Legacy (31 page)

Epilogue

15 Months Later

T
he sun was just beginning to set, casting an orange glow on all of the white-washed Acadian style houses at Vermilionville. Wes could see as much from his position in front of the altar in the 18th century replica chapel, but he wasn’t paying attention to the sunset.

Wes Clarkson watched the church doors, waiting for his Alpha and Omega.

“Relax, man,” Chad whispered at his side. “It’s only five to 7:00. She’s not walking in early. Your guests are still filing in.”

Wes let go the breath he was holding. Chad was right. Latecomers were hurrying in, claiming the few empty seats near the back. There wasn’t any reason to be nervous.

Not really…

The hour leading up to the rehearsal dinner the night before had been a nightmare. He’d fucked up and squirted toothpaste on Corinne’s dress just minutes before they were to head out the door, and he thought that his hair had been singed off the way she’d cursed him out. She had stormed off to their room to find something else to wear, but not two minutes later, Corinne stood in her strapless bra and panties, crying and begging his forgiveness.

And she wouldn’t
stop
crying.

Even after he’d held her and promised—truthfully—that he wasn’t mad at her. That he still wanted to marry her. That he’d
always
want to.

They’d been ten minutes late to their own rehearsal, but by then, Corinne was glowing, smiling and hugging Chad and Heather who had just flown in from San Diego that afternoon. Later, at the dinner at Jolie’s, she had laughed at speeches and teared up at toasts, but she left her plate of seared scallops and—her favorite—sweet cream corn grits almost untouched.

Wes checked his watch: 6:57.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered.

Chad chuckled beside him.

“I told you early on, dude, you should have gone to Vegas like we did,” Chad gloated.

Wes shot his best man a scowl, so tempted to remind him what a pussy he’d been when Heather accepted the San Diego job and left Case’s ass in Louisiana. It took Chad two weeks of agony before he figured out that his only choice was to quit his job and chase after her.

A month later, Heather and Chad were married. Wes and Corinne had gotten a drive-thru selfie as an announcement last September.

He snuck a peek at his watch and saw that only one minute had passed since his last look.

Wes sighed. He would have felt better if he’d at least seen Corinne since last night—if she’d woken up with him this morning—but she’d slept at Morgan’s instead.

“It’s bad luck to see the bride before the wedding, and I’ve had enough bad luck to last a lifetime,” she’d insisted.

Wes could accept that, so after sleeping alone for the first time in months—if sharing a bed with Buck counted as sleeping alone—Wes had called Corinne to wake her that morning.

And she’d sounded...
off
. Like she’d been crying again?

She’d told him she was just tired, but he’d been on edge all day, antsy to see her. Ready to make her his wife.

And what he didn’t want to admit to himself—and what he couldn’t stop wondering—was if Corinne was having second thoughts.

Wes blew out a deep breath and absently rubbed the back of his neck, which was misted with sweat.

Relax,
he told himself,
she wants this.

He let himself picture her the last Sunday in April—a year, exactly, after he’d moved in—on a walk through the Saint Streets with him and Buck when he’d taken a knee and asked her to marry him.

Corinne had squealed and hugged him. And cried. She’d said yes a dozen times before he could put the ring on her finger.

Even now, nervous as shit and unable to keep still at the altar, the memory of her happiness made him smile.

And just as he did, the music started.
Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring.
Wes’s eyes flew to the door again in search of her, but he saw Mrs. Betsie and Mr. Dan.

Mrs. Betsie’s face was wet with tears, but, God love her, she was smiling at him like it was the happiest day of her life. Wes forgot about his nerves because how could he feel nervous when Betsie and Dan—who had always treated him like a son—were here now for him. Mrs. Betsie took her seat as mother of the groom, and Mr. Dan—decked out in a tux and a groomsman’s boutonniere, joined him at the altar, clapping him into a fierce hug before going to stand behind Chad.

