Something Borrowed

Epilogue

***Well, here ya go. End of the line. It's a little corny ( *SO* out of character for me, I know) so I apologize for that. I'm gonna drop another plug at the end, but if you enjoyed this story please add Something Blue to your list!

Just a quick story from my real life-- today I was skydiving and I was falling into a cloud and I saw another jumper outlined in the cloud right below me and I was like "this is it. I'm going to die and I'm going to kill this poor unsuspecting man on my way out" and I went into bullet time and in the course of a second played out a whole scenario where I would probably hurt him pretty bad when I hit him so I'd have to protect myself during the impact and then stay close and pull for him if I knocked him unconscious and all this other outlandish nonsense that had no regard for physics or reason or my lack of skills. Then BAM I hit the other jumper and it turns out the other jumper was my shadow on the cloud all along. There's a metaphor there, and as soon as I figure out what it is you're gonna see it in one of my stories. So gird your loins for that.***

Amelia

Amelia Tucker sat tall on the wagon bench and tried not to fidget as they rounded the last few bends in the muddy road. It was springtime after a wet winter, and the thaw had left the ground soft. The sodden earth sucked at the wheels as they squished through the mud, and the smell of wet earth permeated the cool air.

"You okay?" the man beside her asked, and she smiled and tucked herself against his side. Holding the reins with one hand, he wrapped the other around her.

"I don't think I've ever been better," she said softly, craning to place a kiss on his cheek.

"Mama stop, that's gross," came a voice from directly behind them, and Amelia turned, glaring at the young woman in the back of the wagon. She perched on top of crate, her golden hair hanging in twin braids. Despite her mother's efforts to restrain the wild locks, bits and pieces had come loose, framing her face. Her Sunday dress, made from the finest quality cotton Amelia could find, was wrinkled at the skirt, stained with mud, and ripped along the seam of the left sleeve. At thirteen, Rebecca was as beautiful and as wild as the land she'd grown up on.

"What, your mother and I can't kiss, now?" Josh asked, tossing a dubious glance over his shoulder.

"No, pop, it's gross. I don't want to see that. Neither do they."

Amelia pointed at her siblings. Valerie, at nine, was following doggedly in her sister's untamed footsteps. Ruth, nearly seven, was clever beyond reckoning and seemed to possess a wisdom and a grace reaching far past her years. Both were stretched out beneath blankets in the back of the wagon, sound asleep.

"You're right, honey. They look awful perturbed," Josh said before turning to Amelia. "You hear that sweetheart? No more kissing."

"Oh dear," said Amelia, pretending heartbreak even as she raised her face and accepted the noisy, theatrical kiss he planted on her lips.

Rebecca sighed the heavy, beleaguered sigh of an embarrassed teenager and moved to the back of the wagon to sulk. When they rounded the corner and the ranch drew into view she hopped out of the moving wagon and tore off ahead of it, her braids flying behind her. Amelia sighed in loving exasperation.

"Will she ever settle down?" she asked, watching Rebecca fly up the steps and into the house. The girl, she knew, would reappear in a few minutes in her riding clothes and a lengthy argument would ensue over just exactly why she was not allowed to ride the range by herself after dark.

"I hope not," Josh returned evenly as he climbed down and tied the horses to a post in the yard. "I'm kind of partial to her this way. Reminds me of her mother."