you’re not going anywhere.”

And just like that, he wasn’t.

They upgraded him from his little cabin to a two-bedroom, told him any out-of-pocket medical expenses were covered by the ranch insurance, and reminded him that Red Boot had always been about family, not just payroll.

He’d gone home that day feeling lighter than he had in months.

Fern moved in the next week.

The Fields clan arrived in a convoy of trucks and SUVs, helping to haul in furniture, dishes, and Fern’s collection of watercolour supplies.

Sophie and Malachi presented them with a wicker basket containing fresh bread wrapped in linen and a tin of coarse salt.

“It’s a traditional blessing. May this house never know hunger, and may your life be full of flavour,” Sophie said, eyes suspiciously bright.

Fern sniffled. “We’re still going to come over to your house a lot,” she warned.

“Of course you will,” Malachi agreed. “But call first. You never know what your mother and I might be up to.”

Cody didn’t want to know why that made all the Fields girls snicker so hard. But he did appreciate how the cabin slowly and steadily became a home with Fern’s caring touch.

Some mornings, she left early to go work at the gallery, carrying her laptop bag slung over her shoulder. She’d started painting more seriously, too, and now a watercolour of the wild horses hung framed above their bed.

Cody spent his days working the trail ride schedule, tending fences, and figuring out, one step at a time, how to plan for a future he couldn’t fully see.

He took the medication he’d been prescribed. He listened to the tremor in his hand, tried not to hate it.

He tried to remember that even imperfect days were a gift.

On August 10th, he hosted Chance’s bachelor party out at the ranch. The sky had been threatening rain since dawn, and by early evening, clouds roiled low and dark across the prairie. But no one cared.

They set up folding chairs around the fire pit. Music drifted over the fields, mingling with laughter, the scent of barbeque and beer on the air.

Chance looked as if he’d been waiting for this moment his whole life. Grinning, relaxed, surrounded by the people who’d become his own patchwork family.

Time for the working part of the evening, Cody decided. He rose to his feet, lifting his beer.

“To the demise of my brother’s imminent solo status,” he began, voice carrying on the breeze. “He’s the best type of brother. The kind I would’ve picked myself, but I didn’t have to because someone else in my family was smart enough to make that choice for me.”

Chance’s head dipped, a crooked smile softening his face.

Cody glanced around at the circle of faces, feeling the old ache in his chest ease. “So we have to thank our mom and dad first—for being smart enough to put us together.”

Chance cleared his throat and raised his glass. “To your Ma and me Da,” he agreed, accent thickening. “Best possible folks a man could choose.” His grin sharpened. “And a toast to the Fields family—brave enough to welcome not one, but two Gabrielle men into their fold.”

A ragged cheer went up, punctuated by a sharp crack of thunder overhead.

Lightning split the sky, bright as day for a heartbeat.

Then the wind came, rolling across the pasture in a wall of dust and cold.

“Inside!” someone yelled, and the chairs scraped over the grass as everyone bolted for the ranch house.

The storm hammered the roof in waves. Inside, though, the mood only got rowdier. Someone produced a deck of cards, and before long they were passing around whiskey and taking turns sharing stories about Chance. Most of them only half true, all of them hilarious.

Cody leaned back in his chair, feeling something he hadn’t in a long time.

Peace.

He caught Chance watching him across the table, eyes bright with mischief.

“You’re smiling,” Chance observed. “That’s suspicious.”

“I was just thinking,” Cody drawled, “that before you get legally tied down, you ought to shave off that ridiculous mustache.”

Chance spluttered, then narrowed his eyes. “You serious?”

“Dead serious.” Cody somehow kept a straight face. “Don’t you know that it’s tradition in Canada for you to be clean shaven for a wedding?”

His brother stared at him.

“Hey, ask anyone,” Cody insisted. He glanced around. Brilliant. “Hey, Zach,” he shouted across the noisy room. “Did you have whiskers on your wedding day, or were you clean shaved?”

“Which wedding?” some joker sang out. “The one where he was sober or the one when he was drunk?”

Zach flashed his middle finger at the guy before answering Cody’s question. “Clean shaved. For both,” he added with a grin.

