Page 52

52

Piper

If you’d told me six months ago I’d be standing in the breezeway of the Ice ranch house wearing ivory cowboy boots and a tea-length lace dress, waiting for a two-year-old to escort me down an aisle of hay bales, I would’ve laughed—or run.

But here I am, cheeks flushed, heart thudding, the late-afternoon sun pouring liquid gold over the cottonwoods.

Savannah finishes pinning the wildflower crown onto my hair—a tangle of chamomile, bluebonnets, and tiny prairie roses snipped from Annie’s garden. “Stop fidgeting,” she scolds softly. “You’ll shake it loose.”

“I’m marrying your brother. Shaking feels inevitable.”

She grins. “Marrying an Ice is like adopting a rodeo—hold tight.”

Footsteps pound up the porch. Violet bursts through the screen door in her miniature twirl dress, white cowboy boots flashing. “Ready, Mama Piper?” She still calls me Piper most days, but sometimes—when no one prompts— Mama slips out. Every time, it melts me straight to the bone.

“Born ready,” I whisper.

She holds up a fistful of petals stolen from her own basket. “Throw later, right?”

“After we walk.”

She nods with solemn authority only small children possess, then slips her hand into mine. Her palm is soft and a little sticky—probably lemonade. I grip it tight.

Savannah pushes the door open. Golden light streams in, catching dust motes mid-dance. The hum of soft guitar drifts from the meadow—Blake’s old friend Knox strumming under the cottonwoods, sending an acoustic version of “Country Roads” across the field.

Guests—mostly family and a smattering of friends—rise from hay bale benches. The whole thing is sweet, understated, impossibly Jake.

My four maids of honor—Emma, Savannah, Aubrey, and Madison—are already in place.

Emma gives me a quiet thumbs-up from the edge of the porch, poised and serene. Savannah flashes me a wink, wildflower crown slightly askew, like she wouldn’t have it any other way.

Aubrey leans close just long enough to whisper, “Don’t trip. Or do. It’s charming either way.”

And Madison—Madison is full-body vibrating with joy, eyes glassy, voice barely holding back a squeal. “You’re getting married, Pipes,” she breathes, gripping my hands. “Like actually married. To Jake freaking Ice. ”

“I’m aware,” I whisper back, grinning.

She lets out a soft, happy sob-laugh and flutters with my skirt one last time. “Okay. Showtime,” she declares, and the four of them slip out to line the aisle like a dream team of hype women and honorary sisters.

I inhale a lungful of warm, hay-scented air. Annie’s voice floats from somewhere near the archway, cueing Violet and me forward. We step onto the porch. Jake’s ranch stretches out before us—fence rails glowing amber, hills rolling like patchwork quilts, the sky a watercolor blaze.

And at the far end, beneath a simple wooden arch draped in burlap and more wildflowers, stands Jake.

My breath catches. He’s in a crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled, suspenders crossing that broad back. No tie—Jake hates ties— but he’s wearing freshly polished boots and a grin that somehow makes me feel both brave and undone.

Violet tugs. “We go now?”

“We go.”

We walk. Gravel crunches under my boots; petals flutter from Violet’s free hand like confetti. Guests sigh—soft “awws” rippling. Dad Ice stands beside Jake, hands clasped behind him, eyes suspiciously shiny. Blaze elbows Blake to keep from tearing up; Emma’s already wiping a tissue under her lashes. Nash leans down and says something cheeky to Sadie, who elbows him back and mutters “don’t wrinkle my dress.” Their smiles give away more than either will admit.

Halfway down, Violet stops, frowns, and plucks a petal from her hair. She carefully tucks it into my bouquet—a loose clutch of white ranunculus and sage.

“Pretty,” she declares, then beams at the crowd like she invented floristry.

The laughter is gentle, affectionate. Exactly the tone I never knew I wanted for my wedding day.

We reach the arch. Jake bends, lifts Violet, sets her next to Annie, then takes my hands. Warmth floods me from fingertips to toes. The world telescopes—noise fading until it’s just the two of us and the steady thud of my heart.

“You’re perfect,” he mouths.

“So are you,” I mouth back.

Dad Ice clears his throat—the unofficial officiant because “no sense paying a preacher when your old man can read vows.” He welcomes everyone, voice gravel-smooth, then says, “Jake asked me to keep this shorter than a calf-branding demonstration, so let’s get to it.”

