Page 23 of The Foreman (Cowboys of Silver Spur Security #6)

Trace pulled the box from his pocket, his voice rough.

“Macy Dane, I don’t only want your submission here.

I want your chaos in my kitchen, your sarcasm in my mornings, your name on everything I build.

I failed once by holding back what mattered most. I will not fail you by staying silent now. Marry me.”

Her eyes widened, tears shimmering. “That’s not subtle.”

“In case you missed it, subtle isn't exactly my strong suit.”

She opened the box. The ring inside wasn't plain, it was a strong circle without a break, embedded with channel set diamonds and an enormous pear-shaped emerald. Her laugh broke on a sob. “Yes. Of course yes.”

He slid the ring onto her finger, his hands steady despite the thunder in his chest. She launched at him, kissing him hard enough to bruise, laughter and love tangled in every sound.

Later, tangled in sheets, Trace brushed his thumb over the new ring.

Macy lay sprawled across his chest, her hair spilling across warm skin and the marks the wax had left.

He whispered the litany she craved after scenes, each word a vow.

“Safe. Good. Mine. Loved. Always. You are not a weakness,” he said into her hair.

“You are the part that steadies my hands.”

She sighed into his skin. “Bossy.”

“Always.” He kissed her hair. “And yours.”

Normal came with its own battles. Grocery lists sparked arguments sharper than firefights.

Fence repairs turned into contests of will.

Reed dropped off cookbooks labeled field manuals.

Hawke threatened random best man speeches.

Gavin gave Macy control of strategy meetings and pretended it was about notes.

Jesse adjusted the budget for the wedding bar and called it an operational necessity.

The team never stopped watching, never stopped ribbing, but pride lived in every glance.

The real curtain call came months later on a spring evening, all of Silver Spur gathered at the ranch.

Reed at the grill, Hawke pouring tequila, Gavin running logistics like it was an op, Jesse arguing spreadsheets with Macy while Trace stood back and let them all fill the porch with noise.

The family they had built through fire and scars.

The wedding came three months later, the barn strung with lights that glowed like fireflies against the dusk, the green hills rolling in the background as if nature itself had shown up to witness them.

Macy walked toward Trace in a simple dress that skimmed her curves and shimmered in the glow of lantern light.

No veil, no heavy trappings, only her—strong, radiant, every step carrying both defiance and devotion.

The officiant kept it short, which suited them. Reed stood as best man, trying and failing to look stoic. Hawke held the rings like they were contraband he intended to smuggle across a border. Jesse and Gavin flanked the aisle with the same watchful calm they carried into operations.

Macy placed her hand in Trace’s, and the rest of the world stepped back.

“Trace,” she said, voice steady, “you found me when I was hunted, and you never looked away. I promise to bring you my honesty when it is hard, my obedience when we choose it, and my fight when the world needs it. I am yours in the kitchen, in the club, in the dark, and in the light.”

Trace’s throat tightened. “Macy, I promise you structure when you crave it, freedom when you need it, and my protection even when you think you do not. I will shoulder the weight, share the quiet, and stand in front of the storm. You are mine, and I am yours.”

Hawke sniffed loud enough for the first three rows to hear. Someone elbowed him. He scowled and waved them off.

To Trace she was more breathtaking than any bride he had ever imagined, and in that moment she was entirely, irrevocably his. Trace said, “I will,” and for the first time in his life, the words felt not like duty or survival but forever, a vow carved into his very bones.

Reed wore sunglasses to hide the tears that kept sliding down anyway and insisted it was hay dust. Hawke stood up to toast and told two stories so obscene the crowd roared, and Macy flipped him off with a grin that made everyone laugh harder.

Gavin kept his toast short, strong, and surprisingly heartfelt.

Jesse dragged Keely onto the floor, where they ended up doing the dirtiest dance anyone had ever seen, until Reed ordered them to stand down and the crowd cheered.

Macy slid into his side, her ring catching the light. “You happy, cowboy?”

He kissed her temple, eyes sweeping over friends turned brothers. “For the first time, yeah.”

She smiled, sharp and soft at once. “Good. Because this is just the beginning.”

Trace believed her. Their war was over. Their future had just begun, and he was ready to live every stubborn, beautiful second of it with her.

Their honeymoon was two nights in a Hill Country hideaway.

They ate fried chicken in bed, tied ribbons around wrists, and laughed until they ached.

Trace learned he liked her cold toes against his calf.

Macy learned he would always give her the last bite.

They called it compromise. It felt like home.

Months later at the Iron Spur, Trace watched Macy command the floor as she instructed the newbies.

On Thursdays she taught a women’s self-defense block with padded suits and clean drills.

Once a month she coordinated range days with a certified instructor and ran safety briefings herself.

Members listened because she made the rules feel like survival, not scolding.

She corrected knots, calmed nerves, and gave orders sharper than Reed’s.

Members cheered when she walked in. She pretended embarrassment and then told them all to get back to work.

Trace knew then she didn’t just belong in his life—she anchored it.

That night he marked her again in wax, worshiped every line, and held her until dawn broke over the ranch. She whispered against his throat, “Thank you for not letting go.”

“Letting go was never an option,” he said. “Are you ever going to tell me what really happened three years ago when you got banned?”

She nipped his jaw. “Not a chance.”

Trace looked at her and then slowly smiled. “I can respect that, but for what it’s worth, I believe you.”

She grinned. “Finally.”