Eternal Vows - Rochelle Alers

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before she looked away, his expression giving away nothing.

      She exhaled a soft breath, concentrating on Jimmy Merrill when he motioned for everyone to sit. The tall, rawboned minister had served as an assistant pastor in a little church in Texas before coming to Blackstone Farms to work as an assistant groom. There was a school, but no church at the farm, which prompted Sheldon to approve the construction of an interdenominational church on the south end of the sprawling property.

      Jimmy opened his bible. “We’re gathered together here to join this man and this woman in the bonds of marriage. I will begin with a reading from the book of Numbers. ‘If a man vow a vow unto the Lord, or swear an oath to bind his soul with a bond; he shall not break his word, he shall do according to all that proceedeth out of his mouth. If a woman also vow a vow unto the Lord, and bind herself by a bond, then all her vows shall stand, and every bond wherewith she hath bound her soul shall stand.’”

      Peyton didn’t know how, but she felt the heat of Nicholas’s gaze on her face. Giving him a sidelong glance she met his curious stare. Rays of sunlight piercing the leaves of a nearby tree slanted over his face, turning him into a statue of gold. He and Gavin had elected to wear tuxedos, the tailored jacket flattering his broad shoulders. The pale pink silk tie, fashioned in a Windsor knot under the spread collar white shirt, matched the rose boutonniere. He smiled, an elusive dimple in his lean jaw deepening.

      “You look lovely,” he mouthed slowly enough for her to read his lips.

      Smiling, Peyton inclined her head, acknowledging his unexpected compliment. She was brought back to the ceremony when Jimmy asked Nicholas for Celia’s ring. Reaching into the pocket of his tuxedo, he handed Gavin the platinum band. Peyton repeated the gesture, removing the groom’s band off her thumb. She held Celia’s bouquet of pale pink roses tied with two yards of wide silver picot-edged ribbon.

      Resting his hand over Celia’s and Gavin’s, Jimmy whispered a quiet prayer blessing the newlyweds’ union. Smiling, a network of fine lines fanning out around his eyes, he said in a clear voice, “Gavin, you may kiss your bride.”

      Wrapping both arms around Celia’s waist, Gavin lifted her off her feet and kissed her passionately. Celia responded by looping her arms around her husband’s neck, returning the passionate kiss.

      Jimmy smiled. “Ladies and gentlemen, I’d like to present Mr. and Mrs. Gavin Faulkner.”

      His announcement was followed by applause and shouts. Peyton handed Celia her bouquet and taking Nicholas’s proffered arm, she retraced her steps down the path as the many guests showered Gavin and Celia with flower petals, rice and birdseed.

      As they stepped through the garden door, they were met by the photographer. “Please wait off to the side until everyone leaves because I want to take photos of the wedding party.”

      Nicholas placed his arm around Peyton’s waist, smiling when the bride and groom accepted best wishes from complete strangers. He shook the hands of those who congratulated him on his sister’s marriage.

      He knew his mother was concerned that he would never marry, yet that wasn’t a concern for Nicholas. He hadn’t said he would never marry. The question was when. If or when he met that special woman then he wouldn’t have to be coerced to commit.

      Peyton, who’d slipped her arm around Nicholas’s waist inside his jacket, whispered, “It was perfect.”

      “Celia is more than worthy of perfection because she’s gone through a lot this past year. It’s the least I could do for her.”

      “You did real good, Nicholas.”

      They shared a smile. “So did you, Peyton.”

      The last guest had filed out of the garden, heading for the reception area when the photographer and videographers ushered the wedding party back into the garden for photographs that would recapture the occasion for posterity.

      Chapter 3

      “Move a little closer to the best man,” the diminutive photographer instructed Peyton. “I doubt if he will bite you,” he added with a Cheshire cat grin.

      He’d taken frame after frame of the bride and groom posing in front of the fountain, under the pergola, the flowering archway, outside the garden gate, Gavin sitting on the stone bench with Celia, while she reclined against his shoulder. There were shots with Gavin and Nicholas, Celia and Peyton, and all four laughing, hugging and kissing. Peyton felt her knees buckle slightly when Nicholas brushed his mouth over hers. It’d only lasted seconds but for her it was long enough to savor the surprisingly gentle caress of his firm mouth.

      Chuckling, Nicholas pressed his mouth to her ear. “He’s right. I don’t bite.”

      Her eyes narrowed. “That photographer is a little pervert,” Peyton whispered between clenched teeth. “Didn’t you see him salivating on my chest every time he tried to get me into a pose?”

      Nicholas’s arm tightened around her waist. He chanced a quick glance at her décolletage. The top of her tanned breasts were on sensual display each time she took a breath. “Do you want me to punch him out?”

      “No! Please don’t.” Gavin and Celia, standing a short distance away turned and stared at Peyton with the sudden outburst. She couldn’t stop the wave of heat creeping from her chest to her face. Peyton didn’t know if Nicholas was serious or joking. However, she didn’t want him to become the knight in shining armor stepping in to defend her and ruin his sister’s special day with a physical confrontation.

      Myron Essex frowned at Peyton. “Is something wrong, Ms. Blackstone?”

      She lowered her gaze. “I’m sorry, Mr. Essex.”

      Myron threw up both hands in a gesture of exasperation. “I cannot work like this if you don’t cooperate with me.”

      Her jaw dropped. What was he talking about? Cooperate. She’d done everything he’d wanted her to do, and still it didn’t seem to be enough. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I am cooperating but what is it exactly do you—”

      “Enough with the melodrama, Essex,” Nicholas interrupted angrily. He wasn’t going to stand there and let the man insult Peyton. In fact, she had done everything he’d wanted her to do. “Let’s get this done so we can go and mingle with our guests.”

      The harshness in his tone dared the photographer to challenge him. After all, he was paying the man top dollar for the wedding photos. He didn’t know if the little pervert, as Peyton referred to him, liked her and had a perverse way of showing it by being overly critical; he also had tired of the endless posing that had taken up more than an hour. Peyton had been nothing short of perfection—from the way she looked to being accomplished and adept when following the photographer’s directives.

      Myron recoiled as if he’d been struck across the face, however he recovered quickly. “I need Ms. Blackstone to turn her left shoulder until she’s half facing you. And, Mr. Thomas, I need you to place your right hand on Ms. Blackstone’s left shoulder. I want both of you to look at each other. That’s it,” he said, his voice rising in excitement. Peering through the viewfinder of his camera, he got off five shots in rapid succession. “Nice. Now I need the entire wedding party to stand together. We’ll take this one in front of the waterfall. The ladies will stand next to each other with the men flanking them.”

      Dappled sunlight filtered through a grove of flowering fruit trees, a slight breeze showering those in the garden with white and pink petals. Peyton raised her chin slightly as several landed on her hair and lashes; she smiled like a young child watching falling snow. Nicholas stared at her upturned face, the image caught by the camera lens. Celia resting her head on Gavin’s shoulder as he lowered his head to kiss her hair was captured in the same frame.

      Myron lowered his camera and puffed out his chest. Even before seeing the digital image she knew the shots were exquisite. “I’m finished for now. I’ll take some more at the reception.”

      Reaching

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