Chapter Nine

Stirring, Sarah shielded her eyes against the sunlight as she reached for Walker. Morning rays fell across the empty pillow where he’d lain beside her all night, his breathing slow and even. She smiled, quietly humming “The Missouri Waltz,” which had unofficially become their wedding song. She was a wife—and hopefully she would be a mother soon. She lifted her head and her sleepy gaze scanned the room. She was alone.

Her wedding dress lay next to Walker’s rumpled suit. It was hard to imagine that a day earlier, in this very room, Flo had been helping her dress, careful that every hair was in place. She smiled at the thought of Walker’s “barbecue” wedding, recalling the sights and sounds, the guests celebrating long into the night.

At least that part of her dream had remained intact. The only thing more exciting than the wedding had been the wedding night—her first night as Mrs. Walker McKay.

The door opened softly and Walker came in carrying a tray of steaming coffee and cinnamon rolls from the kitchen. When he saw that she was awake, color crept up his neck and he mumbled a good morning.

“I thought you might want to sleep in,” he said, setting the tray on the cedar chest at the end of the bed. “Yesterday was a big day.”

She eyed the tray. “Do you cook too?”

“Flo left the rolls for us. I made the coffee. Hope you like it strong, with cream.”

A man who didn’t like his coffee black. That was a refreshing change. Propping herself up on her elbows, Sarah tucked the sheet under her arms.

“I like it any way you do.” When she first came to Spring Grass, she could barely drink the coffee that was thick enough to spear with a fork. Over the past few days she had grown used to the murky black liquid and actually started to enjoy her morning cup with Flo.

She muffled a weary yawn. “Yesterday was quite a day, with the barbecue and all.” Their eyes met and she grinned impishly. Walker sat down at the foot of the bed, his shirt open just far enough to reveal his thick thatch of curly, dark brown hair interspersed with red scars. Her throat closed, realizing how close he’d come to death. Flo had said it was a miracle that the bull hadn’t killed him.

God had spared him for her.

“Sorry. I wanted to make sure—” he began.

“The bride showed up?” She sipped her coffee, watching his reaction over the rim of the cup. At least he had the decency to look apologetic. “Wild horses couldn’t have stopped me from being there. There was one tiny problem, though.”

Walker frowned. “What’s that?”

She leaned toward him and murmured, “I felt a little overdressed.”

Walker responded, meeting her halfway. Their mouths were mere inches apart. “How do you feel right now?”

“Happy. Incredibly happy.” She closed the distance for his kiss, sighing with pleasure.

Later, Sarah returned the cold coffee and untouched cinnamon rolls to the kitchen, and decided that she would enjoy married life. Immensely. Immeasurably.