I get married on Saturday, so I guess you could say weddings have been on my mind (and taking over my life!). This plot bunny has been loitering around for months now and I've finally managed to wrap it up this week. Woo! I'm working on Dandelions between dress fittings, making favours, and hand-writing a hundred place cards, so the next chapter should be up soon.

As for this baby, it's made up of five parts. This is posting now, part two will be later today (Thursday aft/eve.), then both three and four will post Friday morning and afternoon respectively. I hope you enjoy this little story as much as I've enjoyed writing it.

Big thank you to my wonderful friend and beta, annaharding, for being her brilliant self and booming through the edits for me. I've tinkered since she looked it over so any mistakes left here are all mine. And as always, the standard disclaimer applies. I don't own these characters, I just get to play with them.

**Editing to add a warning as I've been told I need to—this story will start off non-canon...but that doesn't mean it'll stay that way ;) ***

Summary: Under the Texas sun, bicycle tracks follow booted footprints through the dirt. A copper-haired biker boy would tail the owner of those little boots to the ends of the Earth if only she'd ask him to. He just can't help but dream of a day when she'll follow him, instead.

Little Boots & Biker Boy

LITTLE BOOTS

Sneaking out was wrong—Isabella knew that.

But as her momma wrangled her eight-year-old sister into the bathroom, and her daddy barked orders down the phone at the guys setting up the venue, Isabella slid her feet into her worn-soft Dan Posts and climbed out the window, shimmying down the porch roof before catching her feet on the top of the trellis. She'd done this a thousand times, so she knew the exact spot to grasp the ledge to be able to lower herself to the porch railing and then hop down to the ground.

Breathing a big sigh of relief, she used the scrunchie around her wrist to restrain her mass of chocolate curls before tipping her face back to the sun, just for a moment. With her eyes closed and the warm rays shining on her cheeks, she could almost pretend that she was sixteen again. Carelessly carefree with no expectations on her shoulders other than to keep up with her homework, complete her chores before supper, and make sure she was home before curfew.

A clatter from the bathroom window above snapped her out of it; Isabella glanced left and right before hopping on the bicycle leaning against the porch steps. She paused to tuck her skirt under her legs, then set off down the street toward her favorite place in the world.

Stepping into the stables always made Isabella feel at home. It had ever since the first day Papaw Swan carried her down there on his shoulders and introduced her to Sparks—the first horse she'd ever fallen in love with.

"Hey, handsome," she breathed, the familiar scents of straw and horses invading her senses as Isabella reached for the nose that always stretched over the stall door in search of her voice. Sparks was nineteen years old now; the most handsome thoroughbred in all of Texas. His gleaming bay coat shone in the dappled sunlight sneaking through the tree outside the window. He whickered, bumping her hand to make sure she knew he wanted more than just pets.

Grinning, she stretched up on her toes and pressed a kiss to the white star between his gentle brown eyes.

"How're you doin', big guy?"

There was no better way to ease frayed nerves than spending time with horses. Isabella managed to hide out with Sparks for a little over an hour before she heard the clomping of feet on the planks in the walkway.

"Sissy? Are you in here?"

Rolling her eyes—of course, her momma would send in the big guns—Isabella stood up and leaned over the stall door. Her baby sister flashed her a gap-toothed grin. "There you are! Momma sent me to come get you."

"All right, Rosie. I'm comin.'" Turning to Sparks, she stroked his soft nose and gave him a scratch in his favorite spot—right below his ear. "I'll see you later, handsome. You be good, you hear?"

He whickered, shuffling his hooves, and rubbed his head against her chest to request another ear scratch. She obliged him, shooting Rosalie a tongue-out scowl when she huffed and stamped her foot.

"Come on, Bell! I've gotta get all gussied up before the weddin'."

You had to remind me.

With one last pat to Sparks' rump, Isabella let herself out of his stall and followed Rosalie out of the stables into the sunlight. It was nearing nine a.m. now, the sun climbing higher and higher in the sky. By noon, it was sure to be one of the hottest days of the year—so far. Even though they were only in mid-June, they were experiencing a particularly hot summer. The unseasonable Texas heat had Isabella's baby-fine hair curling around her face and her loose summer dress clinging just a little tighter.

