Walker's Wedding by Lori Copeland Page B

who’s the bride?” a voice called from across the room.
    â€œIs this a wedding? You should have warned us this was gonna bea dress-up occasion. I’da worn my Sunday suit,” a second male voice chimed in.
    Sarah heard her own soft intake of air. Her heart raced as Walker maneuvered her through the crowded room.
    â€œThey don’t know, do they.” Don’t panic. You know it will take time for him to warm to you — but he hadn’t told his neighbors? How did they know to come?
    â€œThey’re starting to suspect.”
    Obviously he wanted to make certain the bride showed up this time. She stiffened and willed her feet to keep moving. It didn’t matter. The bride was here and more than able to overlook the slight. So what if folks didn’t know they had come to a wedding? They knew now. The handsome couple drew closer to the stone fireplace, and faces gradually melted away until there was no one in the world for Sarah but Walker McKay.
    She couldn’t ask for a better man than he. Young, brash, wildly handsome, strong, smart, and ambitious. The road to matrimony had been long and at times seemingly endless. But now she knew what Wadsy had meant when she had said, “When that one man show up, baby girl, you gonna feel it clean down to your toes.”
    Well, Wadsy, what I feel at this moment goes clean down to China.
    Smiling, she tightened her hold on Walker’s arm and whispered, “Coward.” She caught his boyish grin from the corner of her eye.
    â€œInvited the preacher, didn’t I?”
    â€œDoes he know he’s about to officiate at a wedding?”
    â€œHe will soon enough.”
    Walker and Sarah stopped before the clergyman. Though smiling, the older man looked a bit confused.
    â€œGot your Bible with you, John?”
    â€œEr…why, it’s in the buggy. Do I need it?”
    â€œYes, sir. We’re about to have a wedding.”
    Cheers broke out as the startled preacher quickly made his way out of the room. Well-wishers gathered around Sarah, vying for introductions. Walker accepted good-natured backslaps and ribbing, his tanned face flushed by all the excitement.
    â€œDidn’t think you had it in ya, son!”
    Women voiced mock complaints about how they weren’t able to show off their newest dresses. Sarah promised there would be many more McKay parties in the future.
    â€œThere will be?” Walker asked as she passed him on her way to greet a group of women her age.
    â€œThat’s all right, isn’t it?” She hadn’t thought to ask him, but the McKay house was big and roomy, ideal for community socials, and she loved to entertain. The Livingstons’ Christmas parties had always been the talk of Boston.
    Reverend John Baird returned with his Bible prominently tucked beneath his arm, and the rather unconventional festivities began.
    â€œGood friends, we delight in the marriage of…uh…” The preacher paused and then leaned close to Sarah. “What’s your name, dear?” he whispered.
    â€œSarah,” she quietly replied. “Sarah Elaine Livingston.”
    â€œâ€¦in Walker and Sarah’s marriage today, and let us never forget the seriousness of the vows this couple is about to exchange.”
    The crowd quieted. It wasn’t the marriage Sarah had dreamed about. Outside the window, ranch hands turned roasting meat over open spits. Household help shooed hungry hands away from the steaming bowls of corn and parsley potatoes lining the long rows of cloth-covered tables. The smell of baking bread drifted in from the kitchen while children scampered about on the lawn, kicking a ball as Sarah and Walker repeated their simple vows.
    The McKay parlor wasn’t the church she’d attended since birth. And there weren’t a lot of flowers, just a bouquet of winter berries that someone—probably Flo—had placed on the parlor table. Wadsy, Abe, and Papa