“Thank you.” Cody raised his beer in the air.

Chance went solemn, rubbing his jaw as if he was pondering the question of the century. “Hmmm. That’s a decision not to be taken lightly.”

“You have until the morning,” Cody choked out, coughing lightly and rising to his feet. “Excuse me.”

He had to get away before he broke into outright laughter. God, if his brother followed through, Rose was going to kill them both.

An hour later, Chance caught up with him as Cody stood on the covered deck and watched the storm rage over the mountains. “You’re an eejit,” Chance announced, mock affront and fond exasperation all tangled up in his expression. Then he swatted Cody’s shoulder. “But I love you anyway.”

“Feeling’s mutual, brother.”

“I’m not shaving.” Chance’s eyes softened. “Now show me the ring.”

Cody blinked. “What ring?”

A colourful string of Irish curses filled the air.

“Oh,” Cody said, fighting a grin. “ That ring.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the small velvet box.

Chance went quiet as Cody flipped it open. Inside, the simple band gleamed—a slim braid of white gold, nothing flashy.

“Fern is happy just being with me,” Cody said, voice low. “But I want it official. I can’t do much about what my body might do a year from now, or in ten years. But if I marry her, I can protect her the best I can and make sure her financial future’s secure.”

Chance looked up, expression unguarded. “She doesn’t care about that, you know.”

“I know.” Cody closed the box. “But I do.”

Chance nodded slowly. “You don’t have to do any of it alone, Cody. You and Fern. You have all of us.”

Cody swallowed, the knot in his throat too big to speak around.

Yeah.

For once, he knew it.

They stood there while the storm thundered, the house rang with laughter, and the sweet smell of wet prairie grass rose in the air.

In that moment, Cody realized he wasn’t waiting to be whole anymore.

He already was.

It poured on Rose and Chance’s wedding day.

Not a soft, romantic drizzle. A full-on, sideways-blowing, windows-rattling prairie storm.

Fern had watched the clouds drench the land all morning, hoping and pleading that the weather gods might have mercy long enough for the ceremony to take place in the backyard garden as planned.

But the heavens had other ideas.

When she finally gave up and climbed the stairs to the primary bedroom at their childhood home where Rose was getting ready, she found her sister standing at the window, rain pelting the glass in sheets, a blissed-out smile on her face.

“You’re gorgeous,” Fern told her honestly, stepping close to adjust the delicate ringlet resting on Rose’s smooth black hair.

“I’m wet,” Rose said, grinning wider as she gestured to her tear-stained cheeks. “I’m probably going to stay wet all day.”

“You’re radiant,” Ivy corrected from her perch in the corner, a teacup balanced on the arm of her chair. She looked pale but content, the edges of her fragility smoothed by quiet satisfaction. “You’re all so beautiful.”

“Even me?” Tansy piped up, flopping dramatically back into the upholstered chaise. Her casted leg stuck out at a ridiculous angle. “Because I’m only wearing one pretty shoe.”

Fern snickered. “You’re beautiful, even if your July first was a bit more exciting than mine.”

Tansy nodded seriously and didn’t deny it. “I’ll take the broken leg, though, because it came with a happily-ever-after for more than just me.”

Rose turned from the rain with a soft laugh, cradling her bouquet like a talisman. “Weather aside, it still feels perfect, you know?”

“It is perfect,” Fern said, fiercely. “Every bit of it.”

For a moment, they were all quiet, four women linked by love and a thousand shared memories.

Tansy reached out and wiggled her fingers. “Four Fields sisters. A whole bouquet of happiness.”

Fern sat beside her, letting her palm rest over Tansy’s.

“Speaking of bouquets,” Rose murmured, extending hers into the circle. “Since I got to make it, I made exactly what I wanted. This is us.”

They all leaned closer to look.

Ivy was there in the trailing vines of deep green, glossy and strong. Fern saw herself in the lacey fronds tucked among the roses—delicate but impossible to uproot. Tansy’s bright yellow tansy flowers were a cheerful, unexpected burst against the softer pinks of the roses.