Hold On (The 'Burg #6)(196)

I took my clutch from under my arm so I could transfer stuff from my purse, which was lying on the kitchen counter, into it as Colt answered, “Yep,” while fitting himself to my back. He then bent in to kiss my bare shoulder before murmuring in my ear, “Like this dress, baby.”

I lost some of my annoyance, feeling my husband’s heat. I lost more at the touch of his lips. I lost more at his words.

I lost it all when I caught sight of something out of the corner of my eye.

I loved silver. Because I did, I wore a lot of it.

And every day, no matter when I got home—if it was eight at night or three in the morning—I took my silver off at our kitchen counter.

I dropped it in a pile wherever it hit.

The next time I saw it, I’d see that my husband had organized it. Bangles in a bundle. Rings lined up. Chains straightened. Earrings stacked, one on top of the other.

Sometimes I saw him do it, so I knew it wasn’t about him keeping it neat.

When he did it, his touch was reverent, like the jewelry was still on me.

I didn’t know why he did it. I never asked. I just let it feel nice, thinking of his fingers touching my silver, something that I loved, something that touched me.

After losing decades, we’d now been back together for years.

I took off my silver every day in the kitchen.

And my husband straightened it every day for me.

It was now straightened.

And I felt each touch it took Colt to straighten it right on my skin.

I loved it that I had that like I loved it that I had him.

And no woman could be annoyed when she had that.

I finished with my purse and turned.

Colt shifted to allow the movement, but then he shifted back in, wrapping his arms around me.

I lifted my hands and rested them on his shoulders, my eyes scanning my man.

“You don’t look so bad either,” I noted.

He grinned, dipped in, and touched his mouth to mine.

“Can we go?” Jack asked.

We both looked to our son, who was also now standing in the kitchen.

“I wanna play with Ethan,” he explained his impatience.

Jack loved Ethan like Ethan was his big brother.

Ethan gave that back.

Colt gave me a quick squeeze before he let me go and moved to his boy.

He picked him up and set him straddling his hip, Jack wearing his little man suit pants and shirt that was a close match to the suit pants and shirt his daddy was wearing.

“We’re gonna go, but remember what we told you,” Colt said, walking them out of the kitchen. “It’s a big day. Ethan’s gonna be busy.”

“But he’ll be able to play, right?” Jack asked.

“Yeah, I reckon after a while, he’ll be able to play.”

Jack smiled at his father.

Colt returned his smile as he nabbed his suit jacket from the back of a dining room chair as well as Jack’s, which was lying on the table.

As for me…

I smiled inside.

I did that a lot these days.

Then again, I did it a lot on the outside too.

I grabbed my clutch and moved toward the kitchen door, giving my dog a scratch while I did.

I walked out. My husband and son walked out behind me.

Colt put Jack down so he could lock the door and I took my baby boy’s hand. My baby boy who was growing up and not so much of a baby anymore.

We walked to Colt’s truck.

We climbed in.

And Colt took us to Ethan.

* * * * *

For a wedding by a lake that was going to be catered by my brother at a grill and a table groaning with potluck chips, dips, and salads—the only thing wedding-esque being the flowers and decorations the bridesmaids insisted on putting up (something we all got up early to do that morning) and a beautiful wedding cake the mother-of-the-bride demanded she provide—the wedding party was enormous.

Vi as maid of honor, me at her side, Dusty, Rocky, Mimi, Jessie, Josie, and Frankie.

On the other side, Tanner as best man, Mike, Colt, Sully, Cal, Sean, Drew, and Ryker.

Yes, Ryker.

The bride had insisted.

That said, the groom hadn’t protested.

So there stood Ryker, grinning like a lunatic and fidgeting in his suit.

And while folks stood around in the green grass beside a quiet lake outside an awesome lake house, the bride made her appearance.

She looked amazing.

Simple, form-fitting, strapless white lace dress that hit her at her knees and had a dusty-rose satin ribbon wrapped around the waist; a thick bunch of silvery-pink Indiana peonies in her hand that she’d cut herself that morning from the bushes that edged the entire house.

Mother at her left.

Son at her right.

They hit the edge of the lake where we were all fanned out, the bride having expertly managed to negotiate the entire trek through the grass in strappy, spike-heeled sandals while one of Morrie’s buds played Pachelbel on his guitar.

Cher also managed the entire trek with her eyes glued to Merry.

The procession stopped.

Pastor Knox asked, “Who brings this woman to be wed?”

Ethan’s shoulders straightened as he called out loudly, “Her mother and I do.”

I felt my eyes get wet and I nearly lost it when I caught Cher’s profile, her cheeks dusted rose with blush, shimmering with a powder she’d fanned over the color, pinker now, as were her eyes, as she fought back her own wet.