Chapter 25 #2
A thousand feelings jostled in my chest. Relief. Anger. Joy. Hurt. Love. It was all there.
“You left,” I heard myself say. “You said you weren’t sure you could stay, and then you left.”
“I know,” he said, the words soft. “I’m sorry.
I wasn’t sure if you’d want me to stay. Or if you…
” He took a breath. “The fact is, I missed you. I’d forgotten about the contract until Browne told me it was fulfilled.
Then, when I brought it up a few days later, you said nothing, and I didn’t know.
But when I got to Denver…” He shook his head.
“It felt wrong. The office felt wrong. The apartment felt wrong. Everything looked exactly like I’d left it, and none of it felt like home. ”
“And your job?” I asked. “Reaper. Harris. The cases?”
“Still there,” he said. “Just… longer distance. They don’t need me in Denver. Not really. I can yell at rich people remotely just as effectively as I can in person.” His mouth twitched. “I believe the direct quote was, ‘Now get lost. I’m too old to listen to you mope.’”
A startled laugh escaped me. “Sounds like him.”
“I put in notice on the apartment. Packed my bag. The rest,” he gestured toward the pasture, the house, the life he’d somehow woven himself into, “is up here. If you’ll still have me.”
His voice wasn’t loud, but it carried right into my heart.
When he met my eyes, there wasn’t a single flinch. Just certainty, and the fear a man only feels when he’s holding his whole heart out in both hands.
“I love you, Milly.”
Three simple words. I’d heard them in movies, in songs, whispered between fictional lovers on pages I’d dog-eared. But never to me, never for me. Somehow that tiny variable made my heart both giggle and panic.
“You… love me.” My voice barely existed. It was more breath than sound.
I fought for a reply, any reply, but my throat locked.
A laugh slipped out instead, small, awkward, exactly how I felt.
Tears burned hot behind my eyes. The wind tugged at my hair, but nothing could pull my gaze from him.
Not when he was looking at me like I was the place he’d been trying to find his whole life.
My chest filled with a humble, aching warmth. And when our eyes met again, I saw it reflected back at me, the purest truth, shining in the same man I’d been falling for, piece by piece, for months.
He shifted the plant to one arm, like he needed the other free in case I broke, or ran, or reached for him.
My heart hammered so hard I was sure he could hear it. Maybe he did. Maybe that was why he stepped closer, slow and careful, ready to catch me.
“If you’ll have me,” he said, his voice low and trembling at the edges, “I’d like to come home. Home to you.”
A laugh bubbled out past the tears. I swiped at my cheeks with the edge of my sleeve.
I stared at him, at the plant, at the snow starting to drift down in lazy spirals. My heart had already decided, days ago, weeks ago, maybe the first time he stepped off that bus with his duffel and his careful eyes, that I loved him.
The rest of me just needed to catch up.
“She left you to me,” I said simply. “In all the ways she couldn’t write into the will. The ranch, the clinic, the community, that was all just… stage dressing. The real inheritance was you.”
The words surprised me as they came out. But once they were there, they rang true.
Austin’s throat worked. His eyes went bright.
“Milly,” he said.
“Yes?” My voice shook.
“I love you,” he said again, softer this time, the words meant only for me and the quiet winter air between us.
“Not because your aunt hired me to look out for you. Somewhere in the middle, it stopped being duty, or one last mission. It was you. You wiggled your way into my heart and made yourself at home. You are the best thing that’s ever happened to me. ”
The tears I’d been fighting finally slipped free, hot against my cold cheeks. I didn’t bother wiping them away.
“I love you too,” I whispered, the words trembling out of me. The same words I’d wanted to say for months.
He let out a breathy, relieved laugh.
“Being with you never felt like a trap,” I said. “But losing you did.”
His eyes closed for a moment, a smile playing at his lips. When he opened them again, the fear that had lived there for weeks was gone. Completely gone.
“Can I—” He cleared his throat, voice rough. “Can I come in?”
Instead of answering, I stepped off the threshold and straight into his arms. His coat was cold, but his hold was warm and tight, making my chest ache.
“You can,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt. “On one condition.”
“Name it,” he murmured, willing to agree to anything.
“Don’t ever leave me again.”
He set the plant gently on the porch rail, as if even that deserved care. Then he reached for my hands, his gloved fingers closing around mine with a promise that felt bigger than the words.
“I won’t,” he said. And I believed him.
A watery laugh escaped me, half relief, half disbelief that this moment was real.
“Okay then,” I said, breath catching. “Welcome home, Austin.”
