She bobbed her head, the first tears spilling down her cheeks as her smile went wider.
I sucked in a breath and tried to center myself by reminding myself that this would probably be one of the biggest, most pivotal moments of my life. That reminder didn’t do much to calm or center me. So I just got after it. I squeezed her hand and studied the spot on her finger where I prayed a certain ring would be resting after I’d made my plea.
“I’ve known from the moment I met you that nothing would be fine unless you were somehow, some way, in my life,” I started, looking her in the eye. She looked right back at me, through the tears and everything. “I’ve known from the moment I fell in love with you that nothing would be fine unless I figured out somehow, some way, to spend forever with you. And I’ve known from the moment I picked out this ring and tucked it in my back pocket that nothing would be fine unless somehow, some way, I figured out a way to make you agree to marry me.” I had to stop and swallow. This wasn’t easy, asking the woman I loved to be my wife, asking this extraordinary woman to spend her life with someone who could never live up to what she deserved. “Nothing’s fine without you, Joze. But with you? Everything’s perfect.”
She continued to listen, bouncing as she stood there, still grinning through her tears.
“And I know I’m such a far cry from being perfect or making things perfect or being perfect for you that I don’t have a right to even say the word, but I love you, Josie Gibson.” I stopped to catch my breath. I was on my knees and doing nothing more than saying words, but I could barely breathe. It was the most exhilarating moment of my life, finally finding my nerve to ask Josie Gibson to marry me. “I love you so much it’s what defines me. You define me, Joze. You make my existence count.” Another pause to catch my breath. “I get more things wrong than I get right, but there’s one thing I’m really damn good at, and that’s loving you. I’ve loved you most of my whole life.” Holding the ring above her finger, I looked at her. Her answer was written on her face. In a way, I think it always had been, but I’d been too blind to see it. “Will you give me permission to love you the rest of it too?”
She dropped her purse to the ground and placed her other hand on my face. “Is that you asking me to marry you, Garth Black?”
I slid off my hat and nodded. “That’s me asking you to marry me, Joze.”
Her bouncing in place came to a stop as she pulled me up off my knees. “Then this is my answer.”
Throwing her body against mine, her mouth found mine as her arms wound around my neck. She laughed as we kissed. She cried as we kissed. She didn’t seem to want to stop that kiss.
I had to pull away, still clutching the ring, and confirm, “Was that a yes?”
She held out her hand, fingers splayed, and arched an eyebrow. “That wasn’t just a yes. That was an ‘it’s about time.’”
My hand shook as I slid the ring onto Josie’s finger. The rest of her body might have been bouncing again, but her hand didn’t shake once as it went into place.
“You said the man who picked out that ring could ask you his question when he showed back up again. I’m pretty sure he’s back now.” I smiled at her hand. The ring looked even better on her hand than I’d imagined it would. Like it belonged there.
“No,” Josie replied, shaking her head, “but this one’s even better.”
I skimmed my fingers down one of the braids hanging over her shoulder. The roar of the crowd filtered down the tunnel. It sounded like the next rider had made one hell of a ride. He’d found his glory in the arena tonight—I’d found mine in this tunnel. “How do you know?”
She glanced at the ring shining on her finger before her eyes lifted to mine. Leaning in, she slid her other hand into the back pocket of my jeans, the same one I’d kept the ring in for months, but I had finally gotten around to putting it where it really belonged—on the ring finger of the woman I wanted to marry. Right before she lowered her lips to mine, she whispered, “Because this one’s my fiancé.”
Thank you for reading LOSERS WEEPERS by NEW YORK TIMES and USATODAY bestselling author, Nicole Williams. If you haven’t read the other books in the LOST & FOUND series, FINDERS KEEPERS is the prequel to LOSERS WEEPERS, and LOST & FOUND, then NEAR & FAR are Jesse and Rowen’s story.
In related news. . .
Jesse and Rowen will have one last chapter in their story (if you couldn’t have guessed from the way this book left off!)! Their third and final installment in the series, HEART & SOUL, is available for pre-order now on Amazon. It will be officially released in June 2015.
Nicole loves to hear from her readers. You can connect with her on:
Facebook: Nicole Williams (Official Author Page)
Twitter: nwilliamsbooks
Blog: nicoleawilliams.blogspot.com
Other Works by Nicole:
THREE BROTHERS
CROSSING STARS
CRASH, CLASH, and CRUSH (HarperCollins)
LOST & FOUND, NEAR & FAR
FINDERS KEEPERS
UP IN FLAMES (Simon & Schuster UK)
HARD KNOX , DAMAGED GOODS (The Outsider Chronicles)
GREAT EXPLOITATIONS
THE EDEN TRILOGY
THE PATRICK CHRONICLES
If you enjoy contemporary romances with a rural feel,
THREE BROTHERS
is a standalone novel
about one girl trying to move on from the past
and the three brothers standing in her way.