Laughter spills again. We repeat the vows Jake and I wrote together—nothing fancy, just promises to show up honest, to choose love on good days and bad. My hands tremble, but my voice is steady. When Jake whispers “I do,” my chest feels too small for my heart. Violet slips her tiny hand into mine for the rings, pushing Jake’s gold band onto his finger with dramatic concentration that earns applause.

Dad Ice declares us husband and wife. Jake kisses me—soft but sure—tasting of citrus and everything I nearly lost and somehow found. The meadow erupts in cheers. Knox swings into a bright riff of “Here Comes the Sun.” Blaze whistles loud enough to wake the cattle on the far ridge.

We turn to walk back up the aisle. Violet launches a petal bomb overhead, giggling. Sophie the goat (because Blaze had to include a goat) ambles by wearing a flower crown of her own, stealing petals like a confetti vacuum. The moment is ridiculous and perfect and ours.

*

Tables circle the old live-oak. String lights zigzag above; jars of sunflowers glow in Mason-jar lanterns. Savannah’s homemade lemon sorbet melts faster than anyone can eat it, so Blaze declares it “lemon shot challenge” and passes spoons like shot glasses. Annie beams as Violet devours the frosting off three mini-cupcakes before anyone notices.

I’m drifting through hugs and congratulations when Emma clinks a fork against her sweet-tea mason jar. Everyone hushes.

She stands, a little shaky in her soft-pink dress, Knox’s steadying hand at her back. “I promised Jake I’d keep this short, because apparently speeches make him twitchy.” Chuckles ripple. Jake raises a brow but smiles. “Growing up, Jake taught me how to skate, how to throw a punch if a boy ever tried anything, and… how to forgive big.”

Emma’s gaze swings to me, voice thickening. “When Piper came to Cedar Creek, she didn’t know the first thing about ranch life. But she knew how to fight for the people she loves. She fought for Violet, for Jake—and for me, when I needed it most.” She taps her glass again. “So here’s to my new sister, who reminds us that family isn’t just blood; it’s anyone brave enough to stay when things get messy.”

Tears blind me. I mouth “thank you” as everyone raises cups. Emma sits, Knox squeezing her hand. Maybe Jake’s buddy will be her own happy ever after.

Near the cake table, Sadie and Nash bicker good-naturedly over whether lemon or chocolate tiers are superior. “Lemon is sophisticated,” Sadie huffs, swatting Nash’s hand away.

“Chocolate is happiness in frosting form,” Nash argues, stealing a slice anyway.

“Philistine,” she says, but her grin is pure sunshine.

Blake wanders up behind them, muttering, “Bet you two will frost each other inside of ten minutes,” and Sadie retorts, “Don’t tempt me, spreadsheet boy.” Nash laughs so hard he nearly chokes on cake.

I’m hugging Dad Ice when Evelyn’s Cadillac tail-lights disappear down the lane. She slipped out early—no surprise. Blake watches from the shadows of the carriage house, jaw tight, before following her on foot. I let the tension pass through me. The night isn’t hers to ruin.

Music shifts to a slow fiddle waltz. Jake catches my hand, draws me to the cleared patch of grass. We sway under the string lights, fireflies flickering like extra bulbs. Violet chases them in circles, Sophie the goat lumbering after her. Emma and Knox dance nearby; Sadie pretends not to enjoy Nash spinning her like a pro.

Jake leans close, beard brushing my temple. “You know we’ll have to hose Blaze off when he starts a line dance at ten.”

“Let him try,” I sigh happily. “I’m not leaving this spot.”

“Good.” He tilts my chin up. “You look like you belong here.”

“I do,” I whisper. “With you.”

We turn in lazy circles. Every swirl of my skirt lifts the worry I carried for months—Marnie’s jealousy, Evelyn’s judgment, my own guilt. It all drifts skyward like bonfire smoke.

Jake’s lips graze my ear. “Ready to make our exit soon? Violet’s crashing.”

“Soon,” I murmur. “Let’s stay in this moment a little longer.”

So we do. The sun sinks behind the ridge, painting the sky peach, then violet, then midnight blue. Laughter carries over the fields, mingling with lowing cattle settling for the night.

And somewhere inside me, a soft click: home.