Wes’s decision not to invite his parents had been a point of argument with Corinne for weeks, but he refused to budge. Why give them the opportunity to ruin his wedding the way they ruined everything else? Corinne worried that he would one day regret excluding them, but Wes knew that until they made some radical changes in their lives—and sought to rebuild a relationship with him—being in their presence would only sicken him.

Taking in Mr. Dan by his side and Mrs. Betsie smiling up at him, Wes had no regrets at all. If this was as close as he’d ever get to loving parents, he’d never complain. Having them meant that he knew what a real family looked like, thank God, and it was an example Wes planned to imitate.

Pachelbel’s
Canon in D
filled the small chapel, and Wes looked up to see little Clementine standing, wide-eyed in the doorway. In her violet dress and flowered garland, she looked like a cross between a cherub and a fairy, and even though she clutched a little basket of flowers, the toddler didn’t look like she was ready to make the long walk down the aisle. Wes couldn’t help but smile.

Morgan, in her violet bridesmaid’s dress, knelt down beside Clementine and pointed right at Wes. He saw Morgan mouth the words “Uncle Wes,” and not a second later, Clementine was tearing down the aisle, petals flying behind her, before she launched herself into his arms.

Clementine seemed surprised by the laughter that erupted in the chapel, and she was only too glad when Wes passed her to Greg, who settled them on the front row on Corinne’s side.

Morgan made her way up the aisle, followed by Heather, who smiled at Wes and winked at Chad. They lined up opposite of him, and as the last strains of
Canon
closed in, Wes’s heart started pounding in his throat.

The door to the chapel stood empty, and dusk had fallen, leaving everything beyond the chapel’s porch in shadow.

Please, God, let her be there.

And then she was.

At the sight of her, Wes caught his breath. She was stunning. Her hair was swept up into a loose halo and a tendril or two artfully framed her serene face. Her eyes locked with his across the chapel, and she didn’t smile until she took in Wes’s hungry expression. He was leering, but how could he help it?

Her sleeveless pearl gown was sheer just above the bodice. A lace pattern of fern leaves swept down the front of her dress, but above her breasts the airy fabric revealed so much of her lovely form. Her clavicle. Her shoulders. The dress drew in around her waist, showing her slender shape before spilling to the floor in a full skirt.

Wes longed to settle his hands on her hips and draw her toward him, but he couldn’t take his eyes off that teasing lace.

He was suddenly very glad that Clement’s progress down the aisle was slow and deliberate; it gave him time to drink her in. Corinne walked on her father’s right side and held his bad arm as he steadied himself with his quad cane.

By the time Clement placed Corinne’s hand in his, Wes was swallowing hard against the lump in his throat, working his jaw.

Thank you, Michael,
Wes prayed for the seventy billionth time.
Thank you for trusting me with her.

As they turned together to face the priest, Wes caught sight of the back of Corinne’s dress. Fern lace over skin all the way down her back. Not a bra strap in sight.

“Oh, my,” he whispered, dropping one emotion for another.

They stepped together up to Father Duane, an Episcopal friend of the Roushes, and Wes let go a slow sigh. She was here, her hand in his, and they were going to do this.

As Father Duane welcomed all of their guests, Wes let his eyes drift down over Corinne. She looked happy, but the glow she’d worn the night before was a shade or two too light now. He peered closer. Her upper lip was dotted with sweat.

She glanced up at him, and Wes watched a tremor pass over her as if she’d felt a moment of fear.

Ice shot through his heart, and he squeezed her hand.

“What’s wrong, C?” he whispered almost inaudibly as Father Duane talked about making families where you find them. “You okay?”

Corinne frowned at the look on his face, one that he was sure spoke of agony and distress, and she bit her bottom lip.

“Mmmhmm,” she squeaked, facing forward and nodding almost imperceptibly.

Not good enough
, he thought, his stomach plummeting around his ankles. Since the day she’d told him that she loved him, Corinne never gave him a moment’s doubt. How could that change in the last 24 hours? Was the wedding too much for her?