"Eric says he's gonna be sweatin' buckets when Libby makes him get all fancy."

Isabella snorted, scooping her bike from the grass to push it home. "I think he's right. It's hotter than Daddy's Kickin' It Chili already."

Charles Swan's Kickin' It Chilli was legendary in their little part of Southeast Texas. It was his speciality—and the only thing he knew how to cook without the help of his wife or daughters. It packed a mean punch and showed up the men who'd gotten too big for their britches at the church's Christmas potluck each year.

Skipping alongside her, Rosalie filled Isabella in on everything she'd missed back at the house while she was visiting Sparks.

"Meemaw and Papaw are at our house, and Libby, Eric, and Miss Sarah—"

"Miss Sarah is doing our hair," Isabella reminded her.

"Right," Rosalie nodded, her bouncy blonde curls falling in her face. She swiped them back behind her ears. "And Mr. Clearwater is gonna drive us to the wedding in his fancy car. Eric's helpin' him wash it so it's all shiny and purty."

As they turned off the beaten track leading down to the stables, stepping onto their street, Isabella winced.

"Momma, I found her!" Rosalie sang, running ahead with her curls flying in her wake.

Renee was smiling when she turned away from her conversation, but Isabella could see the glint of disapproval in her blue eyes. "Thank you, sweet pea. Run along inside, please."

"Hi, Mrs. Cullen! Bye, Mrs. Cullen!" The screen door clapped shut behind Rosalie; Renee shook her head with a long-suffering sigh just as Isabella reached her and Esme Cullen, their neighbor from across the street.

"She's adorable, Renee. Utterly precious," Esme laughed before turning her attention to Isabella. "Isabella, honey, how are you doing this morning? Did you get a good night's sleep?"

Nope. Not even close. "I did, thank you. I slept like a baby."

Esme's delighted expression didn't waver, but there was something there...something that told Isabella she didn't fully believe her. "Well, that's great! Every girl needs a good night's sleep the night before a wedding—especially her own!"

Renee and Esme shared a laugh while Isabella tried to keep her smile from slipping. "Well, I'd better get inside and start getting ready. I'll see you later, Mrs. Cullen."

"It's 'Esme,' honey. I've been tellin' you that since you were knee high to a grasshopper."

Isabella nodded, her small smile bashful. Esme had lived across the street for as long as she could remember. She and her husband, Carlisle, had a son the same age as Isabella's year-older sister, Liberty. When they were all little, Esme had often crossed the street with Edward and sat drinking sweet tea on the back porch while Isabella, Liberty, Edward, and Alice—Isabella's year-younger sister—played in the yard. When they were older, playdates moved from the Swans' backyard to the creek, where the high school kids raced their parents' boats and floated on inner tubes.

It was there, after a few too many warm beers and with Liberty egging her on, that Isabella had her first kiss and her first beer, all in the same night.

"Enjoy your last morning as a free woman, and I'll see you later." Esme pulled Isabella into a tight, motherly hug before watching as she turned the bicycle and headed up the path toward the house.

The Swan home was a hive of frenzied activity. The formal sitting room was stacked full of gifts; they'd been pouring in for the last week. The dining table was buried under makeup and hair supplies, seeing as that was where Sarah was getting the bridesmaids ready, and the family room was full of people.

"Ah, there's my darling Bell."

"Papaw!" Isabella managed a genuine smile for Papaw Swan.

He stroked his mustache and shook his head before heaving himself out of the armchair to cross the room. Taking Isabella's hands, he offered her a wry grin. "How's our fella doin'?"

"He's right as rain, Papaw. I left him with some oats and a couple of carrots."

"I'm sure he liked that. When your mother said you'd gone and disappeared, I had a feeling you'd be visitin' our Sparks."

"I couldn't not. I haven't had a chance to spend much time with him lately."

"I should think not! You've been far too busy to prioritize a horse." Meemaw Swan appeared like a whirling dervish. She didn't look anywhere close to her sixty-five years as she swept Isabella up in her arms before tugging her toward the stairs. "Come on, honey pie. Let's wash the horse stink off of you. Honestly—only a grandchild of Ethan's would run off in the middle of her wedding preparations to spend time with a horse."

