Page 44 of Bailey

“Yes,” Reeves said. “I came to believe in God in the cold, dark depths of my bedroom, when I begged Him to protect me and give me ideas for how I could get away from my dad.” Reeves could still see himself kneeling beside his bed, begging and begging God for a way out.

“And He provided a way. So I know He’s real, and I know He knows us, and I know He loves me.”

“I suppose you don’t need a pastor to preach that to you, then.”

“No,” Reeves said. “But I could do a better job at studying the gospel, and I don’t serve anyone but myself.”

“I think your videos probably reach a lot more people than you think,” Bailey said. “I listened to one the other day where you talked about God’s hand in creating the beauty of the earth, and people will feel that.”

Reeves hummed, because he didn’t feel like he needed to answer more than that.

“Thank you for telling me about your past,” Bailey said. “And just like you told me I could tell you anything about OJ or the Youngs, you can tell me anything about your dad, your mom, your childhood, and Montana anytime you want.”

“Thank you,” he murmured.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about our past,” Bailey said. “And how you said that we do have to consider it, because it makes up who we are now.”

“Hm,” he hummed again.

“And I think you’re right. Our past does give us the building blocks to who we are today, but it doesn’t have to define us. We can look back on it and say, ‘I’m not going to do what my parents did, or I’m not going to do that thing again. I’m going to do better.’”

“That’s why I don’t drink,” he said. “And I never will.”

“I think we can break down those bricks we don’t like,” she said. “And make something new out of them, or rearrange them, and with every day we have here on Earth, we’re actually building a new past—and ourselves into who we really want to be.”

Reeves smiled at her, finding her so sweet and beautiful. His heartbeat sped in his veins, and he felt very much like he was falling. “I like that,” he said. “It feels very hopeful.”

Bailey watched as Boots finally dipped one paw into the river, and then committed by going in further. “He’s a good dog,” she said. “Maybe I’ll keep him.”

“You did tell me once that you’d like a dog.” He nuzzled his face into her neck and placed a gentle kiss against the soft skin there, then moved up higher to press one against her jaw. “Tell me again—how long we have to stay at the wedding?”

Bailey gave a happy little sigh and pressed into his next kiss, before she ducked her head and met his mouth with hers. “I think the ceremony and dinner will probably last a couple of hours,” she said. “Can you do that for me, cowboy? Two hours?”

She kissed him again, and Reeves decided then and there that he could and would do anything for Bailey McAllister.

“Yeah,” he whispered when she pulled away. “I think I can do two hours.”

“Then we can come back here, and I’ll make you my famous buttery movie theater popcorn,” she said. “I have the really fine salt they use and everything.”

He grinned at her. “Now we’re talking about a really fun date.”

CHAPTER

NINETEEN

Boston Simpson’s eyes automatically tracked the door when it opened, and his heartbeat boomed through his whole body as his mother entered the groom’s suite, where he’d been hanging out with Cash, Harry, Bryce, OJ, Eric, and all the males in the Young family who usually attended their monthly cousin nights.

His two younger half-siblings, Lars and Emilia, had come in several minutes ago, and Joey had sent her husband Adam in with homemade apple hand pies. Boston’s nerves came and went, if he were being honest, and right now they roared back to life as he moved past cousins to get to his mother.

His daddy had come with her, and though Maverik Young was technically his step-father, and he and Boston didn’t share any DNA, Mav had raised Boston from the age of six. As far as he knew, his bio dad wouldn’t be in attendance at his wedding today. Boston hadn’t seen him for almost a decade, and the fact that he’d sent a card and a check for one hundred dollars had honestly exceeded Boston’s expectations.

“Wow, don’t you look nice?” Momma smiled at him with all the fondness she possessed, and Boston held out both arms so the fringe on his vintage brown leather jacket got put on full display.

Momma laughed and shook her head. “I can’t believe this is what you’re getting married in.”

“Wait until you see Cora,” he said, though Cora had ended up with a traditional wedding gown, perfectly suited for a Wyoming mountain wedding at the high-end mountain resort hotel and event center, which she currently owned and managed. She’d taken one trip to Miami to look at dresses there and cut the trip short by three days.

She’d returned to Jackson Hole and started looking in the boho cowgirl boutiques there. She wouldn’t let Boston see her dress, but she’d assured him that he could wear his grandfather’s vintage jacket. Boston hadn’t lost any grandparents yet, and those on his maternal side had moved to Coral Canyon when Momma had married Mav.