Chapter 26
Chapter Twenty-Six
Wyatt
“Ok, that’s the last box loaded onto the truck. Your things are in the back of mine,” I say, crossing the gravel toward her.
Emily is standing by the porch, looking up at the house one last time.
She’s wearing a soft lilac sundress, a thick cardigan slipping off one shoulder as the Oregon breeze catches the hem of her skirt.
The finality of the morning is written in the tension of her shoulders, and for the first time in years, I don’t hesitate.
I shift to her side and pull her back against my chest, tucking her small frame against my body, relishing the fact that I can do this now without second-guessing, no more pretending.
Pressing a kiss to the crown of her head, I breathe in the scent of her shampoo and the fading smell of the old mattress we slept on last night. Not that there was much sleep involved.
“You okay, baby?”
She sighs, leaning her weight into me. “Yeah.” Her voice quivers. “It’s just…this was my home for twenty-three years. Aside from college, this was the only place of our own that we had. Now it’s just…empty.”
“I know, sweetheart. It’s gonna feel weird for a while.”
“It does. But the weird part is…” She pulls back, her eyes searching mine with a sudden clarity. “It doesn’t feel like home anymore. It sounds crazy, but the second I crossed the state line back toward the ranch, that feeling of safety washed over me. Like that’s where I belong.”
I smile warmly at her. It radiates from inside me because that is her home. It always was, and it always will be.
“It is home, baby. It’s our home. And every road has led you back to it…I mean, you took a hell of a detour but…you’re coming home now.”
She sniffs out a tearful laugh and brings her lips to mine. “Then take me home, Cowboy.”
I nod. “You sure you’re okay to follow me in the SUV? I told you I can always get someone to pick it up.”
“I told you I’m fine, gives you time to think how you’re going to break the news to everyone.”
“Are you kidding? They’ve probably organized a parade because apparently, I’m the last one to realize how insanely in love with you I am. But it’s a long way, baby. You’re exhausted. Let me get Wes and Dayton to pick it up in a couple of days.”
She bites her lip, a playful glint returning to her eyes. “And what about taking Alex to school? No offense, Wyatt, but your dusty-ass truck is a disaster zone.”
I huff a laugh, and my thumb gently rubs against her chin. I can’t believe I’m about to say this. “Then you take him in that god-awful blue car. You know he loves that thing more than you do. And that’s saying something.”
She giggles, that beautiful melodic sound that I never thought I’d hear directed at me again. “He really does.”
“And he loves you,” I say, as I pull her waist flush against me. “You know, before I came out here, he told me he wished he had a mom like you.”
Her breath hitches, brows furrowing as the weight of those words sinks in and her eyes glaze over with fresh tears. “Wyatt…” Her lip trembles. “You know I love that boy like he’s my own, right?”
“I know you do, baby. I’ve seen it every damn day.” I press a final, lingering kiss to her forehead. “Now, let’s go tell him the good news.”
I lace my fingers with hers. It feels incredibly familiar, so right as I lead her toward my truck. Her hand in mine is so incredibly settling, I feel like I’m already addicted. Opening the door for her, my hand finds the small of her back as I help her into the cab.
“How do you think he’s going to react?” she asks, her eyes wide with excitement.
I climb into the driver’s seat and look at her, really taking her in. The woman who dismantled every wall I’ve ever built around myself without even trying. The woman who let me worship every inch of her perfect body last night, over and over again.
“Baby.” I smirk, cranking the engine. “That boy knew I was in love with you before I did. He’s probably already planned out the rest of our damn lives.”
I shift the truck into reverse, the gravel crunching under the heavy tires as we back out of the driveway of the only home she’s ever truly known.
I find myself glancing at the rearview mirror, expecting her to be watching the house fade away, expecting to see that flicker of grief return to her eyes.
But Emily doesn’t look back.
Not even once.
Her body is turned completely toward mine, her knees brushing against the center console.
As I reach for the gear stick to shift into drive, her hand finds mine. She covers my knuckles with her small palm, her fingers lacing through mine as we head for the main road.
It’s never felt so right.
She isn’t looking at the empty house or the life she lost. She’s looking at me with shimmering, hopeful eyes, and for the first time in four years, the road ahead of me doesn’t look so dark.