The Delivery of Decor (Shiloh Ridge Ranch in Three Rivers #7) - Liz Isaacson Page 0,72

She got out her phone and looked at him, her eyebrows high and the hope in her expression bright.

Preacher gazed back at her. “Are you sure?” he asked. “Like, really, really sure? You have friends at HealNow.”

“They’ll think this is the most romantic thing in the world.”

Anything and everything Preacher had been able to think of, Charlie had an answer for it. He still attempted to find one last thing that would convince her this was a bad idea. He wasn’t sure why he wanted to talk her out of it, only that he didn’t want her to have any regrets.

“And what? We’ll live in my bedroom at the Ranch House? With Mister and Judge, mind you.”

“They won’t stay forever,” she said. “Maybe Mister and Judge could move here with Ward—Mister lives here technically already—and we’ll have the house to ourselves until Judge figures things out with June.”

Preacher couldn’t argue with that. The Glovers moved all over the ranch, and it wasn’t like there weren’t places to live. He thought of the Kinder Ranch and how beautiful that would be once it was completely redone.

But he didn’t know what the landslide had done down lower, and it was still eighteen months away from being complete as it was.

“I’m texting Judge,” Charlie said, her voice decisive and final. “I love you, Preacher, and I want to be your wife right now.”

“I love you too,” he said quietly, and that was as good as a yes for Charlie. She sent the text, and when their eyes met again, she searched his face.

“I’ll make a private link for the people we want to be able to view the wedding. We can have a big party later.”

“I don’t care if it’s just me and you,” he whispered. In fact, for Preacher, that would be ideal.

“Your mother can plan the party.”

“I’ll tell her that.”

Charlie threw her arms around Preacher’s neck and laughed. He joined her, because he had some anxiety he needed to chortle away.

“Should we call my parents first or tell your family?” Charlie looked down at her phone. In the next moment, it rang, and she said, “It’s Judge.”

“He’s going to think we’re crazy.”

She swiped on the call and tapped the speaker button. “Heya, Judge. You’re on speaker with both of us.”

Preacher expected his sensible, down-to-earth brother to launch into a speech detailing all of the reasons they couldn’t get married tomorrow. Literally, tomorrow.

Instead, Judge said, “I’m in. What time were you thinking?”

Chapter Twenty-Three

Cactus Glover entered True Blue, the family gathering barn he’d helped restore for his brother’s wedding, through the back door. Ten minutes ago, he’d been elbow-deep in sawdust. Now, he was going to witness another of his brothers get married.

“Come on, boys,” he said, turning back to make sure Lincoln and Mitch were with him. He signed the words and straightened Mitch’s cowboy hat as the child went by. He loved the boy with his whole heart, because his heart was whole now.

Where’s my mom? Mitch asked, and Cactus signed back to him.

“She should be here. She was helping get everything ready.” He went past the bathrooms and toward the noise, something that would’ve taken a lot of courage only a couple of years ago. In the main hall of True Blue, eight or ten tables had been set up. There weren’t any fancy bows or decorations on the chairs.

Each table had an ivory cloth covering it, and someone—most likely Mother—had set a vase in the center. There were no flowers or vines. No pictures of the happy couple. No table for gifts. No music playing.

Relief hit Cactus when he saw his oldest brother, Bear, chatting with Duke. They were both wearing the same thing he was—jeans, a long-sleeved shirt, and some sort of jacket. They’d obviously come in off the ranch too.

When Preacher had texted—texted—yesterday morning that he and Charlie would be getting married—married—on the ranch the next day—the next day—Cactus had read the message five or six times before he’d believed it.

They’d been engaged for maybe ten days. As far as he knew—as far as any of the Glovers had known until that moment—Preacher and Charlie were planning a late spring or early summer wedding.

“Can’t complain about this,” Mister said, walking toward Cactus. “This is the most comfortable I’ve been at any of these weddings.” He smoothed his palms down the front of his red-and-white plaid shirt.

“Yeah,” Cactus said, because he didn’t know what else to say.

He stood next to a tripod that held a camera of some