Smirking, Isabella paused on the upstairs landing to hug her meemaw. She was a whirlwind and likely to drive her crazy over the course of the day, but Isabella couldn't help but appreciate her presence. "I'm glad you're here, Meemaw."

"Oh…" Meemaw cradled her granddaughter's face between her small, wrinkled hands. Her brown eyes—Isabella's eyes—smiled. "I'm glad, too, honey pie. Now, let's pop you in the shower. We've got a few hours, so there's no rush, but there's no time like the present."

Isabella did as she was told and allowed herself to be manhandled into the bathroom. Meemaw turned on the shower and gave her a kiss on the cheek before disappearing back downstairs to hurry everyone else along.

As she stripped off and stepped under the cool spray, Isabella couldn't stop the heavy sigh that wracked her petite frame.

In just a handful of hours, I'll be Mrs. Michael Stanley-Newton, Junior.

Her stomach twisted.

Everything was ready.

Her designer wedding gown—which hung in its bag in her parents' bedroom down the hall. She'd been poked, prodded, and had umpteen fittings to make sure it fit exactly right.

The jewelry. She had a stunning set of sapphire and diamond earrings courtesy of her three sisters, Liberty, Alice, and Rosalie. They matched the sapphire pendant necklace she wore for every special occasion since she received it on her sweet sixteen. They also matched the custom, white satin heels she'd wear under her gown—the sapphires a perfect color match to the soles.

The venue, which, although Isabella hadn't seen it dressed up, was perfection—according to her momma and Jessica Stanley-Newton, her soon-to-be mother-in-law. They, along with the venue dressers, spent most of the previous day ensuring that every little detail was perfect. Much to everyone's delight, Michael and Isabella had agreed to be wed at Ashton Gardens with three hundred family members, friends, and Texas elite watching.

Secretly, Isabella wished they could get married outside on a sandy beach somewhere, a few members of their families and close friends watching, like she'd always dreamed. Instead, they would become Mr. and Mrs. just outside Houston with hundreds of people staring at them.

Michael's father, Michael Senior, was a senator, so there were a lot of important people on the guest list. Three hundred people had been invited. As far as Isabella knew, not one person had RSVP'd that they weren't coming. Truthfully, she didn't even know who had been invited. She'd given her mother a list of 'must haves' and left the rest to her and Jessica.

I wonder if…no. He always said he'd never come back. I bet he didn't even respond to the invite.

After spending a little too long in the shower, Isabella wrapped herself and her hair in soft towels, stepping out into the bedroom to find her momma and oldest sister waiting.

"Finally," Liberty winked, rising to guide her sister straight to the vanity in the corner. She hesitated for a moment, wincing and touching her bump before smiling brightly and waving off her sister's concern. "Just Braxton Hicks, that's all. I thought I was gonna have to bust in and drag you out here."

"No," Isabella sighed. "The water was just lovely after the heat outside."

"Preachin' to the choir, sister dearest. You try bein' eight months pregnant in this heat."

Isabella reached back, giving her niece or nephew a pat. "Jamie's still hangin' in there, huh?"

"The baby could be a girl, you know," Renee said brightly. She still hadn't gotten her head around the unisex name Liberty and Eric had chosen. She was pushing for a family name, while Liberty and Eric were more fond of the idea of giving their unborn child a name of their own—one they didn't have to share, as it were.

Liberty shot Isabella a wink in the mirror as she unravelled her hair from its towel. "And if the baby is a girl, she'll still be called 'Jamie,' Momma."

"Jamie is a boy's name, Liberty—" Renee began, shaking her head with a soft laugh when Liberty sighed pointedly. "All right, all right. I won't nag. Not today." She joined her daughters at the vanity and ran her fingers through Isabella's wet hair. "Not on my sweet Isabella's special day."

Liberty set about drying and brushing the kinks out of Isabella's hair while Renee fussed over the bridesmaid dresses hanging from the curtain rail. Sarah—one of Michael's cousins—would be taking over with her hair once she was done fixing up Alice and Mia, the bridesmaids, but Liberty had offered to help get Isabella's hair ready for styling. Tilly and Mollie, Isabella's second cousins as well as her flower girls, would be delivered to Ashton Gardens by their parents, already dressed in their sweet, pale yellow primrose dresses. Four and five years old respectively, they didn't need any fancy hairstyles or makeup.

