“You may now kiss the groom,” Pastor Tag Fellow said with a wide grin that glinted Hollywood-cowboy style.
Two exciting events occurred then: one, the crowd of twenty-seven applauded and cheered with relentless bursts of glee; two, Gray McKeever leaned into my pretty-boy face with his country-boy-charming one, and applied his lips to mine, bringing us to a state of bliss.
More applause rose through the reception hall, which was on the west side of Gray’s vast Glock Ranch. Although we were just in jeans and shirts for the run-through of our wedding, the guests threw their cowboy hats and yelped as loudly as they could. They whistled as the applause grew even thicker.