Page 128 of Impossible Love

“Are you?” Jasmine bounces up and down even as Finn presses his hands to her shoulders to keep her on the ground. “Can we throw the confetti now? Do you want to marry him? Do you want to stay? Do you?”

“I do,” Victoria says.

The cheers go up all around us.

And the confetti rains down.

Epilogue

Victoria

I sit at Jamie’s dining room table with the other members of the Estrogen Mob, the slightly sexist title Evander has given my wedding planning committee. I admit I laughed the first time I heard it because I get where he’s coming from. Yosemite Ranch has been a Temple to Testosterone for a long, long time. And now, the eldest MacLaine boy is getting married.

It’s a big change for them.

But I reminded Evander that he’s the one with fierce opinions about wedding-day fashion. He’s the one insisting on the cut and brand of the suits for the groom and wedding party. He’s even making a big deal about their shoes. Dress shirts. Freaking socks, for crying out loud!

I told him he’s a groomzilla, way more persnickety than any female member of the Estrogen Mob, including me, the actual bride. And then I invited him to join our little club.

Haven’t heard a peep from him since.

“I think that’s a really nice compromise,” Summer says, speaking to Jasmine. “You’ll still have the pink you want, but you’ll also match Victoria’s dress. Whad’ya say, squirt?”

Jasmine screws up her face and sighs. “I guess I want to match Victoria, because her dress is really pretty, even if it’s not pink. Okay. Fine. If I have to.”

“Thank the heavens above,” Phyllis says. “Any more coffee cake, anyone?”

“Hit me up,” Summer says, holding out her plate.

“Please and thank you,” Phoebe says.

“Sure!” Millicent accepts another slice and smiles at me. It’s great to have her living nearby. She’s been a godsend in helping me narrow the focus on my new business and in keeping track of wedding details. I couldn’t have done any of it without her.

“Let’s recap,” she says, checking her spreadsheet. “Jasmine’s flower girl dress will be a tea-length cream silk with a baby pink sash tied in the back, with pink piping, with a matching ribbon for her hair. And cream patent-leather Mary Jane shoes.”

“Baby pink doesn’t mean that I’m a baby, though. ’Cause I’m not.”

“Of course not,” I tell her. “You’re the only member of the wedding party with a dress like mine, and that’s a big responsibility.”

My bridesmaids—Summer, Millicent, and Phoebe, will be wearing similar but not matchy-matchy dresses. They’ll be chiffon, floor length, in soft peach, pale pink, cream, and muted coral. My idea was to have the wedding party complement the sunset, since Cal and I will exchange our vows on the lake dock, surrounded by the people we love, just as the sun slips over the Sierra Nevadas.

I look down at my hand, still not used to seeing the elegant sparkle on my left ring finger. In the months since I began wearing it, I’ve learned more about the original owner.

Cal’s great-grandmother was the renowned frontier doctor Bridget Lynch. She would ride all over the surrounding counties providing healthcare to those who ranched and farmed the region. According to Jamie, after his grandmother married Angus MacLaine, she only wore the ring on special occasions because of the grueling nature of her work. She even lost it once in a snowstorm, on her way to a family of Spanish flu victims. Jamie says someone found it in a melting snowbank months later and returned it to its rightful owner.

Now it’s my ring. The stunning diamond, sapphire, and platinum on my left ring finger is the symbol of my commitment to Cal, my love for him, and my place in a long line of strong, capable MacLaine women.

I have big shoes to fill. I look forward to the challenge.

“Got time for a quick break?”

I hear that voice in my ear and can’t help but smile. Summer tells me I’m relationship roadkill, flattened by love. As in all things Summer, she may be blunt but she’s not wrong.

“Sure.” I rise from my chair and thank everyone for taking the time to discuss wedding details. We still have two weeks before the big day, but I’m only going to do this once in my life, so I’m determined to do it right.

Cal takes my hand and leads me out of Jamie’s house. The girls are waiting on the porch for us, and their tails thump against the floorboards. I pat their heads and tell them that they’re the bestest ladies ever, because they are.

“What’s up?” I ask him.

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