24 | Gazin’ back
COLTON
I’m really fucking glad Clem is staying at my place tonight, or I wouldn’t have seen her all day.
I’ve been all over the ranch and out running errands since sunrise—dropped feed at the north pasture, fixed a busted hinge on the main barn gate, and helped Wells move the cattle before lunch.
He’s been stepping up more in my recent absence, and I appreciate it more than I let on.
Clem spent most of the day with him, learning about the calves.
I caught sight of her once—boots half-sunk in the mud, hair in some messy braid, laughing at something he said.
The sight stuck with me all damn afternoon.
There’s something about seeing her out there, sleeves rolled up, genuinely enjoying herself.
Not just playing dress-up in ranch clothes.
And hell, I don’t even think she realizes how natural she looks doing it. How right it feels watching her fit herself into the rhythm of this place, like the land’s already started claiming her back.
By the time I’m ready to go home, the sun’s low and the sky’s pinking at the horizon.
I check the stables, but Clem isn’t there. My office, the barn, even the hayloft—all empty.
I pass Wells on my way to Mama’s, and he pulls over his ATV. “Clementine’s at your place,” he says. “Mama gave her a key. She said she needed to get some work done. I dropped her off, hope you don’t mind.”
I turn on my heel, heading straight for my truck. “I don’t,” I call over my shoulder. “My place is her place.”
----
Back at my house, I toe off my mud-caked boots and step inside.
I pad down the hallway, push open the door, and there she is—curled up on the couch, laptop open, some faint tune humming from her phone speaker.
Her hair’s down now, loose and soft-looking, and she’s wearing one of my old shirts, sleeves rolled to her elbows.
I stop right there in the doorway and stand there a second, just looking at her.
It feels like something small and quiet settles inside me. I’ve come home to this house alone for years, and it’s never bothered me—not once. But now I don’t think it’ll ever feel whole again without her.
She glances up when she hears the floorboard creak and gives me that little smile of hers, the one that hits me square in the chest.
“Hey, cowboy,” she says, voice soft, like she’s been silent for a while. “Hope you don’t mind I let myself in.”
“I don’t,” I say, crossing to her. “How was your day?”
“Good. I helped Wells feed the calves and learned how to check their temps and tag them. Did you know they actually—”
I grin, cutting her off before she can start a full lecture. “You tryin’ to steal my job, Holliday?”
She rolls her eyes but laughs. “Not yet. But I might steal Wells’s.”
I bend down to kiss her forehead, hands braced on the back of the couch. “Wouldn’t surprise me if you did.”
She slides her laptop off her lap and wraps her arms around my neck. I kneel before her, let her kiss me slow—and fall harder than I ever have.
This is the life I want. Coming home to my girl who looks peaceful like this. Who isn’t just sitting pretty, but doing what she loves—working on her own things, helping at the ranch—just existing in a world that isn’t just mine, but hers too.
She pulls back, pressing a final kiss to my lips before standing. “Mama sent me home with a casserole—I’ll just pop it in the oven.”
She strides toward the kitchen like she’s done it a million times before. My shirt hangs down to her thighs, hair slipping off her shoulder as she bends to open the oven.
I catch a glimpse of her ass and have to look away before I start thinking unholy things in my living room.
My eyes land on her laptop instead.
The manuscript on the screen has track changes and margin notes—tight, organized and sharp.
She’s an editor through and through, words are her craft the way this land is mine.
But what gets me is the second tab—half-hidden behind her work one.
A veterinary blog open to an article about neonatal calf care.
Another about parasite control for horses.
I brace my arm on the back of the couch, just… staring.
She doesn’t know I’ve seen it, but it hits me like a ton of bricks—that she’s not just humoring me or playing tourist. She’s curious. She’s learning.
And it damn near wrecks me, realizing she might be starting to love this life the way I do. The way she used to.
“Something wrong?” she calls, voice drifting from the kitchen.
I shake my head, even though she can’t see it. “No, darlin’. Everything’s perfect.”
She peeks around the corner, suspicious. “You sure? You’re doing that thing.”
“What thing?”
“The quiet, pensive thing you do right before you start yelling at me for not dropping everything and moving in with you.”
I smirk. “I mean, you do look awfully good in my house, Tiny.”
She sighs. “Colt—”
“Just kiddin’, darlin’.”
----
Dinner’s long gone cold, but neither of us cares. We stay at the table talking until the casserole’s just crumbs, Clementine’s laughter brightening up the whole damn house.
When the plates are cleared and the moon’s climbing higher, I grab my jacket and nod toward the porch. “C’mon. Let’s go for a walk—let supper settle.”
Clem slips on her boots, then follows me out into the night.
There’s no real need for a jacket—it’s still warm out—but I’m hopin’ she gets cold anyway. I’m damn eager to give her mine.
Crickets hum somewhere off in the distance, and the stars—hell, the stars are endless out here. A whole mess of them scattered across the sky, twinkly little bastards.
We walk until the porch light fades behind us.
“I forgot how quiet it gets,” she murmurs. “The city never shuts up. Even at night, there’s sirens, people, traffic. I never seem to be able to even hear myself think.”
“And now?”
She looks at me. “Now I hear myself loud and clear.”
I grin. “Good thoughts?”
She holds my gaze for a beat, then nods slowly. She slides her small hand into mine, tilts her head back, and just stares. “God, these stars—they really are something else out here. I can barely even see them at home.”
“It’s because—”
“The city lights drown them out. I remember.”
That one hits me harder than I expect. I think back to that night in my old truck bed—her hair fanned out, the soft sounds she made when she came undone in my arms.
I swallow hard, forcing my voice steady. “You still remember the constellations I showed you?”
She hums. “Some of them. That one’s Orion, right?”
“Yeah.” I point, tracing the belt with my finger. “And that’s Cassiopeia—the queen sittin’ on her throne. See that little hook over there? That’s the Scorpion.”
She steps closer, shoulder brushing mine. “You still know them all.”
“I had to have somethin’ to look at while I was missin’ you.”
Her breath catches—just for a second. Then she looks at me, eyes reflecting starlight, and it’s over. I’m done for.
I lay my jacket down in the grass and tug her gently toward me. “Lie with me.”
She lowers herself beside me, fitting into the crook of my arm like her body was carved from mine.
We lie there side by side, the grass cool and damp beneath us, just staring up at the sky together.
When she turns to face me, I’m already there. Our lips meet, and we’re kissing.
It’s soft and slow—the slide of tongues and hands. No clothes come off, and there’s barely any grinding. We’re just searing ourselves into the moment. Claiming our spot in the universe—together.
When we finally break apart, both half-drunk and breathless, I look up at the sky again. The same constellations we watched years ago stare right back down at us.
“It’d be a damn shame to miss out on this view,” I murmur against her throat.
She smiles, eyes closed. “Guess I’ll have to stay a while, then.”
And God help me, I hope she means it.
----
Do we hope so too? ??????