He pulled me back into his arms and walked me backward into the house. The plant was forgotten on the rail somewhere, his duffel on the porch, and his arms around my waist.
He pulled close and kissed me on the nose, then leaned in, hands lifting to cup my face with a gentleness that made my knees buckle. His thumbs brushed away the tears on my cheeks.
When his lips met mine, it was nothing like the frantic, terrified kisses before the airport. This one was slow.
The world narrowed to the warmth of his mouth, the scratch of stubble against my skin, his breath mingling with mine, and his hands holding me against him.
Snow from his hair fell in wet droplets, and my hands shook as I grabbed the back of his jacket.
Cold air nipped at my ears, but the kiss was all heat.
Austin smiled against my mouth. The kiss deepened.
When we finally pulled back, our foreheads rested together, the door still open, letting snow fall inside.
“You’re really here,” I said, catching my breath.
“I’m really here,” he said. “And I’m really not leaving again. Not unless you kick me out. And maybe not even then.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I murmured.
We stood there for a moment, just breathing the same air. Then reality nudged.
“The bonfire,” I said suddenly. “Everyone’s coming over in about an hour. The whole town. Sue. Cassie. Mason. They’re expecting soup and rolls and…”
Austin kissed me again to stop me from rambling. I didn’t mind.
When he pulled back, his eyes crinkled. “I know. Mason told me when I texted him and told him I was coming home. It was my idea, hoping you’d take me back. I even booked a room at the inn, just in case.”
“You thought of everything except one thing.” I looked at him, eyebrows raised. “Did you really think I’d let you stay at the inn?”
I kissed him again for good measure, and because I wanted to. We carried his duffel inside, set the plant on the kitchen windowsill, and then headed out toward the pasture.
The pile of scrap lumber sat where Duke had stacked it earlier, a rough heap of broken boards, tree limbs, stumps, anything that would burn.
Austin pulled me close. His warmth felt like home.
He tipped his head, acknowledging a far point.
Headlights appeared at the lane. First, Sue’s SUV, then Mason and Cassie’s truck, followed by Duke’s old Ford, and a smattering of smaller cars. Within thirty minutes, our pasture was full.
“Who knows you’re here?” I asked, shivering a little.
“Just Mason and Janet.” He winced. “I didn’t want to make it a big deal in case you sent me packing.”
“As if that would ever happen. But I thought the bonfire was to burn the last of the barn.”
“That too, but as soon as it’s over, I want to hear about the grand opening and all your patients. I’m so sorry I wasn’t there.” Austin kissed my forehead.
“I know.” It wouldn’t do any good to tell him I’d been a miserable mess without him and almost didn’t open the clinic until spring. “But on the bright side,” I smiled so big my cheeks hurt, “here comes Sue.”
“Where did you want…” Sue froze mid-step, struggling to hold a giant pot. Her glasses slid down her nose.
“Austin James Adams,” she said slowly, using her librarian voice. “You’d better be real, or I have finally snapped.”
Austin lifted a hand. “Hey, Sue.”
She shoved the pot at Levi and marched straight toward him. She threw her arms around his middle and squeezed tight.
“Don’t you ever leave like that again,” she scolded into his coat. Her voice shook. “I’m so glad you’re back I could both cry and hit you.”
“I won’t, ma’am,” he said, his voice muffled. “I promise.”
Cassie and Levi came next, grinning like loons.
Mason hung back, smirking. Sarah smacked his shoulder. “How could you keep this from me?”
“You owe me twenty bucks,” Cassie told Levi.
“No, you owe me twenty,” Levi countered. Cassie’s mouth opened, then closed as she playfully glared at Mason.
“You both owe me twenty,” Sue sniffed. “Nobody listened when I said God and Penny had this all worked out.”
Duke arrived last, hands stuffed in his pockets, hat pulled low. He nodded once at Austin.
“Back,” he said.
“Yeah,” Austin said, then looked at me from the corner of his eye.
Duke grunted. “Milly’s happy. That’s enough.”
It was Duke’s equivalent of a full blessing.
“High praise,” Levi joked, and Duke huffed.
We lit the fire together. The flames caught slowly at first, creeping along the edges of the scrap wood. Then they leapt, orange and gold and hungry, devouring the twisted boards.
I stood back, heat warming my cheeks, snow crunching under my boots. Austin stood beside me, one hand at the small of my back, right where he belonged. Beside me.
Sue prayed, bowing her head, her voice strong and clear over the crackle. Mittened hands folded around her cup.