While her momma and sister were preoccupied, Isabella gazed out of the window and let her mind wander.

As a teenager, she'd always pictured herself having a storybook romance.

She'd meet her true love in high school, just like her parents. He'd stutter as he introduced himself to her father on the front porch after their first date at the movies, and she'd blush when she met his momma and daddy for the first time. They'd go to prom together, his tie matching her gown, and her daddy would make sure his shotgun was sitting on the table when he came to collect her.

They'd go off to college together and argue with their parents over being allowed to get their own apartment rather than rooming in the dorms. After the first year, their parents would see they were sensible and cave to their requests.

Upon their return from college, he would ask her daddy's permission to propose and do it in some romantic way that swept her off her feet. She'd say 'yes' and their mommas would cry with joy.

They'd be married on a glorious beach with sand between their toes and their loved ones watching. Her momma would cry into her daddy's handkerchief while he tried to hold it together.

And then, they'd move into a cutesy home of their own with enough room for a few youngins and maybe a little land, so she could have Sparks closer. Her husband would have a good job, maybe with her daddy at Swan Hotels, and she'd use her teaching certificate to teach kindergarteners.

It would have been perfect. She had it all mapped out.

Then, Michael Stanley-Newton happened.

He was the older brother of one of her classmates. It was the summer of 2013—Isabella was fifteen, and Michael had just turned eighteen. She spent her days trying to persuade her momma and daddy that she was old enough to follow Liberty to the creek and her evenings glorying in the freedom of knowing they'd placed their trust in her.

The day Michael showed up to collect Georgia for dinner with their parents, Isabella thought her heart was going to beat right out of her chest. He hadn't noticed her, the heart-eyed fifteen-year-old, of course. But she remembered him, and made it her mission to help him see her.

Over the course of a few summers, she was successful. When her eighteenth birthday rolled around, Michael asked Isabella on their first date. His family, and hers, were delighted by their relationship. Michael Senior and Charles were old friends, having attended high-school together. The partnership between a senator and the man responsible for the largest chain of independent hotels to come out of Texas was a prosperous one; their children's relationship could only strengthen that partnership.

At the same time, the death of Renee's father put a halt on Isabella's college plans. She gave up her place and her dorm room to remain at home and support her mother through her loss. Michael encouraged her to remain in Southeast Texas, pointing out that she didn't need to study when he would be going into business with Charles once he'd completed his business degree—the insinuation that she'd be a housewife while he worked went over her head at the time, but began to dawn on her as the weeks passed.

Still, she knew that whatever she did, Michael would provide her with a comfortable life. He was safe and intelligent; she'd never need to worry about a thing with him by her side. Besides, there was still time for college.

The day after Isabella's twentieth birthday, Michael took the next step in solidifying their union. On vacation in Florida with Liberty and Eric, he got down on one knee and asked her to become Mrs. Stanley-Newton.

Her plans, although skewed, were finally coming to fruition—Isabella accepted and excitedly called her parents to share the news. Charles and Renee were overjoyed. They, along with Michael Senior and Jessica, threw an extravagant engagement party for the pair when they arrived home a week later. Isabella was swept up in their excitement, despite how railroaded she felt when it was decided that they would be married before her twenty-first birthday. She would have just nine months to plan and get used to the idea of her wedding coming before her college degree.

Now, nine months on, she was just hours away from marrying Michael and she still didn't truly know how she felt about it all.

Dragging her gaze away from the cotton candy clouds drifting across a cornflower blue sky, Isabella peered at her reflection in the mirror. She couldn't see herself. Not really. She looked far older than her tender twenty years, and felt it, to boot.

Soon, Sarah arrived to begin the laborious process of turning Isabella into a bride. Renee disappeared into the bathroom to get herself showered while Sarah spread her makeup supplies across the vanity, chatting away to Liberty as she began applying Isabella's makeup. Aghast at the vast array of powders and brushes Sarah had brought, Isabella murmured, "Um, I thought I was just having a simple, natural look."

