Page 193 of Wild Then Wed
I nod, turning the curling iron on and watching the little red light blink to life.
“And when you’re done,” she adds, voice soft but sure, “you’re gonna put on one of those stunning dresses you brought. The one Miller picked that makes your ass look amazing.”
I snort. “She said it makes me look like I ‘have the secrets of the universe stored away back there.’”
“Exactly,” Lark says. “And then you’re gonna walk into that gala like a badass, because that’s exactly what you are.”
She pauses, eyebrows raised. “Got it?”
My chest is still a little tight, but I breathe through it and swat away a few stubborn tears with the back of my hand. The curling iron hums quietly in my hand, heating up like it’s waiting for me to step up.
I look at Lark’s face on the screen—steady, familiar, full of the belief I still don’t always have in myself—and nod.
“Got it.”
And maybe, for the first time in a long time, I actually do.
Chapter 33
SAWYER
I fix the collar, smooth my jacket, and check the mirror one last time.
The full-length one’s wedged between the closet and the floor-to-ceiling window, reflecting the entire room—and me in it. Black tux. Crisp shirt. A clean shave I almost forgot I needed. My hair’s combed back, neat but not stiff.
The silver cuff links belonged to my dad. I don’t wear them often, but tonight felt like one of those nights.
Hank’s already been out, fed, watered, walked and is now sprawled like a beached seal across the bed, snoring with his legs in the air. I gave up trying to move him.
The gala tonight is for Mountain West Rescue and Rehab. It’s one of the few events I commit the clinic to every year without hesitation. They take on the cases no one else will touch—abandoned livestock, abused pets, injured wildlife dumped at the edge of a field like trash. The ones that come in broken, starved, too scared to let anyone near them. The ones everyone else writes off as a lost cause.
But not them. Not me.
When I opened Hart Clinic, it wasn’t just to worm cattle and vaccinate barn cats—though we do that, too. It was for thefamilies who need their working dogs patched up after a brush with barbed wire. The ranchers whose livelihoods depend on keeping their herds healthy through brutal Montana winters. The kids who show up with a trembling baby goat in their arms and tears in their eyes.
We’re the place they come to when their animals are hurting, and I built the practice so we’d never have to say no—whether it’s a broken wing or a crushed pelvis or a bill someone’s praying we’ll forgive.
Every year, we donate a portion of clinic profits to Mountain West and take on their overflow—surgeries, long-term care, whatever they need. Pro bono. My staff never complains. They believe in it, too.
It’s not glamorous work. It’s not always clean. But it’s good. It matters.
And tonight, I get to stand in a room full of people who care about the same things—and bring Wren with me while I do it.
Instinctively, I check my watch. We’re still good on time.
The bathroom door suddenly clicks open and Wren steps out. The entire world seems to slow down.
Her dress is black silk, cut low in the back, hugging her body in a way that makes every thought I’ve ever had flee to somewhere very far from where they should be. It has thin straps and a draped neckline, and it glides over her curves like it was made for her. And I don’t mean tailored—I mean conjured. Like someone dreamed her up and spun her out of shadows and silk.
Her red hair is down, all loose curls and shine tumbling down her back. She has tiny studs in her ears, and black heels that wrap around her ankles. Her cheeks are flushed—not just from the blush, though that’s there too—and her eyes…Christ.
She’s a vision. No, more than that.
She’s my wife.
And if this were a movie, I’d say something smooth right now. Something charming. But all I can do is stare at her, because the woman standing in front of me is so damn beautiful it physically hurts.
She smooths her hands down the sides of the dress, fidgeting a little. “Okay, say something,” she says, glancing up at me. “I know it’s kind of…a lot.”
