Epilogue
Hannah…
December 5th…
My morning starts with a call from my father. He’s trying. He really is, but I have yet to send him a wedding invitation. I’m closer, though. After lots of long talks with Roarke about forgiveness and life being short, I’m closer. The holiday helps, too. It’s about family and friends, and today has really proven that to be true. It’s been a fun day of planning that included picking out my first real Christmas tree in years.
Roarke and I currently stand in the living room decorating that tree, a giant Christmas tree actually, that I had to have, despite Roarke and Jason swearing it would kill them to get it into the house. I actually did think at one point it might take them both out, but they came through, brawny men that they are. It’s perfect in our living room, too. The night really couldn’t be more perfect. We even have a fire in the fireplace while we fill the limbs with bulbs, thanks to one of those Texas one-day-long cold fronts. We have company, too. A border collie who was deserted at a rest stop and brought to us that I’ve named Shirley, despite Roarke’s mock protests. Shirley is adorable and sweet. Roarke doesn’t know yet, but I’m not letting her go.
When we finish decorating, we sit down on the couch, me snuggled close to Roarke as we enjoy the twinkling wonder of the lights on our tree. Shirley hops on the couch and settles her head on Roarke’s lap, and he gives her a good stroke and glances at me. “She thinks she’s staying.”
“Because she is,” I assure him, and he laughs.
Roarke arches a brow in my direction, those brown eyes as warm as the fire. “Is she now?”
“She is. Any objection?”
“Not even a small one,” he says, kissing me, as Shirley decides to kiss him, leaving us both smiling our way closer to our wedding and Christmas.
…
December 15th…
I stand in the Dallas bridal shop staring at myself in the mirror wearing the red dress that I want to wear for my wedding with Jessica by my side. “Red dress,” she says. “Red boots. I love it. The skirt flaring at the bottom is my favorite. Or maybe the lace at the bodice that makes the dress so darn perfect.”
“It’s not traditional,” I say, running my hands through the lace at my waist, which thankfully isn’t showing my pregnancy yet.
“It’s not about traditional or nontraditional,” Jessica says. “It’s about you loving it. It’s about you and Roarke being in love. And who wants to be about everyone else’s expectations anyway? How many white-dressed brides did you photograph in the fashion world?”
My cellphone rings, and I grab it to find my father, who is almost going overboard with daily calls. I answer the line. “What if my wedding dress isn’t white?”
“It depends,” he says. “Do I get to come see you get married?”
My chest tightens. “Christmas Eve. Are you busy?”
“Now I am. And so is your mother. What color is the dress?”
“Red.”
He laughs. “It reminds me of the red princess gown you wore around the house for a year when you were ten. I think red is perfect. And it is a Christmas wedding.”
I laugh. “I remember that dress, and yes, it is a Christmas wedding. Thanks, Dad. I have to go buy the dress.”
“I love you, honey.”
“I love you, too.”
We disconnect and I inspect myself in the mirror before I smile. “This is the dress!”
The attendant behind us starts to clap and so do we. I’m marrying the love of my life in less than two weeks.
…
December 20th…
“What can I do to help?” my mother asks. “We’ll be there tomorrow. I can do anything you need.”
“All I need is for you to be here,” I assure her. “And to be nice to Roarke’s father.”
“We’ve been talking with him,” she surprises me by saying.
“You have?”
“Don’t sound so surprised. We were friends much longer than enemies.”
“Then you’ve given me the best wedding gift ever,” I say. “Because I want us all to be family.”
“That boy was like a son to me growing up, honey. I love Roarke. He’s a good catch, but don’t forget, so are you.”
So am I. “I know,” I say, and I mean it this time. The time apart hurt, but perhaps it’s how we came together now, stronger than ever. I’m stronger. I’m more confident, and in that, I feel that I can love and be loved on a much deeper level.
All things happen as they should, and I now believe that’s the case with me and Roarke, past and present.
…
December 22nd…
Roarke and I are in surgery on a stallion who just arrived, and I can’t seem to help him the way I normally would. The blood is just too much for me and my delicate stomach these days, as is the metallic smell. Somehow, though, I stand there next to him without leaving the room because I will not allow him to be distracted. But he knows. I don’t know how he knows, but he does. He leans close and whispers, “Go get some air, Han. I’m good.”