He felt his nostrils flare as he tried to pull in enough oxygen to calm himself. If she called it off right now, he’d bawl in front of their 120 guests. No question.

Stop it,
he scolded himself.
This is Corinne, the same Corinne who loves you.

He swallowed and squeezed her hand.

“C, you’re killing me here,” he whispered, a plea creeping into his hushed voice. “Please tell me what’s wrong.”

He was dimly aware of Father Duane tripping over his homily in light of such an inattentive bride and groom. Wes couldn’t care less. He just needed Corinne to answer him.

Corinne looked up at him, her eyebrows drawn together in confusion, but he saw hesitation in her eyes.

Oh, God, no.

“I took a test today, Wes,” she whispered, the look in her eyes so full of worry.

“
What?
”

What the hell did that have to do with getting married?

“Wes,...I’m
pregnant
.”

Comprehension broke over him like a terracotta pot, and everything else fell away. The priest and the altar. The guests and the flowers. Even the chapel walls. Everything except Corinne and her worried frown.

But the frown didn’t stand a chance. Wes let out a whoop that made the priest jump back, and he grabbed Corinne and kissed her with everything he had.

She was pregnant. They were going to have a baby. He, Wes Clarkson, was going to be a daddy!

Happiness now resided in the number three, and he had to keep himself from spinning her around.

Wes didn’t stop kissing her until Corinne gently pushed him off after Father Duane cleared his throat.

“We haven’t gotten to that part, yet, Wesley,” Father Duane intoned, clearly startled by the outburst.

Guests laughed nervously, and behind Corinne, Wes saw Heather and Morgan’s bug-eyed confusion.

WTF?
They both seemed to be asking.

He looked back down at Corinne, who arched a brow at him. She was fighting a smile, but gone was that haunted look that had turned him inside out. If she’d been worried about how he would take the news—and, knowing Corinne, that had been the issue—she didn’t have to worry anymore.

“Sorry, Padre,” Wes said, without taking his eyes off her. “First things first. Make it official.”

Because that’s all it was. A formality to mark the fact that the woman who stood beside him was his family. His future.

His love, first and last.

Acknowledgments

A
s with
Fall Semester
, I have to begin by thanking my wonderful husband John and our amazing daughter Hannah. Their support for my writing and pride in my accomplishments make me feel continually blessed, and I am so grateful that John is still willing to read and edit every chapter I write. Hannah also deserves some credit on this book for helping me through a few passages and inspiring Corinne’s profession and her taste in music.

I’d like to thank Shelly Leblanc for her English goddess assistance with the first few chapters, and I owe the triathletes in my family, Candace Fournet, Amy Leblanc (two-time Ironman) and David Leblanc (three-time Ironman) for making sure that Wes’s experience was true to life. Thanks to Byron Daigle for educating me on the wonders of the sweet potato and to Rachel Ledoux for talking paint with me.

I am so grateful to everyone who supported my Kickstarter campaign to publish
Fall Semester
in print, but I give special thanks to Annette Broussard, Ann Kergan, Chad Case, and Heather Lamarche. The unique experience of creating characters for them turned out to be a much greater boon than I expected. I cannot imagine
Legacy
without these characters, and they have become so precious to me. While Betsie Roush has her own name, as my Aunt Netsie wished, the Roush home with its Secret Garden is a warm, welcoming, and very real place. Of course, Ann Kergan had to be someone with style and business savvy, and someone so very helpful to Corinne. Chad Case, true to form, has some of the funniest lines in the novel, and Heather Lamarche—in fiction and in truth—is, and always will be, the dearest of friends.

I’d also like to thank my fans on Facebook, Goodreads, and
Amazon.com
for their encouraging praise and eager anticipation for my second book. I truly hope you are not disappointed.

Finally, thank you to all of my friends and family who have been so supportive and enthusiastic as I continue to follow this dream. Your words of praise have helped me to remember that it really is worth doing what I love to do—even when the going gets tough.