12. Dawson
CHAPTER 12
DAWSON
I get Rosalie in the truck and grip the wheel like it’s the only thing keeping me tethered. She chatters about the pregnancy. She tells me that she’s counting down the days until she can drink coffee again without feeling like a traitor to her own body. Then she talks about the last six weeks on the godforsaken ranch. I hate the thought of my girl with a bunch of asshole cowboys, but I keep my mouth shut.
She’s mine again. And my world feels right.
I answer at least fifty questions about Cat who Rosalie still insists on calling Garth. Meanwhile, my pulse pounds in my ears, drowning out everything except the sound of her beside me. I take in the cadence of her voice. The way she huffs every time I dodge one of her more pointed inquiries and the way she’s here… With me.
I’ll never take her for granted again.
I keep my focus because I can’t get off this ranch fast enough. Not because I want to leave Kingridge, though I sure as hell do. But because I need to get her to where we’re going. It isn’t finished yet, not even close, but I hope it’s enough to prove to her that I’ve changed.
I’m not the man who let her slip away before.
I punch the address into my phone and my stomach tightens. It’s my first time visiting this place too, and the thought twists something sharp in my chest. I barely glance at the screen before pulling onto the road.
Rosalie is beside me, close enough for me to reach out and trace my fingers over the back of her hand. I do and the quiet satisfaction settles in my bones. I know she thinks she’s gearing up for a drive back to Misty Mountain, but I don’t want to ruin the surprise. When I ease onto the shoulder fifteen minutes later, she looks at me with wide eyes.
“What? What’s wrong? Do you want me to drive for a while?” Rosalie turns, brows knitting together.
I let out a slow breath. The silence between us thickens. It’s weighted with something unspoken. This is it.
“No,” I say, gripping the wheel. “We’re pretty much there. This is where we were heading.” I hit the brakes, then make a left, guiding us onto a dirt road. The truck bounces as I search for the mile markers.
“What?” Rosalie’s jaw falls open, but I keep my eyes on the path ahead.
Dust billows in the rearview mirror, thick and golden in the late afternoon sun. The land stretches out before us, open, raw, and flat as hell. Then finally, I see it. My heart slams against my ribs as I kill the engine.
Adrenaline pushes me forward before I can say a word. I shove open the door, rounding the truck before Rosalie can start firing questions my way. I pull her door open and gesture outward.
“Welcome to Plot 78.” I put my arm up. “Look at the mountain.”
She turns to me, her brow furrowed, eyes flashing with skepticism.
“Dawson, sweetheart,” she says, voice slow and measured. “Have you completely lost your mind?”
I huff out a laugh, shaking my head. “I think I might have, yeah.”
We walk the outline of our six-acre property, one step at a time. We are hand in hand and it feels right. The land is quiet and untouched. There aren’t any towering pines like back in Misty Mountain. But there are plenty of sturdy oaks with their sprawling branches stretching toward the sky. Low brush and wild grasses blanket the ground and somewhere in the distance, a deer lifts its head at the sound of our footsteps, ears twitching before it vanishes into the tree line.
Rosalie’s fingers tighten around mine as we move, her gaze sweeping over the land, taking in every detail. I watch her carefully, searching for any sign of what she’s thinking, but she’s unreadable—just quiet, observant.
I clear my throat, steadying myself. “I knew you needed to be close to your sister, so I drew a boundary around that damned ranch and searched for a place to build. Somewhere that could be ours.”
She looks up at me, curiosity flickering in her eyes.
“But the reason I picked this spot,” I say, giving her hand a light squeeze, “is because of that. We have our own mountain.”
I nod toward the rise in the center of the property. It’s not much—just a hill by any reasonable standard—but here, in the middle of all this open land, it stands tall.
Rosalie lets out a glassy-eyed giggle, tilting her head as she studies it. “You’re calling that a mountain?”
I grin. “Sure. In Colorado, we’d call it a hill,” I admit. “But from what I can tell, it might be the highest point in Texas.”
She shakes her head, but she’s smiling now, laughter still in her eyes. It makes something inside me loosen, just a little.
I take a breath and keep going. “I’ve got a team back in Misty Mountain working on every piece of our dream home. We’ve been at it around the clock. We’re building it there and assembling it here. Now that we’ve got a new family member on the way, we’ll have to make a few adjustments, but that’s fine. We’ll figure it out. All those years in the military weren't for nothing. We are secure. I’ve invested and saved for a life I didn’t know I’d get another chance at. But I promise you, I can take care of us from here on out… Forever.”
Rosalie’s lips part slightly, her breath catching. Tears cascade down her cheeks. “Dawson,” is all she says. But she leans into me and I wrap my arms around her.
I kiss the top of her head. “I stayed at the inn for three months so they could start this project. Of course, I didn’t expect to have them put it together in Texas, but I also didn’t expect you to walk back into my life either.” I give her a small, lopsided smile. “So I’m counting that as a win.”
Her eyes well with tears, her chest rising on an unsteady inhale.
“Dawson,” she whispers, her voice thick with emotion. “I’m sorry I doubted you for a single minute. You are incredible. I can’t believe you—this—any of it.” She presses a trembling hand to her mouth, shaking her head slightly before looking at me with nothing but love. “It’s always been you.”
And just like that, I know. She sees it. She feels it. She’s home in my arms.