“I’ll help,” Allison offers, moving to my side. “Go, honey.”
“I’m fine,” I argue, but her lips purse.
“You’re turning green. Go get some air.”
I listen. I have no choice. Once I’m outside, I sit down on a step, and Shirley is right there with me, giving me kisses. Slowly, I start to feel better, and thankfully, when my phone rings, I’m able to answer, especially since it’s my agent.
“Good news. I sent some of your work to Hamiltons in London to be considered for a rising stars event. They’re in love. They’re featuring you next summer.” Hamiltons is one of the most famous photography galleries in the world. “You’re on your way, honey!” she says. “You are a rising star.”
I stand up and shout with excitement. “What photos?”
“All horses with their Horse Wrangler. Seems you and your future husband know how to make magic together.”
“Yes,” I say, teary-eyed with joy. “Yes, we do.”
Later, much later, Roarke and I celebrate with sparkling cider and cucumbers with ranch dressing, which might seem like an odd combination, but it’s what the baby wants. And Roarke doesn’t even blink. He eats cucumbers and ranch dressing while drinking sparkling cider.
…
Roarke…
December 24th…
I’ve never been so damn nervous in my life.
I stand under the tree where I proposed to Hannah in a tuxedo with a red tie, as per Hannah’s directions, with Shirley by my side and our personal horses grazing nearby. Her parents, my father, and Becca are in the crowd that has morphed into one hundred as the surrounding areas got word that we were finally doing this. Linda is all over the crowd, shooting photos, while Max has tagged along with her, trading in his pitching glove to help control the crowd.
The preacher, a man who has known Hannah and me since we were in diapers, is in front of me, smiling at my nerves while Jason is by my side in the role of my best man and the best damn friend anyone could ask for. Jessica, the bridesmaid, is somewhere with Hannah, in the trailer setup, I think. It doesn’t matter where. Hannah’s not here with me yet. Finally, the song “God Gave Me You” by Blake Shelton starts to play, and Hannah appears on the lily-and-rose-lined walkway set up between chairs, stunning in a red dress. I step to the end of the walkway, and we stand there, staring at each other before we both break into smiles.
She starts walking toward me, her long brown hair lifting in a light breeze off the river running beside the ceremony.
The closer she comes, the more impatient I feel. I want to run down the aisle and pick her up, but I stay where I’m at. The moment she’s in front of me, Shirley barks with excitement, and when I take her hand, my heart thunders in my chest, the emotion I feel for this woman something I can’t even put into words.
“I love you, Han,” I whisper softly, walking her to me. “You look beautiful.”
“I love you, too,” she whispers.
“What do you say we get married?” I ask.
She laughs. “Yes. Let’s get married.”
And so we do. We stand before the town of Sweetwater, and we say “I do,” and with those words to the rest of the world, I vow to love and cherish Hannah, but silently there is so much more for me to add. I will listen to her. I will talk to her. I will never allow us to be divided by insecurities or other people’s wars ever again.
I will hold on and love her, and our child, for the rest of our lives.
…
Roarke…
Eight months later…
Hannah screams with the final push of labor while I hold onto her hand. “It’s a girl!” the doctor shouts, which we knew, of course, but hearing it damn near knocks me over. We have a girl. I’m a father. We’re parents. It’s almost too much to comprehend, and yet it’s also everything I could ever want: the complement to a perfect life with Hannah.
I stroke Hannah’s face. “A girl, Han. Hope is here.”
“Hope,” she whispers, tears in her eyes. “She will never understand that name the way we do, the way we will every moment with her. Can I hold her?”
The doctor bundles her up and sets her in Hannah’s arms, and when Hannah starts to cry, really cry this time, my heart swells with love for my wife and our new daughter. “I’m in trouble,” I tease. “You and a little you to team up on me.”
She laughs. “Yes. You’re definitely in trouble.”
But it’s the best trouble I could ever hope for. Hannah and Hope, my perfect family. My everything.
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