Thursday morning, during her break, Camille spotted Hawke exercising his stallion in the arena next to the stable. They moved in perfect harmony, with each stride and turn synchronized like a well-rehearsed dance. His stallion epitomized the speed, agility, and cow sense that made American Quarter Horses ideal for cutting competitions. Watching the horse change direction swiftly, reading the cattle’s movement with remarkable precision, was mesmerizing. The cattle, accustomed to roaming the vast fields of the Montana ranch, were restless after being confined at the rodeo grounds. It only showcased the stallion’s skill in cutting stand out even more.
Camille lingered, captivated by Hawke’s impressive display. The way he communicated with this horse left her in awe. But duty called, and she reluctantly returned to her morning tasks. After finishing, she decided to spend the early afternoon in one of the hotel’s business rooms, diligently catching up on her studies for the next day’s biology test.
Later, she treated herself to a shower at the spa and changed clothes, feeling refreshed and ready to head into town. Her car had been towed back to the resort, looking a little banged-up but still functional, with screws now holding the bumper in place. She sighed in relief, running her fingers over the repaired bumper. No need to buy another bumper. Her afternoon would be packed with running errands. She exited the spa.
Hawke approached her. “I stabled my stallion back at the cabin. I’m going into town. Would you like to join me for dinner? I’ll give you a lift wherever you need to go,” he offered, his eyes warm and inviting.
Camille hesitated, appreciating his kindness but feeling conflicted about accepting the offer. “Thank you, but no. I need my car to take Lucky to the vet for a checkup. Plus, I must retrieve Ondine’s wedding veil from the bank’s security deposit box.”
Hawke smiled, unfazed. “No worries. We can do both errands and then go to dinner.”
She laughed, shaking her head. “I am not inviting myself to dinner with you.”
“I know,” he said with a grin. “That was my plan all along. Let’s go.”
Lucky leaped into the Land Rover, his tail wagging and eyes gleaming with the excitement of a new adventure.
Camille couldn’t help but smile at his enthusiasm. He had been such a good boy this morning, mingling with the horses without spooking them—a promising addition. After receiving a clean bill of health from the vet, Lucky earned himself another bounty of doggie treats and toys. His name and both their phone numbers were displayed on his collar, reflecting their combined care and responsibility.
After collecting the wedding veil at the bank, they headed to an outdoor restaurant that welcomed dogs.
Lucky lay at their feet, behaving impeccably.
The mild weather, coupled with a gorgeous sunset, created a dreamy backdrop. The simple, yet delicious, food added to the relaxed, almost magical atmosphere. Camille noticed the admiring glances women were casting at Hawke, but to her great satisfaction, he paid them no attention. They appeared like a couple, sharing a special evening. As they ate, Hawke’s gaze grew curious.
“Tell me about the wedding veil,” he asked. “It seems important enough to be stored in a security deposit box.”
Camille paused, hovering her fork over her plate. She took a deep breath, her eyes softening as memories surfaced. “The irreplaceable veil has a story woven with love. The delicate white lace, adorned with pearls, holds love stories from past generations. I believe it was first worn in France in the late1800s. In the 1900s, descendants from the original family scattered over three continents; some remained in France, and some emigrated to America and Australia. Somehow, they kept in touch despite being far apart geographically. As soon as a member of these extended families is engaged, they send for the wedding veil to arrive in time for the wedding. When no one needs it, it is sent back to France for safekeeping. In the interim, it goes into a security deposit box in the city close to where the engagement party and the wedding are held.”
She smiled with a touch of wistfulness. “Don’t laugh. I understand you might be skeptical, but it’s a legend in our family. Any bride who wears the heirloom veil on her wedding day is guaranteed a happily-ever-after. She will conceive children and experience a long, fulfilling life together with her husband. It may be superstition, but no family member marries without the veil.”
She glanced at him, gauging his interest, then continued, “Once a woman is engaged, she receives the veil. After the wedding, it goes back into the deposit box, meticulously cleaned and packaged to prevent deterioration. As the closest family member to the bank, I am responsible for picking it up and delivering it to Ondine on her engagement day. I hope one day to wear it, too.”
Hawke leaned in, his gaze locked on hers, reflecting genuine interest. “It’s a great tradition, which hopefully will always prove true,” he acknowledged. “Both in my family and Trent’s, we love deeply and boast of extraordinarily successful unions lasting forever. I expect no less for myself. That’s why I am still single at thirty-five. I want to find the one and only woman to spend the rest of my life with. I want kids before I am too old to enjoy them, but only with the right mate.”
