They were married on Christmas Eve. A cold front hit Fairhope, and wedding guests bundled into winter coats and complained about the forty-degree weather as they gathered at the small white church for the evening ceremony. The night was clear, the sky hill of stars. One star in particular stood out, and some folks remarked that it must be the star that led the wise men to the Christ child.
But Annie and Colt knew better. For one thing, the star was in the wrong side of the sky. For another, two unusually bright stars hung in the winter-black sky— but only one of them was as big as a baseball.
The organ pealed, and Annie walked down the aisle in the white Victorian gown Charlotte Ann Harris had planned to wear for her marriage to Anthony Chance. In front of the altar was the man who had waited two lifetimes to be with her.
Joy sang through her as she took his hand.
"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here to unite this man and this woman in holy wedlock," the minister said, beginning the ceremony.
And when Colt slid a band encrusted with diamonds, rubies, and emeralds on her finger, and she heard the miraculous words, "I now pronounce you man and wife," Ann knew that at last she'd truly come home.
o0o
Pete hosted a reception at the ranch. Ann's mother, Lisa, who had flown in from Paris with her husband Charlie Chastain, had argued for a country club affair, but Pete stood his ground. He wasn't about to give over to somebody who didn't have the good grace to show up until everything was done except the shouting, and he told her so.
Colt and Annie watched as Lisa and Pete circled each other like gladiators in a Roman arena.
"Do you think they'll ever make peace?" she said.
"You can count on it." He kissed his bride's hand. "When the first grandchild comes, they'll be in cahoots up to their eyebrows, both of them trying to tell us what to do."
"Speaking of babies . . ." Eyes gleaming with mischief, she stood on tiptoe and whispered something in his ear.
"What? Practice again? With a party going on?"
"Of course, if you'd rather dance—"
Annie never got to finish her sentence. Colt scooped her up and strode toward the door.
"If you're going to throw that bouquet, now's the time, Annie."
She tossed it straight toward Margaret, who was decked out in Gilly's pearls and a velvet hat Gilly had brought from Paris, and who had spent the first hour of the reception eyeing Pete and the last hour trying to work up her courage to flirt with him.
Rice pelted over them as they waved good-bye to friends and relatives. Though the word was out that they would honeymoon off the coast of Maine, Colt and Annie drove straight to Windchime House.
It was hauntingly beautiful in the winter darkness. A full moon illuminated the stately white columns and transformed the fanlight over the front door to sparkling crystal. Moss swayed, ghostlike from the live oak trees, and a single star perched on top of the magnolia tree as if it had been put there by the hand of an angel.
They stood hand in hand and viewed the house that had been built for love.
"Welcome home, my darling," Annie whispered.
Colt cradled her in his arms and carried her across the threshold. A shining path lay on the staircase, and as they ascended Annie's wedding gown looked like moonbeams.
Annie's bedroom was at the top of the landing on the left, her wrought-iron bed visible through the open door. Colt strode to the opposite side of the hallway and pushed open the door.
Through the wide French windows was the magnolia tree and a sweeping view of the bay. A comfortable tuxedo sofa and plush velvet chairs made an inviting sitting area, and opposite stood Charlotte Ann Harris's antique desk. But the centerpiece of the room was the bed, draped in white.
The hush in the room was almost sacred. Colt set Annie’s feet on the floor, and they stood hand in hand looking at the veiled bed.
"That bed has been waiting a long time," Annie said.
Colt squeezed her hand. "So have we."
They glanced at each other, and words were not necessary. Colt took one end of the sheeting, Annie took the other, and slowly they unveiled the bed.
Annie ran her hand over the intricately carved roses, the intertwined vines, the exquisite leaves.
"It's so beautiful," she said.
"So are you, Mrs. Butler."
Colt lit candles around the room, then lifted her onto the bed. Her white gown billowed around her like foam on the sea. He knelt above her and bracketed her shoulders with his hands.
"I have loved you since the first time I ever laid eyes on you, and I will love you forever."
"And I love you," she whispered, reaching for him. "Forever and always."
The buttons on her antique wedding gown were tiny and hard to unfasten, but Colt didn't hurry. He had a lifetime and beyond to love this woman.
He peeled her gown away by inches, christening each bit of exposed flesh with lips and tongue. His touch electrified her, and she arched upward. She wove her fingers through his hair and murmured to some ancient inner rhythm as he began to make love to her.
Fragmented, she ripped open his shirt, shoved aside his pants, seeking the magic that would make her whole.
The moon turned her body to silver, and he was the flame tempering it white-hot. With the ancient bedposts standing sentinel, the lovers branded each other, knowing that no matter what the future brought, they belonged together for all eternity.
o0o
Much later, wrapped in her husband's arms, Annie said, "Do you think Charlotte Ann and Anthony know?"
Colt turned his face to the window, and seeing the brightness at the top of the magnolia tree, he smiled.
"They know," he said.