Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 77827 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77827 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
“We won’t be drinking.”
“What? Macklin, that’s not necessary.”
“Told you, I’m there, every minute. You can’t drink, neither can I.”
“I think Copeland has rubbed off on you.”
“Nah, he’s a good husband. A good dad. That’s what I’m going to be for you and our kids.”
“How about, if they bring it up, we confess. Otherwise, we keep it between us. Just a little while longer. We’ve only known for a few hours.”
He grins. “Sure, baby. Pretend that you’re going to be able to keep this news from your sisters for several more weeks.” He smirks, grabs his phone and keys, and climbs out of the truck.
I don’t wait for him to open my door, and instead, push mine open and hop out, meeting him. He opens his mouth, I’m sure to tell me I should have waited for him, but I beat him to it. “There will be plenty of times in the coming months where I’ll need your help, cowboy,” I assure him.
“And I’ll be there,” he says, kissing my temple, sliding his arm around my waist, and leading me into the bar.
We make our way to the back room, waving to everyone, because let’s face it, in this small town, you’d be hard pressed to find someone in this bar that we don’t know in some way.
Pushing open the door, Macklin leads me inside with his hand on the small of my back, and I gasp when I see the fairy lights hanging all around. “Bowen, did you let Courtlynn have free rein of this room?” I ask our friend and owner of this fine establishment.
“As if,” Bowen scoffs.
“It wasn’t just Court,” my best friend Sophia says. “We all helped.” She motions around the room to my sisters, our best friends, and the guys.
“What?” I turn to Ellison. “I could have helped you,” I tell her, feeling left out, just as I used to be when I’d have to watch my friends and family through a tiny phone screen.
“That would have spoiled the surprise,” Macklin says, and when I turn to look at him, he’s dropping to one knee.
“What are you doing? We did this already,” I remind him.
He grins up at me. “You got your turn, and now, I get mine.”
“You didn’t really think he was going to let that go, did you, Baylor?” Dixon asks.
I ignore him, keeping my eyes on Macklin. “You already agreed to marry me.”
He nods. “I did, and I can’t wait to be your husband, but you stole my thunder before I could give you this.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a shiny white-gold ring. My eyes are watering, so I can’t make it out exactly, but I already know it’s the most gorgeous ring ever, because he picked it—this man who knows me. All of me. “Baylor Moran, love of my life, will you do me the incredible honor of accepting this ring and making me your husband? Will you marry me?”
I fall to my knees in front of him and wrap my arms around him in a fierce hug. “I love you,” I mutter into his neck. “I love you so much.” My heart feels full, so full it might burst. Who would have thought that coming home would give me everything I ever wanted? We lost our parents, and I was convinced I needed to leave, to seek something more, when all along, everything I needed was here in Magnolia Ridge.
“Now, we drink!” Sophia cheers as Macklin and I stand, and she pulls me into a hug.
“I’m so happy for you, bestie.”
“Thank you.”
“Here you go, love birds.” Leighton hands us each a bottle of beer.
“Uh, thanks, but I’m not drinking.”
“Nope. We’re not drinking,” Macklin says.
“No way!” Courtlynn says. My little sister misses nothing. “You’re pregnant.” It’s not a question, but I nod anyway.
If I thought the cheers of our engagement were loud, this chaos around us, the happiness, the tears, the love, it’s overwhelming in the best way. Somehow, I end up in a circle of just me and my sisters. Our heads are pressed together, and our arms are wrapped around each other.
“I wish they were here,” Ellison says softly.
“Even after everything?” I ask, because I’m still uncertain about how our mother handled the letters from Copeland.
“Yeah,” she says. “I think—now that I’m a mom—I kind of understand her a little better. At least I’d like to think that I do. I would never do that to Lainey. I’ve been on the receiving end. But I understand wanting to keep your kids close.” She pauses, then adds, “I want to forgive her. I don’t want to carry hate with me. They were good parents, and they loved us. Just maybe a little too hard at times.”
“I wish they were here, too,” I confess. “I miss them so much, and they’re about to have two grandbabies.” I smile through my tears.