Chapter 23
Juniper
It’s been thirty-three days since the truth came out.
Thirty-three days since Tammy’s article scorched the veil off Ruin Ridge and turned a Sunday morning into something truly biblical.
Since Chester Hilbert was dragged out of his church in cuffs.
Thirty-three days of headlines and whispers, of victim statements and court dates.
Thirty-three days of people crossing the street to thank me or pretend I didn’t exist.
Forty-one charges. Assault. Coercion. Misconduct. Worse.
The DA says it’s the biggest case in the county’s history. I believe it. Because I lived it.
And now?
Now, I’m selling my parent’s ranch. Not for the money. God knows I could use it, but that’s not the point. I don’t want the land my parents let rot while they defended a monster. I don’t want the porch that never saw laughter, or the barn where I learned to keep quiet.
I want peace.
I want Honey, my horse. I want Rhett so we can dance barefoot in our kitchen. I want the overlook at sunrise and the promise of something soft and wild blooming after the fire.
The morning is velvet and pink when I slip from the sheets, the sun just beginning to spill over the ridge. I saddle Honey with quiet hands in the barn after leaving Rhett a note.
You’ll know where to find me.
The climb to the overlook is familiar and she knows the way. When I reach the top, I dismount and sit cross-legged in the grass. The trees are starting to lose their leaves, and we’ll get a real snowfall before too long.
A bird calls in the distance. The wind picks up.
And I breathe.
After Chester was arrested I thought I might cry. I never have. But all I feel is stillness. Power.
Behind me, hooves crunch the earth. I don’t turn.
Not until he speaks.
“You leaving without me, sweetheart?”
I smile before I even look.
Rhett sits tall in the saddle, his black T-shirt hugging his shoulders, hair damp from the shower he probably sprinted through once he read my note.
“I knew you’d come after me,” I say over my shoulder.
He swings off his horse and joins me in the grass. We don’t speak for a while.
Eventually, I say, “Beau texted. Said the paperwork went through and the ranch goes on the market Monday. My parents have the weekend to vacate.”
“You sure?”
I nod. “I don’t want to be the girl who tried to survive on poisoned land. I want to plant something new. Somewhere else.”
He’s quiet.
Then he reaches into his pocket and pulls something out.
A ring.
It’s not flashy. The band’s a little bent. The stone is round, set in gold.
It’s perfect.
“I found it in the lockbox,” he says. “It was my mama’s.”
“Rhett—”
“I don’t know how to do this the right way,” he interrupts, eyes fierce. “But I know I want to do it. With you.”
He doesn’t get on one knee.
He just looks at me like I’m the only goddamn thing that’s ever made sense.
“You and me,” he says. “Porch swing. Sad girl music. Kids with your fire and my stubbornness. You say the word, sweetheart, and I’m yours. Forever.”
I choke on a laugh. “You just said the word, Slade.”
He grins. “Is that a yes?”
“Yes,” I whisper.
He slips the ring on my finger.
And just like that, everything starts.
One Week Later
Caleb leaves town in a U-Haul that’s seen better days. I don’t go out to watch, but I see him through the window of the bank. He looks like a man haunted by things he’ll never be able to change.
He came to see me once after Chester was arrested. Said he wished I had told him what had happened.
I did. He just didn’t listen.
Rhett thinks the guilt is what made him decide to finally leave town. Honestly, maybe it’s the truth. His truth, at least.
I turn to Rhett when he’s gone and say, “I hope it works out for him.”
Sawyer drops a bomb that same afternoon while we’re sitting in the office, Rhett’s hand on my knee.
“Tilly’s husband filed for divorce today.”
I blink. “Seriously?”
“He found out she slept with Chester, among several other men,” Sawyer says.
“I guess predators attract each other,” I mutter.
Rhett doesn’t say anything. Just sips his coffee and leans over to kiss the side of my head.
60 Days Later
I wear the white dress Rhett picked out for me when we ride to the overlook in his old truck. My hair’s down. I have my boots on. And it’s snowing.
Sawyer officiates. Tammy takes photos. Rhett’s hand doesn’t leave mine, not even when we fumble through the vows.
“You’ve seen me at my worst,” I whisper.
“I want to spend forever giving you my best,” he answers.
We kiss as the sun rises over the ridge. And in that golden light, I know the truth. Ruin Ridge tried to bury me.
But I wasn’t ruined.
I was the wildfire.
And now I burn for something good.
Six Months later
Rhett built our porch swing himself. Refused to let me help, even though I offered.
“Not this,” he said, arms crossed. “This one’s on me.”
It’s the kind of swing you see in movies. Wide enough for two. A deep, weathered stain and thick cushions I helped pick out. He hung it on the back porch, chains thick and sturdy.
Every night after dinner, we sit here. Sometimes we talk. Sometimes we don’t.
Sometimes we just hold hands and listen to the wind run its fingers through the tall grass.
And sometimes, he rests his head on my shoulder while I tell him what I’m going to name the foals next spring.
Tonight is different.
“I have something to tell you,” I say.
He turns, mug halfway to his lips. “Yeah?”
I nod, placing his hand on my belly. It’s flat still. Too early for anything else. But his eyes widen.
“No.”
I nod. “Yeah.”
And for a moment, he doesn’t speak.
Then he drops the mug letting coffee spilling across the porch and pulls me into his arms like he’s anchoring himself to this moment.
To me.
To us.
To what comes next.
“I love you, Juniper Slade.”
“And I love you.”