As Liberty stepped out of the room, Sarah tittered. "It's your wedding day, Isabella. Don't you want to look fabulous for Michael? Just trust me; when I'm done with you, you'll look beautiful."

Chewing her lip, Isabella nodded and released a quiet sigh. There was no use arguing with a Stanley-Newton unless you wanted to lose.

Slowly but surely, Isabella watched herself transform into a woman she didn't recognize. She stared into her own eyes and sucked in a deep breath, wondering if this was who she was to become now that she was so close to becoming Mrs. Stanley-Newton.

A mannequin for people to style. Arm candy for Michael at the various events he dragged her to. In the last nine months alone, as his fiancée, she'd had to plaster a smile on her face and stand meekly at his side for at least one big event a month—the senator ball, the carnival Charles sponsored, the wedding of one of Michael's distant cousins…

And throughout them all, she'd been reminded that her participation was unnecessary—just her presence was required. A pretty face on the arm of the senator's son.

Is that truly all I am to become? Mrs. Isabella Stanley-Newton...a carbon copy of Michael's bossy-behind-closed-doors but demure-in-public mother?

As she watched the face of a stranger take her place in the mirror, Isabella's heavy heart told her that it was.

~ oOo ~

"Rosalie Lillian, I don't like your tone! You're gettin' a little too big for your britches, Miss Ma'am."

"Sorry, Momma," Rosalie chimed, skipping back to her mother's side. Her curls had been tamed and fastened to the sides of her head with pretty white clips, a primrose ribbon twisted through the ponytail hanging down her back. She'd been wrangled out of her overalls into her white bridesmaid dress; Isabella chewed her lip and wondered if white was the best choice for a child who seemed to attract dirt.

She stood inside, wringing her hands and peering out at the chaos through the screen door.

Renee was attempting to organize everybody while they waited for the car to arrive to take them to the wedding. The sun bounced off the windshield as Mr. Clearwater's son, Embry, pulled into the drive. Isabella watched as Rosalie, Sarah, Mia, and Alice climbed into the vintage vehicle. Renee reminded them to go straight to the bridal suite at the venue before closing the door and waving them off. Papaw and Meemaw were next to depart, climbing into his beloved Bentley.

"Oh, Bell."

Isabella spun at the sound of her daddy's voice.

He was grinning in the arch between the foyer and the family room, his mustache twitching as he adjusted his smart black Stetson. "You look beautiful, honey," he croaked. "A proper young lady, if ever I saw one."

"Thank you, Daddy."

Overwhelmed by the myriad of emotions tearing her insides to ribbons, Isabella hitched up her skirts and threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around his suit-clad shoulders as she exhaled a shaky sigh. Her heart pounded as she pulled back to peer up at him; their eyes were equally watery, although for different reasons.

"I've got one last gift for you."

"Daddy...you shouldn't have."

He winked and delved into his suit pocket, pulling out a flat, black square box. "This belonged to Momma's momma. Granny Higginbotham wore it on her wedding day, and your momma wore it when we got married."

Renee entered through the front door just as Isabella opened the box and gasped at the contents. A beautiful silver comb set with sapphires and a cluster of tiny diamonds shone in the light pouring through the windows.

Blinking back her tears, Isabella noticed that her hands were shaking. "Oh...it's gorgeous!" she breathed.

"Do you really like it? We thought it would match all your other accessories. And it can be your 'something borrowed,' as well as your 'something old,'" Renee told her with a teary-eyed smile as she removed the comb from the box and carefully slid it into place in Isabella's hair.

Isabella managed a weak upwards curl of her lips as she turned and looked at herself in the full-length mirror for the first time. Sarah, although bossy, had worked wonders with her hair. Her usually curly brown mane was straight as could be and arranged in a neat chignon—her veil flowed down her back from where it was clipped to the hair at her nape. Still, as lovely and tidy as it was, Isabella felt a little uncomfortable. She'd always disliked having her hair pinned in place. She preferred it free around her shoulders. And objectively, Isabella agreed that combined with her new hairstyle, her makeup did look pretty.

It just wasn't her.

