Chapter 14
James
The elevator doors part, releasing a whisper of expensive perfume.
Everything gleams — marble floors, gold accents, a chandelier big enough to light the whole Cady Springs town square.
I tug at my collar, wishing this damn suit didn’t itch so much.
It’s the same one I wore to that Christmas party.
Staying true to my nature, I’m wearing my boots, my hat, and the bolo tie with the onyx stone. Feels more like me that way.
Olivia looks like she stepped out of one of those winter catalogs — sleek dress, soft waves in her hair, lips the color of cinnamon.
She doesn’t even have to try. She fits this world better than I ever will.
But when she slides her hand into mine, I feel her pulse flutter against my palm, and I know she’s not as calm as she looks.
“Ready?” I ask, letting her know I’m here to lean on.
“As I’ll ever be,” she whispers back, forcing a smile.
The place is decked out like a department store window with a towering tree, ribbons everywhere, candles flickering from every corner.
The air smells of roasted chestnuts, cloves, and something sweet from the kitchen.
Her family’s already gathered — polished, posed, and loud enough to fill the room without trying.
Her mother’s first to approach. A beautiful woman, sharp-eyed and elegant, the kind of lady who never needs to raise her voice to make a point. “Olivia, darling.” She kisses the air beside Olivia’s cheek. Then, turning to me, “Hello again, cowboy.”
“Merry Christmas, ma’am.” I take off my hat, offering a polite nod.
Her gaze flickers briefly to the boots, then the bolo tie. One eyebrow lifts just enough to make a man feel like he’s tracking mud across her Persian rug.
“Welcome,” she says with a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes.
Her father’s handshake is firm, appraising. Her brother gives me the once-over, then a smirk that says he’s already decided what kind of man I am. Caroline, her sister, is different—warm smile, curious eyes. She thanks us for coming.
Olivia hands out the gifts she picked, each one thoughtful and perfectly wrapped. Her father looks genuinely pleased with the vintage book on architecture. Caroline runs her fingers over the leather journal, eyes lighting up. “It’s beautiful,” she says. “I’ll actually use this.”
Her brother’s next. She hands him a slim box tied with navy ribbon. When he opens it, the gleam of silver cufflinks catches the light—engraved with his initials. He looks down at them longer than I expect, then clears his throat and mutters, “Nice touch, Liv.”
Her mother’s gift comes last—an elegant package wrapped in cream and gold. Inside is a silk scarf in soft winter tones, hand-painted with mountain peaks and a spray of wildflowers. The look on her mother’s face is surprise at first, then something gentler, something almost human.
“You always said you missed Colorado’s wildflowers,” Olivia tells her. “Now you can take a few wherever you go.”
For once, her mother doesn’t have a quick reply. Just folds the scarf between her fingers and murmurs, “It’s lovely.”
And it is. But the real beauty in the room is the way Olivia glows from giving.
Dinner’s served at a long table dressed in gold and white. The kind that belongs in magazines. I take the seat beside Olivia, across from her parents. The food’s fancy, but I make do, careful not to clink my silverware wrong or say “ma’am” too many times.
Her father asks about the ranch. That’s safe ground. I talk about feed quality, cattle rotation, winter prep — things that make sense no matter where you live. He listens, nods. Even seems impressed.
Olivia looks at me like she’s proud. That’s all I need to steady my hands. The conversation drifts from travel to family gossip. The wine keeps flowing. I’m just starting to relax when her mother sets down her fork and leans in with a smile too polite to be harmless.
“So, Olivia,” she says, voice smooth as satin. “Rumor has it your grandfather’s will had a rather … interesting clause. Something about needing to marry before Christmas to inherit the ranch and the trust fund. I suppose now we know what prompted this whirlwind romance.”
The table goes still. My stomach tightens. I don’t say a word. It’s not my place … not yet.
Olivia’s wineglass hovers halfway to her lips. Her cheeks flush, but she doesn’t flinch. Slowly, she sets the glass down and meets her mother’s gaze head-on.
“You’re right,” she says softly. “That’s how it started.”
Her father shifts in his chair, frowning. Her mother blinks, clearly not expecting her to admit it.
“Yes,” Olivia continues. “The clause was real. I had to marry before Christmas to keep the ranch and the trust. And I did.”
Her voice doesn’t shake. If anything, it gains strength with every word.
“But what you don’t know,” she says, “is that it stopped being a marriage of convenience. I fell in love with James. Completely. Unexpectedly. And whether there’s a clause or not, whether anyone believes it or not …
that ranch is my home. James is not just the man who helped me keep it.
He’s the one I want for the rest of my life. ”
You could hear a pin drop.
Her mother blinks rapidly, lips parting, searching for something to say. Her father clears his throat, looks at me, then back at Olivia. “Well,” he says quietly, “your grandfather would’ve liked that answer.”
Caroline hides a grin behind her napkin. “Finally, someone said it.”
The tension breaks like glass. A few chuckles, a sigh of relief. Olivia exhales, her shoulders lowering. I reach under the table, find her hand, and squeeze.
“You didn’t have to fight for me,” I murmur.
She squeezes back. “You’re wrong. I did. You’re worth it.”
Her mother takes a slow sip of wine, the color finally returning to her face. “Well,” she says lightly, “I suppose that settles that.”
Dinner picks back up, the conversation cautious but warmer. Olivia laughs again, this time real and bright. Every time she does, my chest gets a little tighter.
When the plates are cleared, Olivia takes my hand. “Come, I want to show you my old bedroom.”
Her old room looks like a magazine spread with pale gold walls, shelves lined with trophies and framed school photos, a canopy bed dressed in linen instead of quilts.
Everything’s neat, untouched, preserved like time stopped the moment she left.
She stands near the window, fingertips tracing the edge of a childhood photo—her on horseback, ten years old and smiling like she had no idea what heartbreak was.
“So this is where you grew up,” I say softly.
She nods. “This is it.”
I move closer, glancing around at the crystal lamps, the glossy floors. “You sure you’ll be happy trading this for wood smoke and wind?”
She turns, eyes catching mine. “James … this was never home. It was just a place I slept. The ranch feels like breathing again. And you …” her voice softens “… you feel like the reason I want to.”
I let out a slow breath. “I just needed to hear it.”
“Then hear it,” she says, stepping into my space until her palm rests flat against my chest. “You are my home. The rest is just scenery.”
I wrap my arms around her while the city sparkles outside her old bedroom windows — a thousand lights stretching farther than the eye can see.
“Guess you just told the whole world you’re mine,” I whisper.
She smiles up at me, eyes soft and certain. “I told them the truth.”
For a long moment, we just stand there. Outside, snow begins to fall again, soft against the glass, the city lights turning it to silver dust. And for a cowboy who’s never belonged in a city, I’ve never felt more at home than right here, beside her.