Change of Hart (Wells Ranch, #3)(117)

Blair Wells. My wife. Finally.

“Fuck, she’s gorgeous,” I mutter, mostly to myself.

Cecily nods enthusiastically. “She’s absolutely stunning. And you look so happy.”

“Never been this happy before, Filly.”

She leans into Austin’s chest. “And who would’ve guessed you could be so sentimental. You kept a penny from when you were thirteen?”

“Sure did.” I shift on my feet to get a better view of Blair standing with her parents. “Thirteen-year-old Denver Wells was a pretty damn romantic guy.”

“What happened to that guy?” Austin raises an eyebrow.

“Turns out, there was only one girl out there I wanted to do romantic things for.”

“Ooooh,” Cecily coos. “That’s pretty dang romantic, Denny.”

“Yup, that’s me,” I practically crow, nonchalantly brushing off my shoulder and stealing yet another glance at my beautiful wife.

Austin stares me down, seeing clear through the charade. “Proud of you, bro.”

At the same moment he says that, I’m startled by a deep voice paired with a massive hand clamping down on my shoulder.

“Proud of you, too, son.” My dad steps in next to me and peers around at Austin. “You too, Austin. And Jackson.”

My spine stiffens, hands slowly pulling out of my pants pockets in preparation for breaking up a fight. As far as I know, Austin and our dad haven’t said a word to each other since the day Dad left the ranch. The fact that Austin didn’t immediately leave the moment Dad showed up today is a small miracle. No chance he doesn’t bolt now.

Austin clears his throat, nodding but refusing eye contact. “Thanks.”

Holy fucking shit.

I speak up to take the heat off Austin. “Thanks for coming, old man. I know it was pretty last-minute—wasn’t sure you’d come.”

“Wouldn’t have missed it for the world,” Dad says. But fuck, he’s still staring down his eldest son. “Speaking of which, I hear congratulations are in order.”

Now it’s Cecily and I both trying to keep the peace. She beams at her new father-in-law, and gives him a firm handshake. “Cecily. So nice to finally meet you. I’ve heard plenty of stories from when the boys were kids.”

“Ah, yeah. They were a handful.” He squeezes my shoulder.

“Especially Blair and I,” I chime in.

“Whoever said having a daughter was less chaotic than sons never met Blair Hart.”

“I knew my ears were ringing for a reason,” Blair says, popping up between Austin and me, and sliding perfectly into the space under my arm. We’re a pair of puzzle pieces, and I’m only whole when she’s tucked against my side like this.

I press a kiss to her hair, pulling her tighter. The dress fabric slips between my fingers, and we share a quick glance that says I’m not the only one thinking about tearing it off her shortly.

“We were never bad,” Blair clarifies. “Denver and I just enjoyed a good prank.”

“I’m still not convinced you agreeing to marry me wasn’t the ultimate prank,” I say to her.

She throws her hands up with a laugh. “I asked you.”

“Ultimate prank. Like I said.”

With a head shake, she slowly rubs my back. “I’ve always been a Wells—figured it was about time I made it official.”

“Damn right,” Dad says. And for the first time since she died, my dad utters a name that sounds awkward and foreign coming from his lips. “If she were here, Lucy would be so happy to see you two together.”

“Just like I told Aus before his wedding, I know she’s here. She’s always here,” I say.

Blair pulls me in like a life raft, securing her hold on my waist, and we don’t separate again until the last guest dwindles off the mountainside.





Blair


After the wedding guests trickle off, heading back to the ranch to set out food the girls have spent days preparing, Denver tosses a cooler bag down below our tree and lays out a simple plaid blanket. And before long, I’m sinking into his embrace under the warm autumn sun. Golds and yellows and reds stretch as far as the eye can see, and the occasional fluttering leaf from our tree floats down to us.

“I love our spot,” I say with a contented sigh.

“Maybe one day we should build a house right here.” He tugs the cooler bag toward us and starts unloading the picnic he insisted on packing by himself.

I raise an eyebrow. “Not sure how it would work for a house—what with being so far from the ranch or any roads.”

“Sounds perfect. We can be nudists because nobody will bug us all the way out here.”

“And during the winter we’ll get cabin fever and kill each other. Perfect.”

“Hey,” he scolds, uncorking a bottle of sparkling white wine and handing it to me. “No talk of murdering me on our wedding day. Save that for your next girls’ night, at the very least.”

I smile behind the bottle of wine, letting the bubbles pop and fizz on my tongue. It’s a lot like the way every smile of Denver’s makes me feel.

He pulls out a pint of ice cream and a spoon, and laughs when I eagerly set down the wine in response.