Chapter 27
The warmth of Grams’s house wrapped around them like a soothing balm after the harrowing cold of the storm.
The fire in the bedroom fireplace crackled softly, casting flickering light across the room and chasing the shadows from the corners.
Charlotte stood by the window, her arms crossed tightly, her profile illuminated by the golden glow.
She stared out into the snow-draped night, but Cowboy could tell her mind was somewhere else entirely.
He lingered in the doorway, his body aching from the bruises and scrapes he’d collected over the last twenty-four hours.
The adrenaline was long gone now, leaving behind a bone-deep weariness.
But when he looked at her—when he saw her standing there, alive, safe, her red hair falling over her shoulder in soft waves—none of that mattered.
"Charlotte," he said quietly, his voice rough.
She turned at the sound, her eyes locking on his. There was so much unspoken between them, so much weight from the events of the past days, but also the thread of something deeper, something neither of them had fully acknowledged before now.
"You should rest,” she said, her voice soft but edged with concern.
He stepped into the room, shaking his head. "I’m fine. I’ve been through worse."
Her lips pressed into a thin line, and he could see the argument forming in her eyes. But instead of scolding him, she sighed and turned back to the window. "I thought for sure you were going to die out there," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "I thought I was going to lose you."
The vulnerability in her words hit him square in the chest. He crossed the room in a few strides, his hands finding her shoulders and turning her to face him. She looked up at him, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears, and it was like something inside him cracked wide open.
"You didn’t lose me," he said firmly. "I’m right here. And I’m not going anywhere."
Her lips trembled, and for a second, she looked like she might argue. But then she leaned into him, her forehead resting against his chest, and the fight seemed to drain out of her. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close, his hand resting against the back of her head as he held her.
"I was so scared," she murmured. "I kept thinking about all the things I never said. All the things I never did."
He tilted her chin up, forcing her to look at him. "You can say them now," he said. "You can do them now. Whatever it is, Charlotte. I’m here. I love you.”
“Did you see the glow of the lighthouse tonight? After the shooting at the bay?”
“I did.”
“That’s when I knew I hadn’t lost you. I knew you must be okay.” A tear fell down her cheek and he wiped it away.
“I love you.”
She turned into his arms and they collapsed onto the bed, Cowboy cradling her against him as if she were the most precious thing in his world. His hands roamed over her back, her waist, as if reassuring himself that she was really there, whole and alive.
A week ago, he would have asked her to marry him for the fiftieth time, thinking this time she would surely see how good they would be as husband and wife, but the thought didn’t even cross his mind.
“Charlotte," he murmured against her lips, his voice thick with emotion.
“Do you know how much better my life is with you in it?”
She cupped his face in her hands, her eyes searching his. "You won’t have to find out," she said. "I’m not going anywhere."
They kissed again, slower this time, the urgency giving way to something softer, more deliberate.
Cowboy’s hands found the hem of her sweater, his fingers brushing against her skin as he slid it upward.
She shivered at his touch, her breath hitching as she pulled back just enough to let him lift the garment over her head.
The firelight danced across her bare skin, highlighting every curve, every shadow, and Cowboy couldn’t help but marvel at her shape. "You’re so beautiful,” he said, his voice husky.
She laughed softly, the sound both shy and full of affection. "You’re biased."
"Damn right I am," he replied, pulling her back to him.
Her breath hitched, and then she was kissing him, her hands tangling in his hair as she pulled him down to her.
The kiss was fierce, desperate, as if she were trying to pour all the emotions she couldn’t put into words into that single connection.
Cowboy responded without hesitation, his arms tightening around her as he kissed her back, his passion ramping up and taking her with him.
He stripped off her clothing piece by piece, his reverent stare taking in her naked body as if he’d seen it before. Her skin was flushed with excitement, and liquid heat pooled between her legs, telling him she was ready for him to love her.
Could it be possible he’d just been standing in her front yard beneath the blazing Atlanta sun, terrified he’d never get to love her again, never feel the warmth of her stare upon him, never experience the peace that came from sitting next to her in a room?
Yet here he was, feeling all of those things and more, along with a sense of rebirth for their relationship that he never expected to happen.
He didn’t want to marry her.
He wanted to get to love her, just like this, for as long as she’d be willing to share her life.
And he already had that. He already had it all.
When they finally came together, it was like everything else fell away. The fear, the pain, the uncertainty—it all dissolved, leaving only the two of them. Cowboy held her close, his forehead resting against hers as they moved together, their breath mingling in the quiet of the room.
Afterward, they lay tangled on the couch, the fire warming their entwined bodies. Charlotte rested her head on Cowboy’s chest, her fingers tracing idle patterns on his skin. He ran his hand through her hair, his other arm wrapped around her waist, anchoring her to him.
He kissed the top of her head. If this was how Charlotte wanted things to be between them forever, then he was a lucky man indeed.