Page 143 of Promised to the Cowboy

Gabriel laughs against my mouth as I kiss him again.

The reception spreads from the barn into the yard.

Tables sit beneath strings of lights Wire spent half the morning adjusting because apparently electricity is a matter of honor. Kitty’s miniature forests run down the center of each table. Shay’s cake remains upright despite Delaney’s three-degree emergency. Maggie’s buttercream could probably withstand artillery.

Chance watches from the paddock while guests eat, laugh, and move between the barn and porch.

Mom asks Jacob to dance. He hesitates for a second before extending his hand. He’s stiff at first, one hand held too carefully at her waist, until Mom says something that makes him laugh.

Across the yard, Ben holds Max while Henry and Shay dance. Daniel spins Delaney beneath his arm, earning an offended look when her shoes sink into the grass. Ethan and Jenna move slowly beside them, Jenna’s head against his shoulder. Angus doesn’t dance so much as hold Luna while she sways. Tom attempts something ambitious with Kitty and nearly takes out a chair.

Caleb stands alone near the edge of the lights, his hat is pushed back, his weight is shifted off his bad knee.

A small blonde woman stands near Maggie, listening while her grandmother, Esme, talks with both hands.

Skye MacAllister.

She arrived from Scotland a few weeks ago to be with Esme and take over the clinic after the previous physiotherapist retired. Her hair is loose around her shoulders, pale gold against the dark blue of her dress. Small and curved through the hips, with the strong shoulders of someone who spends her days teaching stubborn bodies how to move properly.

Caleb is staring at her.

I nudge Gabriel.

He follows my gaze. “What?”

“Caleb.”

Gabriel looks at his friend, at the way his expression softens slightly when Skye laughs at something Esme says.

“He’s been watching her for five minutes,” I murmur.

“She hurts him for a living.”

“She treats his knee.”

“Same thing.”

As if she feels him staring, Skye turns. Blue eyes meet brown across the yard.

Caleb looks away immediately. Too late.

Skye’s gaze drops to the way he’s favoring his leg, and her mouth flattens. She points at the nearest chair.

Caleb says something we can’t hear.

She folds her arms across her chest and gives him a look.

Caleb sits.

I smile. “Oh, he’s in trouble.”

Gabriel watches Skye approach him. “She’s half his size.”

I smile. “Something tells me she’s never needed size to win an argument.”

We both freeze as a goat bleats beneath the cake table. Slowly, we both look down.

Cheese Puff’s head appears from beneath the linen, a strand of greenery hanging from her mouth.