Dress Me in Wildflowers (35 page)

“I hear you had quite the interesting conversation with Dara this afternoon,” Farrin said.

“I did.”

She took the leap. “I decided to adopt the twins. And keep the inn.”

He relaxed, and until then she hadn’t realized he’d been tense. “So, you want to stay here in Oak Valley?”

“Yes. I’ve already put my home on the market.”

“What about your business?”

“I’m going to gradually move it here. I’ll keep a showroom and a couple of employees in New York, but the headquarters will be here.”

“Sounds like you’ve made a lot of big decisions today.”

Thanks to her racing thoughts and rapid-fire phone conversations, she’d nearly wrecked three times on the drive to Drew’s. “Yeah.”

“Do you think you could handle one more?”

Farrin’s heart rate tripled. “I think so.”

“Dara asked me today if I thought I might like being a dad. I told her that sounded fine to me. She said she’d like it too since she’d never had a dad.”

“She seems to have put a lot of thought into this.”

Drew pulled away but only far enough to be able to look into her eyes. “So have I. You know I’ve fallen for you. Do you think you’d be satisfied being the wife of a simple country lawyer?”

She stared up into his beautiful blue eyes and surrendered fully to the love she felt for him and this new beginning. “I can’t think of anything I’d ever want more.”

****

Farrin Taylor had been to dozens of weddings, had dressed countless brides, yet none of it had prepared her for the day she’d become Farrin Taylor Murphy.

She spun in front of the full-length mirror for what must be the billionth time. She’d chosen one of her newer, simpler designs because it seemed right. Down deep, this was who she was anyway, simple Farrin Taylor from Oak Valley, Tennessee.

“You look beautiful,” Dara said from the doorway.

“Thank you. So do you.” She did in her wildflower dress, butterfly necklace and pink ribbons in her hair.

“I dreamed about the wedding last night. Everything was so pretty, everyone was smiling. And Mama was there, smiling bigger than everyone else.”

Farrin swallowed against the image. Today was a day of happiness, not sorrow, and she chose to think Dara’s dream was Janie’s way of communicating she was happy for her.

And she was happy, too. Today, she would marry the man she loved. And tomorrow, they would finalize the paperwork for the adoption. What more could she ask for?

“I made you something.” Dara pulled her hands from behind her back and offered Farrin a wreath made from wildflowers. “I thought these would look pretty in your hair.”

“Oh, Dara honey, it’s beautiful.” Farrin ran her fingertips over the delicate hepatica, trillium and yellow violets. She leaned forward. “Will you put it on me?”

Dara did so as if crowning a queen. Then she leaned over and planted a kiss on Farrin’s cheek. “I love you.”

Farrin caressed the girl’s cheek. “I love you too, sweetie.” The music started out in the inn’s garden. “What do you say I go get married?”

There was no church, no organ music, no father to walk her down the aisle. But as Farrin looked out and saw Tammie and Dara standing to one side, Jason to the other, and Drew in the middle waiting for her, she didn’t miss those things. She scanned the gathering — Faye and Opal in their Sunday best, the Carlisles watching their grandchildren, Justine with her distinctive hair. Then she noticed the dogwood tree in the corner of the garden had bloomed as if especially for the occasion. Maybe Janie had made it to the wedding, just as Dara had dreamed.

Farrin smiled and started walking down the brick path, walking toward her dream.

****

Thank you for purchasing this book. I hope you enjoyed Farrin’s story. If you did enjoy it and could leave positive reviews at various online booksellers’ outlets, I would appreciate that very much.

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Trish Milburn lives in the South with her husband and spends what little free time she has reading, watching TV and movies (Is that her TiVo smoking?), hiking, playing on Facebook and Pinterest, taking road trips and valiantly fighting the weeds in her flowerbeds.

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