Page 31 of Willing to Wed the Rancher
Clarabelle was tempted to put a stop to the whole charade. After all, marriage was too sacred an institution to use in their make-believe world. But as the children rushed over, she couldn’t dampen their enthusiasm. It wouldn’t hurt to pretend for a little while longer, would it?
Franz led her away from the bridge until they were standing on level ground, his hand clasped firmly around hers. Dieter and Bianca stood in front of them with wide grins.
“Let us gather together.” Dieter projected his voice to sound like that of the reverend, making them all laugh.
“What happens next, Uncle Franz?” Bianca asked expectantly.
“We must say our vows.” He turned toward Clarabelle, his smile too handsome to resist. “Dieter, why don’t you ask me if I’ll have this woman to be my wedded wife, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony.”
Using his best imitation of a reverend, Dieter asked both Franz and Clarabelle the same question, partially botched but mostly as Franz had instructed.
Then Franz grasped both of her hands and began to recite the common marriage vow: “I, Franz, take thee, Clarabelle, to be my wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish until death us do part.”
Even though this wasn’t real, she couldn’t keep the flutters from fanning to life in her stomach, especially because Franz stood before her so tall and handsome and full of life and possibilities.
Whenever she’d pictured her wedding day, she’d only ever had one dream: that she be deeply in love with her groom. Nothing else—the place, the guests, her dress, the ring—had mattered.
Perhaps someday, it would end up being like this moment with Franz—spontaneous and full of joy.
“Your turn.” He squeezed her hand.
“I, Clarabelle, take thee, Franz, to be my wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or worse, forricher or poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish until death us do part.”
“It’s done.” Dieter stared up at them as if he really had just married them. “Now I pronounce you husband and wife.”
Clarabelle knew she should tug her hands free from Franz’s, but she liked the feel of their hands together too much to make the effort. And Franz, likewise, hadn’t moved to release her, almost as if he liked holding her hands too.
“You need to kiss your bride.” Bianca jumped up and down. “Right, Dieter?”
“I think so.” Dieter shrugged. “I’ve seen Maverick kissing Hazel, so I reckon it’s true.”
Clarabelle could feel the warmth spiraling inside her again at the nature of the conversation. She had to say no, but before she could figure out how without having to disappoint the children, Franz tugged her hand and seemed to be pulling her toward him.
He wasn’t planning to kiss her for real, was he?
His eyes seemed to encourage her not to worry, that everything was all right, and that he’d be careful not to take things too far.
Of course this was still just part of the story. He was still acting, and she needed to keep acting too.
His sights dropped to her lips, as if he wasn’t able to stop himself. Just as quickly, he jerked his eyes away and then leaned in so that his mouth was next to her ear. “Would you allow me a kiss on your cheek?”
His low whisper in her ear was unlike any sensation she’d experienced before and sent tingles racing up her backbone. As his mouth brushed her ear and his nose skimmed her cheek, her legs felt too weak to hold her weight, and she clutched at his vest with her free hand to hold herself up.
What was this reaction she was having to him? Her breathing turned suddenly shallow, and her pulse seemed to be thundering.
He didn’t move back. “Just a little one?”
In the cascade of sensations and thoughts, she’d almost forgotten that he’d asked her if he could kiss her cheek. She knew she shouldn’t allow it even in pretend, and evenjust a little one. Although she tried to force the wordnofrom her lips, she found herself giving him a tiny nod of acquiescence.
He pulled back enough that he could look into her eyes. His gaze was intense, as if he wanted to make certain he’d gained her permission before kissing her cheek. It was sweet of him to be so polite about it.
That’s all the kiss would be. A polite gesture. Like a friend kissing her cheek in greeting. Or like one of her brothers saying goodbye.
She tilted her head so that he had access to her cheek.
He bent down, hesitated a moment so that she could feel his exhalation against her skin.
Anticipation tightened her stomach. Before she could brace herself for more, his lips pressed gently to her cheek. Softly, tenderly, sweetly.