Here’s an excerpt from the novel:
I WAS RUSHING to the foyer, through it, and through the front door before I realized I’d taken my first step in that direction. The temperature had dropped a good ten degrees since I’d arrived, and that chill, combined with the breeze just gentle enough to tease the ends of my hair, worked its way inside me and cleared out some of the haze. I stood there, sucking in deep breaths until I felt something that resembled calm. And that was when I noticed a faint red glow coming from one end of the porch. That I hadn’t smelled the familiar scent that came with it was an indication of just how not myself I’d been when I fled out that door.
“You might want to keep running. Things are only going to get worse in there. There’s no happy ending waiting for anyone on the other side of that door.”
His voice blew past the walls I’d been so sure had been impenetrable and threaded through me as it always used to. Instead of feeling like the twenty-five-year-old woman I was, I became that impressionable girl who had worshipped the ground beneath a boy who had no right to be worshipped.
I closed my eyes and bolstered my strength. “You were always the one who was better at running, Conn. That’s more your style than mine.” Instead of down the stairs or back inside, I went toward him. I wanted him to see that he didn’t have power over me any longer. At least, I wanted him to see the façade of him not holding power over me.
“Yet how long were you frozen on that first step when you arrived? I kind of lost count at five minutes.”
His voice was just as smoky and smooth as I remembered it, and age had deepened it a key or two. The porch lights were out. With just the light coming from the buildings and barns dotted around and the orangey glow of his cigarette, I could barely make out Conn’s face. Not that I needed light to remember it. I’d memorized the perfections and imperfections of it years ago, and despite my efforts to forget, it had revisited my dreams too frequently.
Where Chase had been big, blond, and beefy, Conn was the opposite. He was taller than me but only by a couple of inches, and his hair was the same dark chestnut John’s had been before the silver took over. Conn’s body could have been described as lanky and lean, and his dark long-sleeved shirts and pants gave off just the right degree of sinister meets tortured. That, matched with his brooding expression, had alerted me from the beginning that he was the kind of boy I should keep my distance from. The kind who had let so much darkness into his life that it suffocated all of the light
“You were her
e the whole time? Camped out in your chair, smoking your cigarettes, watching me, and you didn’t say anything?” I stopped when I was still a good ten feet back from him. Distance was a good thing when it came to Conn, both mental and physical. “I should probably be surprised, but I’m not.”
Conn’s jagged smile crept into place, meaning there was still too much light. “So? Are you keeping your fingers crossed for a repeat of your sixteenth birthday?”
I didn’t have to see the image flash through his eyes to know exactly what he was talking about. “Nothing happened.” I crossed my arms and stood taller, trying to convince myself at the same time.
“And is that why you disappeared for seven years?” The cigarette dangled from Conn’s lips. The bottle in his hand was already a third empty, and even though I could barely see them, his eyes were both calling me closer and shoving me away. Everything about him flashed danger. Everything screamed stay away.
I’d never read the signs when it came to Conn. This time, I’d promised myself I would. I’d promised myself that I wouldn’t come back here if I wasn’t sure I could keep him at an emotional and physical distance.
“I came back because John, aka your father, is dying. I came to say good-bye.” I leaned into the railing along the porch, keeping a safe distance without making it seem as though I was concerned about how close or how far I was from Conn. “Unlike you, I’m not trying to discover what gives out first: my lungs or my liver.”
“I’m hoping they go at the same time.” Conn plucked the cigarette from his lips long enough to take a pull from the bottle.
Unlike his father, who was adamant that scotch was the only thing to drink when a person needed one, Conn chose tequila. It wasn’t a simple matter of a difference in taste. No, whatever John liked, Conn preferred the opposite. What was sad though was that in Conn’s effort to defy John at every turn, he was only proving just how significant a role his father played in his life. He was just as in tune with his dad as if he’d been mimicking him at every turn.
“Why aren’t you at dinner?” I asked, reminding myself to keep our conversation short. Conn was a master at wordplay and could lure even the greatest of cynics to his side.
“Because I don’t want to go.” He held out the bottle. When I shook my head, he let the bottle hang between us for a few moments before taking another long drink. At this rate, Conn would be shit-faced before that cigarette burned out.
“That seems to be your go-to answer to every question.”
“That’s because that’s my go-to feeling for most everything, family most of all.” Conn looked off into the distance where Red Mountain rested. Unlike the rest of us, who dodged looking at it or venturing up it, Conn seemed to view it as a refuge.
“Still haven’t gotten over your daddy issues?” I closed my eyes, instantly regretting my words.
I was just about to apologize when Conn leaned forward in his chair. All I could see were the whites of his eyes, but that was all I needed to see to know he was staring straight at me. When I’d been younger and under the impression that Conn could do no wrong, I’d measured my life in the moments when Conn had looked at me and me alone. There were only two ways he looked at me: straight through or straight on. Now I would have preferred he look straight through me because his eyes pulled things out of the place I’d buried deep inside myself.
“I don’t know. Have you gotten over your Conn issues?”
His words were biting. So much so I flinched.
“Tell you what,” he continued. “I’ll get over my issues when you get over yours. Sound like a deal?”
A decade ago, those words would have reduced me to a hysterical mess. “I’d tell you to go fuck yourself, but since I know that’s on your daily docket since you push everyone away, I’m just going to walk away.”
My back was to him and I was striding away when his low, sharp laugh filled the night. I used to be able to feel that laugh in my every nerve, as if my body were hardwired to respond to it. It felt different now.
