Chapter 22
Cash
The sun had set and night was in full swing, the stars above a riot of sparkles in the inky blackness.
I sat in my truck outside the parsonage that was almost completely dark.
Only one window was illuminated, the one to Mike’s study.
I knew he was home and he must be reading.
However, I couldn’t quite bring myself to go inside just yet.
Guilt still clawed at my belly for the way I’d blown up on him after his sermon.
It seemed this was the dance we’d been doing since the tornado.
I’d push him and he would give in, then he’d push me back and I would storm out in a huff.
Rinse and repeat until we were both so fucking wound up that we could barely function around one another.
But it had been more than that too. There were those little moments of peace between us, the ones that showed me that we could find some sort of balance.
I was longing for that now, that carefree and supportive atmosphere that seemed to follow Mike everywhere.
He was so good at being… well, good. And I… wasn’t.
I rubbed my face with both hands, trying to summon the courage to get out of the truck and face the music. The letter from my father was still crumpled in my fist, and I smoothed it out against the steering wheel, reading it one more time in the dim light from the dashboard.
Maybe you need the land too.
Those words kept echoing in my head, mixing with Mike’s sermon about finding the courage to return home. It was like the universe was conspiring against me, trying to convince me to do something I’d sworn I’d never do.
Stay in Sagebrush.
The very thought made my stomach clench with panic.
This place had nearly destroyed me once.
What made me think it wouldn’t do it again?
But then I thought about Mike’s face when he’d spotted me in that back pew, the way his whole expression had lit up like I’d given him some kind of gift just by showing up.
I thought about the way he’d made me breakfast this morning, the careful way he’d taken care of me when I was too nervous to eat.
I thought about the way it felt to wake up next to him, solid and warm and real.
“Fuck,” I muttered, shoving the letter into my pocket and finally opening the truck door.
The night air was cool against my skin as I walked up the front steps.
I could see Mike through the window of his study, hunched over a book at his desk, lamplight casting a golden glow over his features.
He looked tired, probably from the stress of his first sermon and then dealing with my dramatic exit afterward in front of the entire goddamn congregation.
I stood on the porch for a long moment, not feeling like I was allowed to just walk in anymore.
My hand was raised to knock, and I was lost in thought trying to figure out what the hell I was going to say to him.
Sorry for being an asshole seemed like a good place to start, but it didn’t feel like nearly enough.
Before I could second-guess myself any further, I knocked softly on the door.
The sound of Mike’s chair scraping against the floor carried through the house, followed by his footsteps approaching the front door. When he opened it, his face went through a series of expressions. There was relief, concern, and something that might have been quiet fury.
“Cash,” he said quietly. “I wasn’t sure you were coming back.”
“Yeah, well,” I said, suddenly finding it hard to meet his eyes. “Neither was I.”
He stepped back to let me in, and I followed him into the living room where we stood facing each other awkwardly. The silence stretched between us, heavy with all the things we weren’t saying.
“I’m sorry,” I said finally, the words coming out rougher than I’d intended. “About this afternoon. About stormin’ off like that after your sermon.”
Mike’s shoulders relaxed slightly. “You don’t have to apologize. I know it was... a lot. I should have warned you that I was going to get personal up there.”
“No,” I shook my head, pulling the crumpled letter from my pocket. “You were right. About all of it.”
Mike’s eyes widened slightly as he looked at the letter in my hands. “What’s that?”
“A letter from my father,” I said, smoothing out the creases. “Found it in my truck. Been carryin’ it around for weeks without openin’ it.” I held it out to him. “Turns out the old bastard had some things to say after all.”
Mike took the letter carefully, like it might crumble at his touch. His eyes moved across the page, and I watched his expression change as he read. When he got to the part about my mother’s ring, his breath caught audibly.
“Cash,” he said softly, looking up at me. “This is...”
“An apology ten years too late?” I suggested, but there wasn’t as much bite in my voice as there usually was.
“A letter full of love,” Mike corrected, folding the paper carefully. “From a father who was too proud and too scared to say these things while he was alive.”
I felt my throat tighten at his words. “Don’t make it into somethin’ it’s not, Mike. He still kicked me out. He still chose his reputation over his son.”
“And he regretted it every day after,” Mike said, stepping closer. “You can see it in every word he wrote. The man was broken, Cash. Broken and sorry and hoping against hope that you’d come home so he could make it right.”
I turned away from him, running my hands through my hair. “Well, he waited too long, didn’t he? Can’t make amends with a dead man.”
“No,” Mike agreed quietly. “But you can forgive one.”
I spun back to face him, anger flaring hot in my chest. “Forgive him? After what he put me through? After the things he said?”
“Not for him,” Mike said, his voice steady and calm in the face of my fury. “For you. Because carrying all that anger around is eating you alive, and we both know it.”
I wanted to argue with him, to tell him he didn’t know what the hell he was talking about. But the words stuck in my throat because he was right. The anger I’d been carrying for ten years was like acid in my veins, poisoning everything it touched. Including whatever this thing was between us.
“I don’t know how,” I admitted, the fight going out of me as suddenly as it had come. “I don’t know how to let it go. It’s… It’s all I’ve got.”
Mike set the letter down on the coffee table and moved closer, his hands coming up to frame my face.
“You start small,” he said, his thumbs brushing across my cheekbones.
“You start by admitting that maybe, just maybe, there’s a part of you that wants to stay here.
That wants to give this place another chance.
