Page 30 of Branded By the Cowboy

Laughter again.

“Now, I’ve married a lot of couples,” the minister continues. “Some couldn’t stop kissing. Some couldn’t stop fighting. But every now and then, I meet a pair who don’t need all the noise. Who show up for each other quietly,” His gaze moves meaningfully between Angus and me. “The way real love does if you allow it to grow.”

Tom clears his throat loudly. “So what you’re saying is, their love language is intense eye contact and ominous silences?”

The others chuckle. Even Angus huffs something that might be a laugh.

I glance up at him, and he’s already looking at me. Still quiet. Still steady. Giving me that intense eye contact and ominous silence Tom joked about—but it’s not a joke now. It’s a tether. A promise. A gravity that pulls at something buried deep in my chest.

I don’t know what it means yet. But I know I’d follow it anywhere.

“I’m guessing neither of you wrote vows?” the minister asks, breaking the spell.

I bite my lip and shake my head.

Angus shifts uncomfortably. “Nope.”

“Didn’t think so.” The minister closes the book. “Then let’s keep it simple.”

He turns to Angus first. “Do you, Angus Sutton, take Luna Monroe to be your wife, your partner, your equal, your thorn when needed, and your rose when it matters most?”

Angus raises an eyebrow at the minister’s poetic language, but his “I do” is firm and clear.

The minister turns to me. “And do you, Luna Monroe, take Angus Sutton to be your husband, your daily dose of stubborn, your unsmiling cowboy, and your safe place to land?”

I smile through the heat in my eyes. “I do.”

Shay presses the ring into my hand—a simple gold band from the antique store in town, picked out two days ago when she dragged me dress shopping. I take Angus’s hand—rough, solid, and steady—and slip it onto his finger.

Angus takes mine from Tom and does the same. It’s beautiful in its simplicity. A matte-finished white gold ring, simple and solid, with a tiny engraving on the inside I can’t make out before he slides it into place.

No flourish. No speech. But his thumb brushes the inside of my wrist before he lets go. It feels like a promise.

The minister raises his hands. “By the power vested in me—by the church, the state, and the enduring memory of Ruth Sutton—I now pronounce you husband and wife.”

Tom whoops. Shay wipes a tear. Ben claps exactly once, then walks outside like hedefinitelyisn’t about to cry.

Angus looks at me.

I look at him.

Then I lean up and kiss him—soft and sure and not just for show.

His hand comes to the small of my back, pulling me in.

And at that moment, everything else fades.

It’s just him. Just us.

And that’s enough.

* * *

After changing into less formal clothes, we eat the famous Ben Sutton chili out of Ruth’s best China, dusted off for the occasion, and pass cornbread around the table like communion.

Tom jokes about how the hot chili will make everyone fart and earn them a one-way ticket to sleeping in the barn with the goats.

Shay rolls her eyes. “No one weaponizes farts like you, Tom Sutton. If you Dutch oven me one more time, I swear I’ll lockyouin the barn with Biscuit during rutting season.”

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