Page 91 of Redemption

I trace the edges of his jaw with my finger. “You already have, Beck.”

With one last kiss, we make our way back to the guests to celebrate the beginning of the rest of our lives.

* * *

“I swear to God, Beckett, if you smash that cake into my face, you’re going to be sorry.”

My new husband—damn, I love saying that—holds the piece of white cake up threateningly. “Really? Why does that make me want to do it more?”

I laugh. “Because you’re a jerk?”

Beck wraps his arm around my lower back and nuzzles into my ear. “Don’t worry, honey, I’ll show you how nice I can be when we get upstairs. But for now...”

Oh, no.

I try squirming out of his arms, but his grip is too tight. He goes in fast but pulls back at the last second, right before the frosting touches my face. Beck’s chocolate eyes are filled with humor as he allows me to take a small bite before setting it back on the plate. Just when I think I’ve escaped, he swipes his finger through the frosting, wipes it down my cheek, and follows the trail with his tongue.

I don’t know what comes over me as I pick up the same piece and smash it into his face. I’m laughing so hard, I snort as a giant glob of frosting falls off the tip of Beck’s nose. I’m not laughing for long when Beck seeks retribution in the form of a lengthy kiss. When our mouths part, my face is just as messy as his. I don’t think I’ve ever been so amused, grossed out, and turned on at once. Of course, our guests are thoroughly entertained, hooting, hollering, and catcalling the entire time. After our faces are frosting free once again, Beck and I decide to make our rounds, meeting with each person briefly before we disappear for the night.

Beck tugs on my hand. “Well, I’ll be damned, they made it.”

“Who made it?”

I follow his line of sight and find a couple I’ve never seen before.

Beckett and the man do some guy hug thing before my husband pulls back and faces me. “Presley, I’d like you to meet Ben and Gretchen Pryce. Ben was in my unit.”

I could totally see this guy being a SEAL. He’s big and muscular with a dangerous air about him, but his dark eyes are haunted and soulful, a lot like Beck’s are. The tall, beautiful blonde at his side smiles warmly as she turns her aqua gaze my way.

“Oh, my God, it’s so nice to meet y’all.” I smile as understanding dawns on me. “Is it okay if I hug you? I feel like a handshake is too formal.”

“Sure,” they both say in unison, chuckling.

“It’s nice to meet you, Presley,” Ben says, pulling out of my overzealous hug. “I’ve heard a lot about you over the years. I guess the girl who got away didn’t get very far, after all.”

“Beck’s talked about me over the years, huh?” I glance at my groom out of the corner of my eye. “You don’t say.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Beck wraps his arm around my back. “What can I say? I’m a lucky bastard.”

Ben looks down at his wife. “I know the feeling.”

The four of us talk for a while, and we even wind up taking the couple on a tour of the facilities for the healing center before they have to head out. Beckett and I wind up staying at our reception a bit longer than initially planned, but neither one of us have any regrets. The entire day turned out perfectly. When my husband carries me over the threshold, waving goodbye to our guests, I think about how lucky I am. Today, I got to marry my best friend. My soul mate. The future father of my children. And after what I suspect will be a long, fantastic night tangled in the sheets, I’ll get to wake up in his arms, ready to spend the rest of my life proudly by his side. How could it get any better than that?

Epilogue

Presley

Eight Years Later …

“She looks so happy.”

I press a hand to my heart, watching our oldest daughter, Addie, talking to the instructor. She’s been around horses her whole life, but this will be her first time riding one independently. Today is the orientation for the ranch’s youngest group of kids. When they’re this little, we start ‘em out with Daisy, our sweet pony, and keep the lesson groupings as small as possible. Besides Addie, there’s only one other child, a seven-year-old little boy named Cash.

As Beckett and I watch, Addie takes a few steps closer to her new friend and whispers something in his ear. At first, he gives her a funny look, but then in the next moment, he smiles when Addie grabs his hand.

I lean into my husband. “This seems familiar.”

He smiles. “Lord help that little boy. She is definitely her mama’s girl.”

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