Because I see that in you, Cash. I’ve caught glimpses of it here and there. ”
My heart hammered against my ribs as I looked into his eyes, seeing nothing but patience and understanding there. No judgment, no pressure. Just quiet acceptance of whatever I decided.
“I’m scared,” I admitted so quietly I barely heard it myself.
“Everyone is scared,” Mike replied just as softly. “That’s just part of being alive.”
“I know,” I whispered back, my voice barely audible. “But what if I stay and it all goes to shit again? What if this town hasn’t changed as much as everyone says it has?”
Mike’s hands were still cupping my face, his thumbs tracing gentle patterns across my skin. “Then we’ll deal with it. Together.”
The word ‘together’ hit me like a punch to the gut. We’d established boundaries, said this was just sex, nothing more. But standing here in his living room with his hands on my face and my father’s letter between us, those boundaries felt as flimsy as tissue paper. And we both knew it.
“Mike,” I started, but he shook his head.
“I know what we said,” he murmured. “I know the rules we made. But Cash, I can’t pretend anymore that this is just physical for me. I can’t pretend that I don’t care about what happens to you.”
My breath caught in my throat. “Don’t say that.”
“Why not? It’s the truth.”
“Because it makes everything harder,” I said, my hands coming up to cover his. “Because I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to stay in one place, how to trust that someone won’t just... leave when things get difficult.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Mike said firmly. “I signed a five-year contract with this church, remember? Even if I wanted to run, I couldn’t.”
I let out a shaky laugh. “That’s supposed to be reassuring?”
“It’s supposed to be honest.” His forehead pressed against mine. “I’m here, Cash. For better or worse, I’m here. The question is whether you want to be here too.”
I closed my eyes, feeling the weight of the decision pressing down on me.
Everything in me screamed to run, to get in my truck and drive until Sagebrush was nothing but a speck in my rearview mirror.
But there was something else too, something quieter but more persistent.
The memory of this morning’s sunrise over familiar land.
The satisfaction of helping Rowan with that calf.
The way Mike’s face had lit up when he’d seen me in that church pew.
And the way it felt to wake up next to him… I liked that more than anything else.
“The ranch is a fuckin’ mess,” I said finally, my eyes still closed. “The house is gone, most of the fencing is shot to hell, the barn is flat, and I don’t even know if the land is still good for cattle.”
I felt Mike’s smile against my forehead. “That sounds like a yes.”
“That sounds like a maybe,” I corrected, opening my eyes to meet his. “A very tentative, probably-gonna-regret-this, maybe.”
“I’ll take it,” he said, and then his mouth was on mine, soft and sweet and full of promise.
When we broke apart, I rested my forehead against his shoulder, breathing in his familiar scent. “You know this is crazy, right?” I murmured against his neck. “A month ago I barely wanted to be in the same state as this place.”
“A month ago I was still unpacking boxes and wondering if I’d made the biggest mistake of my life coming here,” Mike replied, his arms tightening around me. “Funny how things change.”
I pulled back to look at him, studying the gentle planes of his face in the lamplight. “What are you sayin’?”
“I’m saying maybe we’re both exactly where we’re supposed to be.” His hand found mine, fingers intertwining. “Maybe this whole mess with the tornado, with you losing those buyers, maybe it was all leading to this moment.”
“You sound like a preacher,” I said, but there was no heat in it.
“I am a preacher,” he grinned. “And I happen to believe that sometimes God, or the universe, or whatever you want to call it, conspires to put people where they need to be, even when they’re fighting it every step of the way.”
I thought about that for a moment, about all the things that had had to go wrong to get me here. The failed sale, the tornado, even my father’s death. It was either the world’s worst luck or something else entirely.
“So what happens now?” I asked, suddenly feeling vulnerable again. “If I stay, I mean. What does that look like?”
Mike’s thumb traced across my knuckles. “Well, first you’d need somewhere to live while you rebuild. The parsonage has plenty of space.”
“Mike...”
“I’m not asking you to move in permanently,” he said quickly. “Just... practically speaking. You’ve already been living here anyway. No one will think twice about it just taking a bit longer.”
He was right about that. And the thought of waking up next to him every morning for more than just a few stolen nights here and there made something warm unfurl in my chest.
“And second?” I asked.
“Second, you’d need help with the ranch. Rowan told me he offered you work at the clinic. And Brooks knows every contractor and rancher in three counties. You wouldn’t have to do it alone. They’re your family.”
The word ‘family’ hit me harder than it should have.
I’d been alone for so long I’d forgotten what it felt like to have people in my corner.
But here in Sagebrush, somehow I’d managed to collect a small group of people who actually gave a damn what happened to me even though I’d attempted to push them away every chance I got.
“And third?” I pressed.
Mike’s cheeks flushed slightly. “Third, we figure out what this is between us. Without timelines or exit strategies. Just... see where it goes. If you’re okay with that.”
My heart hammered against my ribs. “That’s terrifying.”
“I know.” He stepped closer, his free hand coming up to cup my cheek. “But if it was easy, it wouldn’t be worth pursuing.”
I leaned into his touch, closing my eyes as I let myself imagine it.
Staying here, rebuilding the ranch, waking up next to Mike Johnson every morning.
It should have sent me running for the hills.
Instead, it filled me with a kind of warm buzz that I couldn’t remember feeling since I was a kid.
It almost had the same feeling as coming downstairs on Christmas morning and seeing the room filled with presents.
The excitement was familiar, but strange at the same time.
It had been a long time since I dared to be happy.
“Alright,” I nodded at last. “I’ll… give it a try.”
Mike smiled, pressing his lips against mine. “That’s all I can ask.”