His words hung in the air, a shared understanding of their hopes and dreams intertwining. Camille felt a warmth spread through her chest, a flicker of something profound and promising. She returned his gaze, feeling a connection that went beyond the moment and touching something deeper within her. “I agree. The trick is knowing if they’re the right one,” she replied, leaning back in her chair, her fingers tracing the edge of her glass. The cool rim against her skin seemed to ground her thoughts as she glanced up at him.
Hawke’s eyes sparkled with conviction. “I think people place too much emphasis on outward beauty. I want my future wife to be pretty but also down-to-earth. Someone who looks glamorous when the occasion calls for it but is also comfortable in her skin. A woman who can’t leave the house without being in full makeup wouldn’t appeal to me. I want to enjoy her natural beauty, especially when waking up in the mornings.”
Camille raised an eyebrow, a cynical smile playing on her lips. “Interesting, coming from someone always seen in the news in the company of elegant and sophisticated women. I don’t believe you. Both Trent and you seem the type to divorce your first wife after ten to fifteen years and marry a younger, more alluring one. Men age better than women, and when men are wealthy, they will have younger women throwing themselves at them. The wedding veil legend has been true so far. Ondine and I hope to avoid this pitfall.”
Hawke leaned back, his expression shifting to frustration. “Whoa. You have a warped view of me. I’m not saying I’d prefer an unattractive woman over a beautiful one, but who wants a glamor doll obsessed with the next plastic surgery or chemical filler? What if I have an accident and lose a leg? Should I expect my wife to leave me or cheat on me because I’m not the same man she married?”
Camille studied him, noting the intensity in his eyes. She could see the sincerity behind his words, a depth of thought she hadn’t expected. “I’m impressed,” she said, her voice softening. “I didn’t imagine this desire in a potential mate. The one thing a marriage can’t succeed without is a mutual physical attraction. It won’t matter when they get older, and their bodies have changed; the attraction will remain regardless of their appearances.”
Hawke nodded, a hint of relief crossing his features. “Exactly,” he replied, his voice steady but warm. “It’s about finding someone who will stick with you through everything, the good, and the bad. That’s the kind of love I’m looking for.”
Camille’s heart quickened at his words. “Well, good luck with your search. Now that we’ve finished dinner, can we go home? I have an important biology test tomorrow and need as much sleep as possible.”
“Before leaving for the cabin, could you explain what you meant when you said After three months, Ondine relented?” Hawke wondered.
“Ondine was fully aware of Trent’s reputation, much like yours,” Camille answered. “She didn’t simply give in. Ondine and I come from families that cherish truth, faithfulness, and fidelity. She kept saying no, but he didn’t take the hint. Finally, she devised something unexpected, which he accepted. The rest is history.”
“What did she figure out?” he asked.
Camille hesitated, then met his gaze squarely. “She realized that Trent needed to prove himself beyond words and charm. He had to demonstrate he could be trustworthy, consistent, and patient. She set boundaries, and he respected them. It wasn’t about giving in but about him earning her trust.”
Staring off into the distance, Hawke admitted quietly, “I thought I was protecting Trent, anticipating their engagement party this Saturday.”
“Absolutely,” she murmured, her tone softening. “And please, don’t mock Ondine. That’s why I’ve been upset with you. You often showed disapproval when looking at Ondine or even talking about her.”
The weather was mild today. When they reached the cabin, it was warm enough for her to sleep in her bunk. His nearness was tempting but would lead to nowhere. Friends, they should remain. She tucked Lucky into his doggy bed and climbed on her own.
Hawke was still outside, settling his horse for the night.
She was already in her bed when he entered. She thanked him for making the fire, noting how he had piled enough logs to last most of the night. It was impossible not to gawk at Hawke as he shed his shirt, his muscles rippling in the firelight. Not fair to flaunt such a chest for her to admire from afar.
They exchanged a lingering glance, their breathing ragged with unspoken words. Hawke approached her bed, his gaze never leaving hers. “It’s probably safer for you to sleep in your own bed,” he murmured, his voice tinged with a note of regret. “I’ll miss you in mine. I love the scent of your skin next to mine. Sweet dreams, sweetheart.” He sat on the edge of her bed, his gaze softening as he took her in his arms.
The kiss he gave her was deep and lingering, leaving her breathless and yearning for more. She watched as he moved to his own bed, his head sinking into the pillow with a contented sigh, sleep claiming him almost instantly.
But she lay awake for hours, her mind storming with anxiety. The memory of his touch, the warmth of his kiss, the tension in his voice—all these thoughts swirled around her, refusing to let her rest. What would it take to bridge the distance between their hearts.