I wear a white dress and a veil. And I'm barefoot—though not pregnant!

It's July, and our youngest babies are three months old.

And while I'm no virgin on my wedding night... James and I haven't slept together since our babies were conceived.

The doctor cleared me a few weeks ago... but we decided to wait.

After all, we'd already waited long enough.

I walk down the aisle in our back yard. Our property has a massive oak tree—because of course, it does. And there is no better place for James and me to exchange our vows.

Everyone is here. Jaxon and Harper of course. Wilder and Stella—who, bless her heart, decorated my new home with magazine-worthy perfection. There are Buck and Rosie, and Honor and Hawk. And everyone's children. At this point, there are so many, it is hard to remember which little goose belongs to whom.

This mountain may be jokingly called the fertile mountain, but I like to think about it a little differently.

The couples here, at my wedding, have committed to the thing that matters the most in this world. Family.

And so, ours grows, at a ridiculous rate.

The definition of a miracle is a surprising and welcome event that is not explicable by natural or scientific laws.

So, I don't call this place the fertile mountain—I call it the Miracle Mountain.

And I don't know about religion or God or what happens after this—my head and my heart still have a lot to unravel about all that... but I do believe in miracles.

God only knows what I'd be without you.

James is under the oak tree, guitar in hand, and he is singing Wouldn't It Be Nice, a song we learned together, the lyrics truer today than ever before.

The first time I heard his voice, I thought he sounded like a sunny day, and as I walk down the aisle toward him I know he doesn't just sound like a ray of sunshine—he is my happily ever after.

Jonah marries us, he went back to Miami after the dust settled, and came up for the babies’ birth, and now he’s here for the wedding. Everyone’s trying to convince him to stay… we all know how Josie is pining for him still after all these months. Grace is up front here too, with our year-old triplets. She’s not only been my faithful friend, but she’s been our live-in nanny.

I smile, looking at the people gathered to celebrate my marriage. I would never have dreamed that they would be the guests at my wedding. There are all these burly men, covered in tattoos, but wearing the biggest smiles any man could ever have. All of us—the men and the women gathered here today have been through the wringer of life—we've been forced into situations that broke us and left scars so deep, we thought they'd never heal.

But love saved us. Every single one of us. And James promises to take me as to his lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part.

I do.

I do.

I do.

When he slips a ring on my finger I consider his eyes and see the father of my children, my husband, and my best friend.

"You may kiss your bride," Jonah tells him.

And James does. He kisses me hard, with promise. He kisses me soft, for the ways we've both been hurt. He kisses me deeply, knowing our love story began the day we met.

Then he picks me up and carries me to the house. The reception can start without us.

After all, we have some business to take care of first.

* * *

He carries me over the threshold, and the record player spins our favorite songs. He sets me down in our bedroom and reaches for my face again.

"I love you." He kisses me again, this time urgently.

And I kiss him back, needing more.

Needing all of him.

I unbutton his dress shirt, his abs a row of muscles and pure strength. I turn, and he unclasps my wedding gown, letting the white silk fall to the floor. I step out of it, and his mouth is on my neck, kissing me, reaching around and cupping my breasts with his hands. My head falls back, onto his chest, and he unclasps my white lace bra, letting it fall away. My breasts are exposed, and he spins me to face him, his kisses trailing from my neck, past my breasts, until he is on his knees.

He tugs down my panties, my pussy greedy, not wanting to wait, and my wetness begs him to go faster. He listens.

He stands and I unbelt his pants, pushing off his boxers, our desire growing more fervent, the pent-up pleasure from months... years... rushing out of us. Maybe the rings on our fingers give us the permission we needed because we aren't waiting.

Life is precious.

A gift.

A miracle.

His cock is hard, in my hand, and his fingers press against my wet pussy. "I love you," I moan, as he fingers me softly, then harder, then I'm on my back, legs spread wide as he leans over me.

"I fucking love you more," he growls in my ear. This man who works with his hands, who lives and breathes these mountains, who isn't from here, but was made for this place—he is my mountain man.

Leaning over me, he runs his hands over my skin, my body tingling under his touch. I've longed for this moment for so long. I gasp, my body opening for him, having forgotten how big he is, how much of man he is.

How much I need to be filled by him.

"Damn, it's been a long wait, baby," he groans as he pushes deeper inside me.

"Worth the wait?" I ask.

"You are worth everything."

He isn't talking about sex being worth it... he’s talking about me.

For so long, I didn't think I was enough for a man like James.

But he tells me with his actions that I am more than enough for him.

I blink back tears as he rocks inside me. My chest heaves as he fucks me the way my body was meant to be loved. Completely.

James was my first and he'll be my last.

He is my forever.