“Why is it slimy? And why can’t I really see it?” Ahmed, if possible, turned paler.
“Puppies are born in their sacs,” Wyatt informed him as the puppy the size of Reagan’s palm slid the rest of the way out. Wyatt tore the sac open, the fluid gushing onto the disposable bed pads lining the whelping box. At the same time, Ahmed landed face first into the whelping box.
“Well, he lasted longer than he did with Kale’s birth. Someone thought he was a hotshot for not looking during Abby’s birth and decided he could watch,” Bridget snickered. “Deacon, help me out here.” Deacon and Bridget grabbed a shoulder and pulled Ahmed out of the box and placed him on the carpet.
“What?” Ahmed mumbled as he was roused by the screaming cry of a puppy being thoroughly cleaned by her mother.
“Just stay down, dear. This is not a one-and-done situation. There are five more to come.”
“But I have to be there for Spawn. She needs me,” Ahmed said as he struggled to sit up. Robyn wagged her tail as she licked her first puppy.
“Now I understand why Ahmed is never around when the foals are born,” Carter whispered in Reagan’s ear. She felt the grin of his lips against her ear right before he gave her a quick kiss.
“Close your eyes, Ahmed,” Wyatt instructed calmly. “Here comes puppy number two.”
“I guess I should have taken that rescue Nikki found when she offered it,” Reagan said, smiling as a little boy puppy was born. The puppies’ eyes and ears were closed and their little legs were unable to hold them upright, but they were the cutest things she’d ever seen.
“Would you like to stay longer?” Carter asked as Robyn took a break to clean her new addition. Ahmed opened his eyes and praised his Spawn.
“No, let’s go home. Robyn could take another couple of hours and I want to celebrate you being able to get rid of your crutches.”
Carter raised an eyebrow. “And your father thinking you’re here all night has nothing to do with it?”
Reagan rolled her eyes. “He’s horrible. I’m going to scream if he comes over with one more wedding planning board. He strategizes our wedding as if it were a military assault. Why do I need the blueprints for an old distillery?”
She felt Carter laugh next to her. “But you have to give him props for getting us a reservation at Barrel Creek Distillery. After all, no one has been in it yet. It’s all Keeneston can talk about. I heard the owner is the daughter of some big shot distiller who passed away.”
Her father had told her the story. It was a sad one, but she was happy to support the new local business. “Yes, the owner is the twenty-three-year-old daughter of Michael Woodson. He died last year. When Miss Woodson graduated from college last year, she wanted to take his place at the major company where he was the master distiller. But, she had two big strikes against her. One, she was young. And two, she was a she. So, Miss Woodson decided to set up her own shop with her inheritance. She said her father taught her everything she knows and she’s ready to show the world some of the recipes the two of them had thought up.”
“I didn’t know she was up and running. I haven’t met her yet. Have you?” Carter asked.
“No. Not yet. My dad did and said she was very polite and extremely serious about her work. The banquet hall is renovated and that’s where we’re having the reception.”
Okay, so Reagan had to hand it to her father. They had been planning to get married at Ashton Farm, but her father had burst in, literally, to tell them he had the wedding and reception site. He had managed to reserve the most talked about Keeneston gossip that didn’t involve a marriage or a baby—Barrel Creek Distillery. The distillery was on the north side of the county, but the creek that ran through the distillery was the same one that ran through her grandparents’ farm, Desert Sun Farm, Ashton Farm, and several others. So far, Miss Woodson had been keeping too busy to come into town, but everyone was hoping to meet her at the wedding.
Father Ben was all lined up and the invitations were sent. While they had filed the marriage license already, no one in Keeneston counted that as a real wedding since very few were there when it was performed. It was along the lines of “if a tree falls in the woods and no one hears it, does it make a noise”? If a resident gets married and the town isn’t there to see it, did they really get married? The answer is no.
Reagan slipped her hand into Carter’s and smiled at the dog that had helped save her life. “You keep up the good work, Robyn. We’ll see y’all later.”
“I’ll be over before I leave for Milan so you can try on your dress,” Sydney said, hugging her cousin.
“I can’t wait,” Reagan said as she hugged her and Deacon goodbye.
“It’s not every day a father of the bride designs a wedding dress,” Sydney said as she struggled not to laugh.
“I’m scared to know.” Reagan shook her head. “But I trust you not to make something hideous, so I’m going with it. It’s embarrassing the way my father has taken over all the wedding planning. He even insisted on going with us to taste the cakes. And he had a cake topper custom-made by some guy in Hollywood he used to work with in the props department.”
“It’s what any good father would do,” Ahmed said seriously as he stroked Robyn’s head.
Bridget rolled her eyes again. “You don’t even let your daughter go out on a date without the drone flying above her. And you think you could plan her wedding?”
“I could if she were to get married, which she’s not. So it’s a nonissue.”
Reagan covered her laughter with a cough. No wonder Abby had moved to Washington. To be fair to Ahmed, there was no information on Abby dating anyone since Nolan in high school, so Ahmed probably didn’t need to worry about a wedding anytime soon. But then again, you never know. Look at her and Carter.
Carter’s hand rested on the small of her back, and Reagan leaned back into his touch as he led her from Ahmed and Bridget’s house on Desert Sun Farm. As Reagan watched Carter drive to their house, she couldn’t help but think of how lucky she was. She’d fallen in love with her best friend.
Epilogue
Six weeks later . . .
* * *
“Here, let me do it,” Cy said with exasperation.
“Cy!” Gemma chided as Reagan’s father snatched the veil from his wife’s hands.
“I designed it. I know how to put it on,” her father explained as Reagan simply kept her eyes glued to the full-length mirror and refused to look over at her sister, the matron of honor, who was practically crying with laughter.
Her father, bless his heart, was a father-of-the-bridezilla. He’d overseen the decorations, the food setup, her makeup, and now her veil placement. But Reagan had to admit the dress he’d designed with Sydney was absolutely stunning.
The white satin dress had a band that ran from off her shoulders to straight across her neckline. The bodice was fitted and the full skirt gathered at the waist before cascading down to the floor. There were no big flowers, no sparkling designs; it was breathtaking in its simplicity.
“There,” her father said as he fluffed the veil trimmed in white satin.
“Thank you, Dad.” Reagan squeezed her father’s hand as Riley and her mom stepped up next to her.
“You look beautiful,” her mother said as tears shone in her eyes.
“Are you ready to get married . . . again?” Riley asked, pretending to sound mad. Riley hadn’t let her forget she’d gotten married with their brothers in attendance and not her.
“I am,” Reagan said, taking a deep breath. She’d felt married before, but there was something about standing in a white dress with all your friends and family surrounding you to celebrate that made it seem like the first time.
“Let’s get this show on the road. I took a peek in the kitchen and saw the wedding cake. I need a slice of that wedding cake,” Riley joked.