Page 64 of Make Me Yours
By the time I hit the outskirts of town, the sun was hanging high, the clouds peeled back into a soft Montana blue. The road up to the cabin wound through the hills, the air thick with the smell of fresh-cut hay and pine.
When I crested the last ridge and saw the place, I had to grin.
The cabin didn’t even look like the same place anymore. Lilly and Sawyer had transformed it—fresh paint, new timber trim, flower boxes overflowing with spring color, a white tent stretched across the back field where tables and chairs waited for the reception. Cars were lined up all the way down the drive, kids chasing each other through the grass, music playing low from somewhere near the lake.
Half the town was here, sure enough.
I parked the Harley along the fence line, the rumble drawing a few heads my way. The smell of barbecue and lilacs hit me at once, and damn if it didn’t feel like the whole world had come alive again after a long winter.
And then I saw her.
Emma.
She stood near the arbor with Lilly, cradling Hope against her shoulder, her dark hair catching the light, that silky dress floating around her legs like it belonged to the wind. The neckline dipped low enough to make a man forget his manners, and the skirt swirled every time she moved.
I ran a hand through my hair and told myself to quit staring, but hell, I’d been trying that for months and it still wasn’t working.
I started toward her, but before I could open my mouth, she turned and gave me a quick once-over.
“Easton,” she said, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. “You made it.”
“Wouldn’t miss it.” I grinned. “You look—uh—busy.”
“Sharp observation,” she said dryly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, Lilly needs a hand with the baby. Can’t you see that?”
Ouch. Direct hit.
“Sure can,” I said easily, masking the sting with a grin. “Wouldn’t want to get between a mama and her reinforcements.”
She arched a brow, turned on her heel, and disappeared into the bustle.
Well, hell. That didn’t go as expected.
I headed toward the refreshment table instead. Sawyer and Lilly were posing under the arbor, all dressed up—he in a dark vest and clean boots, she in a cream wedding dress with a veil that fluttered in the breeze. Hope was in Sawyer’s arms, wearing a tiny flower crown that matched Lilly’s bouquet.
It was so damn perfect it could’ve been a magazine spread. Which, of course, was the point. Cameras clicked, the videographer called out prompts, and all around them, Lovelace leaned in to watch.
That’s when I noticed the woman beside me.
Older, but with the kind of face that didn’t belong to any age. Tattoos winding up her arms, a calmness in her eyes that cut through the noise. She held a glass of sweet tea and smiled when she caught me looking.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” she said.
“Yeah,” I said, still watching Sawyer dip his head to kiss Lilly’s temple. “Guess it’s proof that miracles happen.”
“Miracles happen,” she echoed, that knowing lilt in her voice. “Though sometimes they just need a little nudge.”
It took me a second, but then it clicked. “You’re Monique, aren’t you? The counselor Sawyer and Lilly used to see?”
“That’s right.” She extended her hand, and I shook it. Her grip was firm, steady. “You must be Easton. I’ve heard plenty about you.”
“All good, I hope.”
She smiled. “Depends who you ask.”
That earned a laugh out of me. “Let me guess. Sawyer said I was an asshole.”
“He said you were unique. That’s rarer than people think.”
