Page 102 of The Rancher's Wedding Deception

He pulled up Wynd’s number and hitCall.

It rang three times before his friend answered, his voice rough with sleep. “If you’re calling me on your honeymoon, you’ve already messed things up...or you’re afraid of messing up.”

“The latter.”

“Which means you finally saw the forest for the trees.”

“Or I just lost my mind.”

“It will feel a lot like that on some days.” Something shifted on Wynd’s end—sheets rustling, a soft murmur that might have been Star asking who was calling. “But most other days... you’ll wish time would stop because everything feels impossibly good.”

Paul’s grip tightened on the phone. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

“Philippians—”

“Who’s that?” Paul genuinely didn’t know, and his puzzlement only grew when his friend chuckled.

“If you don’t want to mess this up, time to crack open your Bible, my friend. Philippians four-thirteen. Look it up.” Another rustle of sheets. “Now go back to your wife and let me get back to mine.”

The line went dead, and after several moments of struggling against something he couldn’t quite put into words—

Ah, let’s just fucking—I mean, let’s just see where this goes.

A Bible app was downloaded to his phone in moments, and he didn’t know how to feel when he realized that this Philippians book was actually a series of letters written by his namesake.

Paul.

But unlike him, this Paul probably had things figured out better than he did since four-thirteen...

Ah.

His jaw clenched.

I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.

Paul read it again.

And again.

Is that so, Paul of the Bible?

He dropped his phone into one of the pockets of his sweat pants.

Fine then.

If You’re real, Jesus...

His jaw clenched as he stared out at the mountains, the snow-capped peaks catching the first rays of true morning sun.

Help me.

Give me the courage I need to let my wife speak...the next time she tries to tell me why she needed the money.

SIX THOUSAND MILESaway, Joyce Bernard stood on the balcony of her Monte Carlo suite, a glass of champagne in one hand and her phone in the other.

The voice on the other end was bright with that particular sweetness that society women wielded like a blade.

“I just had to call and congratulate you, Joyce. I honestly didn’t think much of the girl, but I should have known. Blood’s thicker than water—”