Her dark eyes were ringed with eyeliner and her lashes, laden with mascara, felt heavy every time she blinked. Her often-flushed cheeks were artificially pink with blusher, her natural, sun-kissed glow lightened by the powders Sarah had applied without explaining their purpose. Isabella wished she'd listened more when Liberty tried to teach her about makeup as a preteen. Her lips were shiny and sticky, stained a berry pink that shocked Isabella every time she caught her reflection.

It was disconcerting; looking in the mirror only to find a stranger staring back at her.

Isabella's eyes trailed down, to her gown. It really was beautiful—as it should be, as much money as her daddy spent on it. It had a demure, sweetheart neckline, a pale primrose yellow sash to cinch in her waist, and delicate lace embroidery trailing down to the hem. She couldn't see it, but the corset back had been laced up tight, the sash tied in a neat bow. Everything was just-so.

"Gosh, Charles. When did our little girl get so grown up?"

"I really don't know, Rae." Charles looped an arm around his wife's shoulders, both of them impeccably dressed for the occasion—Charles in his smart gray suit and shiny black dress shoes, Renee in a primrose yellow, cowl-neck gown and matching headband with a large flower on one side.

Secretly, Isabella thought the headpiece was overkill, but she opted to keep her mouth shut.

"Knock, knock."

The Swans turned as one, finding Mr. Clearwater's toothless grin and smiling eyes at the door.

Charles stepped outside to shake his hand while Renee took her daughter's hands. "Are you ready, sweetheart?"

Isabella sucked in a breath through her teeth, knowing the smile on her face wasn't quite believable when Renee narrowed her eyebrows. "A little nervous," she admitted. "There's gonna be a lot of people there."

Squeezing her hands, Renee's expression softened. "Oh, sweetheart. You'll be just fine."

"I know," Isabella lied.

~ oOo ~

The drive to Ashton Gardens was short, but it was long enough for Isabella to realize that it was becoming difficult to take a full breath.

Charles sat to her left, Renee to her right, and Mr. Clearwater filled the ride with inane chatter about his son's pig farm and his daughter's new baby.

Isabella twisted her engagement ring around her finger, letting the rays of light refracting off the diamond hypnotize her out of the looming panic attack. It was stunning—a princess cut diamond with smaller diamonds set all the way around the band. It didn't initially fit when Michael proposed, so Isabella had waited two months for the band to be resized before she could show it off.

It didn't feel real that in just over an hour, it would have company. The simple, white gold wedding band she'd picked out would leave it free to shine and monopolize everyone's attention.

Rolling to a stop outside Ashton Gardens, Isabella tried to fill her lungs and winced when even a deep breath didn't satisfy her need for oxygen. Mr. Clearwater opened the door and helped Renee out into the bright midday sun, then he offered his weathered hand to Isabella. She took it with a whispered "thank you" and stepped out on shaky legs, thankful for her skirts as they hid the way her knees trembled.

Renee and Charles led Isabella into the foyer; the giggles of Rosalie, Tilly, and Mollie could be heard thanks to the open door between the foyer and the bridal preparation room. However, Isabella couldn't help but stare at the heavy oak doors straight ahead—the doors leading into the chapel. Three hundred people were waiting on the other side. Three hundred sets of eyes waiting to stare at her as she walked down the aisle; toward Michael, toward her future.

A future she was increasingly unsure she was cut out for.

"Charles! Your daughter seems to think using petals to make spitballs is appropriate!"

Charles snorted a laugh. "I'll be right back, honey. Wait right here."

"Okay, Daddy," Isabella almost panted. She tugged at the front of her dress ineffectively, hitching up her skirts and stepping back out onto the front steps. The fresh air helped, but only a little. It was too warm out to provide any kind of real relief to the heat spreading through Isabella's veins as she sucked in breaths through her nose, attempting to clear her foggy head.

"Come on, Bell. Pull yourself together," she whispered. Black spots began to dance in the corners of her eyes and the sun rolled across the sky as a fierce roar blocked out the sounds of her father reprimanding Rosalie inside.

She'd never fainted before, but Isabella was abruptly aware that it was about to happen. She felt her legs give out and vaguely registered a figure coming towards her as the floor rushed up to greet her.