Total pages in book: 51
Estimated words: 47222 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 236(@200wpm)___ 189(@250wpm)___ 157(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 47222 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 236(@200wpm)___ 189(@250wpm)___ 157(@300wpm)
So make her yours, Ranger. Marry her, so she can’t back out, so she can’t leave.
Full circle, bud. I close my eyes against the world.
My decision to ask Darcy for her hand was neither rash nor calculated. Instead, it’d been out of love and maybe a sense of duty. But whether that duty was to my own family or Darcy, I still can’t tell completely.
Eventually, I drift off into a restless sleep.
The next morning, I’m even more tired than before, but ready to see our union through. Darcy and I arrive at the courthouse a few minutes before our appointment. The building is mostly empty, which makes sense given that it’s a Tuesday afternoon. There’s a fellow sitting on a bench, looking worn down and dangerous. An older lady is talking to a clerk about some sort of issue with a form she’s filling out.
We sit on a bench a little ways down from the gruff-looking fellow. Darcy looks downright gorgeous in her modest white sundress. She pulled it from the back of her closet the very same evening I’d ask her to marry me, and said it was only item she’d ever bought on a whim. She looks gorgeous, the bodice cupping her big breasts just so and the white material swirling around her knees. In her hands, she fidgets with a bouquet of yellow daffodils, which we’d picked from the front yard before we left the house. Her luscious dark mane up is tied back with a sweet blue ribbon.
Looking at my fiancée, I want to hold her and kiss her and shake her all at the same time. How on earth does someone so pure love me?
Darcy’s father sheltered her from my family. Part of me was grateful, and the other part of me cursed the old man for letting his daughter be so naïve.
I take her left hand in mine and fiddle with her ring finger, which is actually still bare. Fuck, what am I doing? I own the Lazy M. I could buy this woman a diamond the size of Texas and not blink an eye over the cost. Hell, I could buy her a diamond that big every year and still be just fine financially.
“Are you okay, Ranger?” Darcy looks at me with her big brown eyes.
“Yeah, baby. I’m fine,” I lie.
“Marriage certificate?” The clerk calls out, beckoning us to back room. We stand and I squeeze Darcy’s hand it ever so gently in mine as we walk to the back room for our intimate ceremony.
I take a moment to really look at my bride, my almost wife. Her white dress fits her full figure like a glove and her plump breasts rise and fall with each breath. Her deep chocolate brown eyes are full of emotion and adoration and… love. For me. I’m proud of this young woman in front of me, for her perseverance, for trying to better herself, for her kind heart.
My own eyes tear up slightly. I admit it to myself, finally: I am in love with Darcy Fields, and I am the luckiest man alive that I get to call her my wife in a few short minutes. No matter what happens. Quickly, I sign the certificate after her, and ask the clerk not to use our full names during the ceremony.
“Why?” he asks with a suspicious look.
“My name’s Rock, but a lot of folks call me Ranger,” I amend. “If you’d use my nickname, I’d appreciate it.”
The clerk shrugs and agrees. He’s not too interested in my reasons, and just wants to get us out of there sooner rather than later.
Within five minutes, the ceremony’s done, and I’m a married man. Our vows are simple, and we don’t have any rings to exchange, but the most important thing has been accomplished: Darcy is my wife, and I kiss her deeply, conveying all of the love I have for her into that single gesture.
She swoons as the clerk claps politely and then hands us our signed license. I snatch it out of his palm before my new wife can see my real name. Then, I tuck the license into my shirt pocket, trying not to think of the lie that I’m living before ushering her to the truck and returning to the farm.
When we reach the house, I go around to open the door for Darcy. But before she can step out of the vehicle, I sweep her into my arms and charge up the front porch steps.
“Ranger, what are you doing?” she giggles happily, not putting up much a fight against me.
“Best carry you over the threshold,” I grin mischievously. “For good luck.”
“I don’t even know how I could get any luckier!” Darcy kisses me passionately as I carry her inside the house. I try to ignore the deep despair building at the back of my mind and in the recesses of my heart: if she knew, she’d never forgive me.