The Rancher's Promise
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Brenda Harlen
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16.9K
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18
Prologue
Lindsay Delgado was ten years old when Mitchell Gilmore asked her to marry him.
She accepted his proposal because they were friends, and she figured that if she had to marry someone, it should be someone she actually liked. Then he gave her a plastic ring with a purple flower on it that he got for twenty-five cents out of a vending machine at Jo’s Pizza, and they sealed their deal with a kiss.
It was her first proposal and her first kiss.
Now, fifteen years later, it was finally her wedding day.
And though she was wearing a sparkling diamond on her finger now, she still had that plastic token, usually tucked in the secret bottom compartment of her jewelry box.
Sentimental nonsense, her great-aunt Edna would say.
And maybe she was right.
But Lindsay didn’t care, because she’d always love the boy who’d given it to her.
She turned to face the mirror and brushed her hands over the tulle skirt of her off-the-shoulder wedding gown. Saying yes to her soon-to-be-husband’s proposal had been a lot easier than saying yes to the dress, and she must have tried on a hundred different styles before deciding the simple ball gown with lace at the hem was “the one.” She’d originally dismissed the suggestion of a veil—until her mom had offered the one she’d worn at her own wedding and then carefully packed away in the hope that she might have a daughter who wanted to wear it one day.
“It can be your something old and something borrowed,” Marilyn Delgado said. (Apparently, Lindsay got her sentimentality from her mother’s side of the family.)
She’d nodded, unwilling to confess that she already had something old: the purple plastic flower ring that she’d secured to the hem of her skirt with a few loops of thread.
“Are you ready?” her sister asked now, offering the arrangement of garden roses, ranunculus, hellebores, freesia and gardenias to the bride.
Lindsay accepted the flowers as a brisk knock sounded on the door and then her father stepped into the room.
It was time.
A kaleidoscope of butterflies took flight in her tummy, swirling and twirling.
“Lindsay...oh my.” His moss-green eyes—a dreamy shade inherited by each of his daughters—grew misty. “Look at you...you look like a princess bride.”
“Thanks, Dad.” And though she didn’t think she’d ever seen a more handsome hero on the cover of any romance novel than Jackson Delgado in his classic black tuxedo with a gardenia boutonniere pinned to his lapel, the sudden tightness of her throat prevented her from expressing the thought aloud.
Behind her, Kristyne cleared her own throat. Loudly.
Their father’s lips curved in an indulgent smile as his gaze shifted to his younger daughter.
Lindsay smiled, too, grateful to her sister for defusing the emotional powder keg moment so that she wouldn’t walk down the aisle with mascara smeared under her eyes.
“Yes, I see you, too, Kristyne,” Jackson assured her.
“Just checking,” the taffeta-clad maid of honor said with a dramatic sniff.
“And you look almost as beautiful as the bride,” their father noted.
“I can’t wait until I am the bride,” Kristyne said, perhaps a little wistfully. “Of course, Gabe has to propose first.”
“Don’t be in such a hurry,” Jackson admonished. “You’re young yet.”
“Are you saying that I’m old?” Lindsay couldn’t resist teasing him.
“I’m saying that your groom is growing old, waiting for the two of you to stop yakking so we can get this show on the road,” he said, deftly sidestepping the loaded question.
“Well, let’s not make him wait any longer,” the bride said.
Kristyne grabbed her own flowers, then brushed a quick kiss on her sister’s cheek. “Love you.”
“Love you, too,” Lindsay managed, though her throat had tightened up again.
As the maid of honor headed out of the room, Jackson bent his arm, and Lindsay tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow.
The organist was playing Pachelbel’s “Canon in D” and Kristyne waited for her cue, then began to make her way down the aisle.
“You’re trembling,” Jackson murmured softly, looking at his daughter with concern.
“I’m a little nervous,” she admitted.
“Are you ready to do this? Because if you’re having second thoughts, we can turn around and walk right out that door over there,” he said.
He’d let her do it, too.
Lindsay had no doubt about that.
Over the past several months, her dad had grumbled—mostly good-naturedly—about what this wedding was costing him, but if she told him that she wasn’t one hundred percent certain she was doing the right thing, he would tell her to wait until she was. Because marriage was forever and when she made her vows, she needed to feel confident in every word.
From this day forward...till death do us part.
“Linds?” he prompted.
“I’m ready,” she said, hoping she sounded more confident than she felt as the organist transitioned to Wagner’s “Bridal Chorus.”
She drew a deep breath and peeked around the corner, looking toward the front of the church. She caught Mitchell’s eye and, when he winked at her, the butterflies in her tummy immediately settled.
Then she walked down the aisle to marry his best friend.
