Woody

With a passion as deep and never-ending as the amber in your eyes, I take you as my husband. I promise to love you and Stevie until the day I return to this blessed earth.

Fall in Texas was the perfect time for a wedding, and we just got married under a marquee at the vineyard next door to my buddy Trip’s place. It was a simple affair, surrounded by our closest friends, including Emery’s best friend, Kess, who’d become an online minister just so he could marry us.

While preparing for the wedding, I guess you could say that Kessler had become my friend as well, and the sacred words he’d used to bind me to Emery would live in my heart always.

The light had gone from my friend’s eyes, Woody, and you restored it. Emery, you showed Woody the kind of love and acceptance he’d never known. May these rings remind you of your great privilege and solemn duty to keep this flame alive.

Now that the ceremony was over, the reception was in full swing. As the owner of the vineyard acted as our grill master, making big fat steaks for all of us, his wife went around the party making sure everyone’s cup was full of their infamous sangria. The DJ was excellent, and we danced the night away to current hits, oldies, country, everything.

At some point, I had to take a break, so I sat, watching the people I loved chat and dance and eat and enjoy themselves. I chuckled to think about what it took to get us to this point.

Stevie was getting punch and cracking up at Warwick’s jokes, which should probably concern me. My relationship with her was the biggest surprise in all of this. I’d assumed I would be slightly removed from the equation, basically an uncle type for her. But, over the past year and a half of becoming part of their family, she had unexpectedly become more like a daughter to me.

There was no other way to put it.

Just a few months ago, Kess had asked Emery to go on a business trip with him. Dawn had already planned for a girls’ trip with her friends, so Stevie’s care was up to me and Rowdy.

It actually went really well...right up until Stevie started her period. Emery and his mom had, of course, made sure that she understood the basics well ahead of time, so she knew what was happening when she came to me. Still, she seemed a little embarrassed, and after a momentary panic, I simply thought, what would Emery do?

So, I raced out to the local pharmacy and got her what she needed. I also had a quick back-and-forth over text with Dawn, then added ibuprofen, chocolate, and some of Stevie’s favorite snacks. I gave her a couple of options to work with, and then waited for her with the snacks.

She was subdued for a couple of days, but soon enough she’d gone back to barrel racing and stomping around the house in sparkle boots.

Our newest challenge was that, while Blanche was an excellent riding pony, Stevie was quickly outgrowing her.

Stevie didn’t know it yet, but Emery’s wedding present to her was a brand-new horse from Trip’s farm, and this time we were going to take her with us so she could pick out the one she wanted.

“What are you doing, hiding here in the corner?” Stevie asked, a red punch mustache on her upper lip.

“Just taking a quick break, Stevie-girl,” I said as one of her favorite songs came on. “But I’d love to dance with you, if you’re up for it.”

She set aside her drink with a grin, and I rose, taking her hand, then led her to the dance floor. We did stop to find a napkin for her punch mustache situation—there was someone she’d had her eye on, and I didn’t want her to be embarrassed if she got the chance to talk to them.

We stepped onto the dance floor, and she rested her head against my chest.

“I’m so glad that I’m officially a part of this family now,” I said quietly.

“Me too, Woody.”

We danced in silence for a few moments, then she looked up at me.

“I have an important question for you.”

That sounded familiar, though I was pretty sure I’d been asked all the important questions by these two.

“Yes?”

She took a big breath and hesitated before blowing it out.

“I don’t want to call you Woody anymore.”

I blinked, not sure what she was aiming at. “I don’t really like James, though, Ms. Stevie.”

She pulled a face. “I know that. But I’ve been thinking about it, and I call Dad Dad . So, I was hoping I could call you Papa. If that’s okay.”

I nearly tripped over my own feet but managed to keep dancing. Sure, she felt like a daughter to me, but I would’ve never assumed she felt the same way.

Realizing I hadn’t answered her, I swallowed thickly and cleared my throat. “Of course,” I choked out. “I would be proud to be your papa.”

She grinned and hugged my waist. “Thank you, Papa.”

I wrapped my arms around her, and we swayed to the song. As it ended, I felt rather than saw Emery join us.

“I take it you’ve been made aware of your new name.”

I nodded and sniffed, still a little overcome. “I love it.”

“Mm. I thought you might,” he said, hip-checking Stevie. “Mind if I cut in?”

“Ugh. You and Papa are about to get gross,” she said, making the puke gesture. “I’m gonna go find Rowdy.”

“I’m here,” Rowdy said, a big grin on his face. “How’s it goin’, Papa Woody?”

“No,” I said. “You can never call me that.”

He threw his head back and laughed, then danced off with my daughter, spinning her until her skirt flared out and her boots shimmered under the glittering lights.

Emery gathered me in his arms, and one of our favorite slow songs—“Dancing in the Living Room” by Cameron Hawthorn—came on. We swayed to the music, wrapped up in each other, looking so deeply into each other’s eyes that everyone else seemed to fade away.

“This is the best night of my life,” I said, so happy I didn’t even know what to do with myself.

The poetry, which had flowed so easily since they came into my life, still rolled through my head like a river. I knew in that moment I’d write an entire book of poetry on the true meaning of family, and I’d dedicate it to Stevie and Emery.

“Mine too,” he said, then touched his forehead to mine.

We danced like that well into the night, surrounded by friends and the people we loved most in life.

I couldn’t have written a better ending for myself.

Thank you for reading Rough Country!