“You’ve never been able to walk away from me. Not for very long anyway.”
I blew a rush of air out of my nose. I spun around and flailed my arms at him. “What do you call seven years? And just so you know, had it not been for me wanting to pay my respects to John before he dies, I would never have set foot in this place or around you for the rest of my life.” I hated that he was getting to me, riling me up. Even from a distance, I could tell he was absolutely loving it. “So put that in your damn bottle and drink it.”
Conn’s laugh restarted, but instead of marching back and slapping his face as he deserved, I kept going. Conn might have pretended to hate everyone, but he loved being hated. Ignoring him was the worst kind of punishment I could dole out. I was almost to the front door when a figure at the bottom of the front steps caught my attention.
The instant my eyes latched onto him, I almost cried. But they would have been happy tears. Unlike his dying father, his mourning older brother, or his malicious younger brother, when I saw Chance, the first thing I wanted to do was smile. I didn’t run away or wonder where the person I remembered had gone or resist the urge to slap the smirk off his face.
With Chance, Red Mountain Ranch was simple and beautiful.
“Hey, stranger,” I said, feeling as though I could breathe again.
Chance’s smile pulled up even higher, and he lunged up the stairs toward me. My surprised yelp didn’t have a chance to pierce the air before he had me in his arms, swinging me around as if I weighed twenty pounds. His laugh hit me differently than Conn’s. Instead of feeling like his laugh was grinding me into the ground, I felt like it was lifting me into the sky. It made me laugh with him.
He looked the same, he smelled the same, he smiled the same. Chance had been the pillar I could rely on then and, not surprisingly, now. After a few more spins, he let my feet touch the ground, his laugh tapering back into his steady smile.
“You better not call me stranger ever again,” he said, stepping back to look at me. Which gave me a chance to take a good look at him.
He looked exactly like the boy I remembered saying a hard good-bye to years ago. He might have grown his hair out some, and his chest was a little wider from throwing around dozens of bales of hay, and the boyish softness of his face had worn away to reveal straight lines and sharp angles, but he was still the Chance I remembered. His hazel eyes still shone with hundreds of yet-to-be-lived adventures, and his smile still fired to life so naturally it was as if he’d been born with it on his face.
I’d rarely seen him without one of his brothers close by, but on his own, he was capable of making a girl feel that tightening deep in her stomach. Why he’d never settled down or gotten serious with any of the five hundred girls just waiting for him to wake up and smell the potential was beyond me, but if he didn’t soon, he would become the most eligible bachelor in Jackson Hole. If he wasn’t already.
“You really shouldn’t have let yourself go like this.” I waved at him. “I’m embarrassed for you.”
He slid off his tan cowboy hat. His bronze hair was damp and matted down from what I guessed was a long, hard day of working a ranch. Really, though, every day on a ranch was a long and hard one.
“Enough about me. Look at you.” His brows peaked. “You look—”
“Like I really, really let myself go?” I glanced down at my worn-in jeans, simple T-shirt, and the boots Chance had mailed me for Christmas a few years ago. My hair was in a ponytail that had become a hot mess one layover ago, and my lip gloss had worn off before I’d gotten through baggage check. I liked to fly comfortably, but I was also dressed to un-impress because of Conn. I hadn’t wanted him to get the impression that I’d dressed up for him. That I’d highlighted my brow-bones for him. That I’d agonized over the right outfit for him. Because in my past life, I had. I’d agonized over nail polish color, sock thickness, and lingerie in hopes of impressing a man who was impossible to impress.
“If this is letti
ng yourself go, then sign me up.” Chance waved his hat at me as though he saw something I didn’t. That was cool though. If he saw some vixen when I saw a slob, I’d take it.
“So since I’ve interrogated your brothers with the same question, I’m going to fire it your way, although I’m pretty sure I already have the answer. And I’m guessing it doesn’t have anything to do with trying to grind an eight ball into powder or see which vital internal organ you can get to give out first.”
He shook his head. “Sadly, my life isn’t that exciting.”
“So why aren’t you at dinner?” I crossed my arms, but any attempt at acting stern with Chance was impossible. He was a goddamn saint who would stop traffic to make sure a couple of ducklings crossed the road safely. He’d missed dinner or been late plenty of times in the past, and every reason why could have been added to the Book of Exceptional Excuses for Missing Dinner if there was such a thing. “No, wait. Let me guess. More fun that way.”
Chance made a proceed motion before sitting on the top stair to tug off his boots. I took advantage of his momentary distraction to assess him, what he was wearing, what he was covered in, et cetera. He was in his standard cowboy gear, so he’d been working with the livestock. However, which livestock? Chance wore plenty of hats at Red Mountain Ranch, and even though the Armstrong clan didn’t need to generate any more wealth, Chance ran the ranch as though they did. He acted as though every last steer meant the difference between starving and eating and made every last purchase as though pennies and nickels mattered.
Which hat had he been wearing today though?
“Branding day?” I guessed, although I knew that was wrong before he shook his sweat-matted head.
“If it had been a branding day, I’d be sitting here with a beer in hand.”