Sally: Autumn Storms (F&L Story #4)

Sally: Part 31

Part 31

Wilson couldn't remember the last time he'd had a better afternoon. Sally stretched next to him and rolled over on her elbow to admire her left hand, now graced with his token of love. “What was your grandparents like? How long were they married?”

“Let's see...if I remember correctly, they married in the early '50's, and my granddad died when I was fifteen or so... thirty-five, forty years.”

Sally sighed wistfully and twisted around in his arms to face him. “Do you think we'll last that long?”

“Why shouldn't we?”

She hitched a shoulder and studied the small patch of fun between his pectorals. “In forty years, I'll almost be eighty...it's kind of a scary thought.”

He notched her chin up so he could look into her eyes. “You're not old,” he said. “You're perfect in every way...like a fine wine.”

She crinkled up her nose and turned back around. “Or a smelly block of cheese.”

He tucked her head under his chin and scooted up to spoon her. They watched the small overhead light flicker off the blue diamond. She'd been right. The ring was perfect for her. He agreed to give it to Sally because he only hoped to make his mother happy and prayed Sally understood the significance of wearing that family heirloom. He had no idea at the time that it would seem so right on her hand.

A swell of pride filled him. This precious, sweet, irritating woman would soon be his forever. He'd come a long way to get here. Maybe it was destiny...maybe it was only dumb, blind luck, but she'd become his life. And she'd be in his life for the rest of his. Now he understood all those looks that passed between his parents and his grandparents. This was a forever kind of love, and it was his.

“Granny Jo – short for Josephine – was my mom's mother,” he said, thinking back to the last time he'd seen his maternal grandmother, a feisty, plain-spoken woman with a ready smile and a plate of homemade cookies. She died in his early twenties, so... “She was a lot like you, actually.”

“Sexy, sweet and sophisticated?” she teased him. Wilson smiled and kissed the top of her head.

“Exactly.”

She elbowed him in the ribs. “Really, what was she like...and your grandfather, too. What was his name?”

“Harvey, but everyone called him Pattie.”

Sally giggled. “Pattie? Why was that?”

He thought about that for a moment. “You know...I don't really know why we called him that. I remember Granny Jo joking about it sometimes, but she'd always tell me the story wasn't for young ears. I'll have to ask mom, I guess. And they were your typical, mid-western grandparents. They owned a homestead, much like this one, with milk cows and chickens and a vegetable garden that I hated. I can't tell you how many of my summers were spent shelling purple-hull peas. My hands were a permanent blackish-blue color from the time I was four until I finished high school.”

Sally tisked. “That's a shame. I'm sure you miss it, and I'll remember to plant some in our garden next year.”

“Hmm, our garden,” he murmured, snuggling a kiss behind her ear. “I like the sound of that.”

She snuggled closer to him. “You don't mind living here? I kind of thought you might want to get a bigger place. You know, somewhere you can raise horses, like you used to.”

“I honestly think I'm done with that,” he admitted. “And I like this place. It's big enough. Bigger than my grandparent's place, and they harbored all seven grand kids over the summers. So, I can easily imagine our own children growing up here...which was something else I wanted to discuss with you.”