Chapter 23 Annie
Annie
Christmas was only two days away, and somehow, I’d managed to wait until the very last minute to wrap Ruby’s gifts.
The living room looked like a Santa-sized bomb had gone off—shredded rolls of paper, tangled ribbon, and glittering bows scattered across the hardwood.
I felt buried in the chaos, but at least I wasn’t alone.
Brooks was here, sitting cross-legged on the floor with me, both of us armed with tape and scissors, two half-empty glasses of wine within reach.
The fire crackled in the hearth, soft Christmas music floated through the air, and the tree glowed with twinkling lights, its tinsel catching every flicker of flame and starburst of color.
For all the mess on the floor, the room still felt magical, as if the season itself had slipped beneath my skin and was humming through my veins.
Brooks concentrated hard on the package in front of him, tongue caught slightly between his teeth as he folded the corners just so.
I’d already learned he had a surprising amount of patience when it came to things like this.
He wanted it perfect, just like the others stacked neatly beneath the tree.
I looked at the growing pile. Where on earth was I even going to hide them all? Usually, I stashed presents in the spare room Brooks had been staying in. The thought of asking him to take on that responsibility, too, made me hesitate. I knew if I asked, he’d say yes without a second thought.
That was the thing about Brooks. He said yes. Always. Not because he had to, but because he cared. Really cared.
Like the other night with Ruby. I’d been ready to step in when she was upset, but Brooks had gone instead.
He sat down on her floor, wrapped her in patience and quiet strength.
Their laughter carried down the hall moments later.
The sound had melted something deep in me, and maybe broken something too.
Because Ruby was attached to him. She’d grown close—closer than I’d expected—and now, he was leaving. The guilt sat heavy in my chest. If I’d known how much of an impact he would have on her…on me…would I have ever asked him to take this job?
It wasn’t regret. Not at all. But the thought of saying goodbye felt like it might hurt more than I’d prepared for.
Still, he didn’t have to be here tonight. He didn’t have to help me fight through ribbon that refused to curl or paper that kept tearing at the seams. He could’ve gone to bed, called it a night, and no one would’ve blamed him.
But here he was.
Brooks inspected the box he’d just finished with a critical eye before setting it on the pile, looking more than a little pleased with himself.
Long legs stretched out across the rug now, his weight supported by the couch as his presence filled the room, steady and grounding.
“I don’t think I’ve ever wrapped this many presents in my life,” he admitted, his voice warm with amusement.
“Christmas with the Cringle girls is never a dull moment,” I said, with a crooked grin.
Brooks returned it with one that sparked in his eyes, too. My heart tripped over itself at how easy he made everything feel.
“But my fingers need a break.”
“You don’t have to stay up, you know,” I said softly, though a part of me desperately wanted him to. “You’ve already helped me so much.”
Brooks shook his head without hesitation. “Oh, no. I’m seeing this one through.”
The firelight danced across his face, throwing shadows along his jaw, catching in his hair.
And in that moment—with the mess of wrapping paper all around us, the warmth of the wine in my chest, and his easy determination anchoring me—I realized that no matter how temporary this was supposed to be, Brooks had already wrapped himself into everything that mattered.
I needed a break, too. My fingers were stiff from folding corners and pulling ribbon, and my head felt fuzzy from too much focus and maybe from the wine.
Pushing myself to my feet, I stepped carefully around the battlefield of paper scraps and bows littering the floor.
With a soft sigh, I plopped down on the rug beside him, close enough to feel his warmth radiating, the fire crackling directly in front of us.
The room seemed different now. The music hummed low and sweet, the fire popped and hissed, and the wine settled deep in my chest like a glow I didn’t want to shake off. The mood had shifted, subtle but undeniable.
“Where are you headed after this?” I asked, keeping my eyes fixed on the flames as if they might hold me steady. I didn’t dare glance his way, not when my chest felt tight with nerves.
He turned slightly, and I felt the weight of his attention even without looking. “After I leave Snowberry Peak?”
“Yeah,” I said, my voice softer than I intended. “Any great and epic plans? Any fun clowning you’ve got lined up?”
That earned a low chuckle. Brooks shifted so he was leaning against the couch, turned fully toward me now. I could feel his gaze skimming the side of my face, hot and steady, like he could cut straight through me with those whiskey-colored eyes.
“Did you just say fun clowning?”
A smirk tugged at my lips as I stared down into my glass, pretending to study the wine. My eyes flicked up briefly to meet his. “Yup.”
He shook his head, grinning faintly. “No, no fun clowning. But…I was thinking maybe about heading down south.”
My brows pinched. “What’s down there?”
Brooks shrugged, casual in his words, though his eyes didn’t waver from mine. “Nothing specific. Just…a change of scenery.”
I looked away quickly, unable to hold the weight of that gaze. The warmth between us shifted, cracked like the firewood on the hearth. Something tight and unspoken twisted in my chest.
“Annie.”
My name fell from his mouth with that steady gentleness he always seemed to carry. His voice wasn’t demanding, but it nudged at me, urging me to let down the wall I’d just pulled up. He’d sensed the change, the unease I’d brought into the room.
“What?”
“Look at me.”
“No.”
Brooks chuckled, low and warm, the sound tugging at my chest.
“You sound just like Ruby,” he teased. “She said the same thing when I went to talk to her in her room.”
I managed a smile, faint but real. “Like mother, like daughter, that way too, I guess.”
His brow arched. “What does that mean?”
I exhaled slowly, tilting my head back against the couch, letting the firelight play across my vision as I rolled my neck. Then, finally, I looked at him. I met the gaze I’d been avoiding all night, and it pinned me in place.
I was going to miss Brooks.
I wanted time to slow down, to stretch this moment out until it wrapped around me like the blanket of warmth from the fire.
I liked the way he made me feel—steady and seen.
I liked the way he treated my daughter, as if she were his own.
Brooks Bennett was the kind of man you didn’t just let slip through your fingers.
Would it be selfish of me to ask him not to go south?
To not return to the rodeo world waiting for him?
What if I told him?
The thought burned through me like wildfire.
What if I admitted that I didn’t want him to leave? That I wanted him here, with us?
Fuck it.
“I don’t want to say goodbye,” I whispered, the words leaving me before I could second-guess them.
Brooks didn’t flinch. His expression stayed steady, his posture solid as if rooted to the couch.
Then, slowly, he leaned in, closing the space between us.
His hand came up to cradle my jaw, calloused but gentle, and his thumb dragged across my cheek in a tender sweep that made my breath catch.
His eyes searched mine with a depth that made me feel completely laid bare.
“I’ll tell you the same thing I told Ruby,” he murmured. “Just because I’m not here doesn’t mean I’m gone. I’ll come back whenever you need me, Red.”
The nickname curled through me like warmth, melting me from the inside out. My lips curved, a shaky chuckle slipping free.
“I like it when you call me that.”
His grin deepened, rough edges softening. “Good. Because you’re stuck with it. I’ll always be one call away for you and that little girl down the hallway. Do you understand me?”
I nodded, but the ache inside me didn’t ease. His words were sweet, meaningful, everything a woman would want to hear—but they didn’t erase the reality. He would still be gone, still chasing something on the road, while I stayed here.
And then the thought that had been pressing against my ribs all night slipped out before I could stop it.
“What if you find someone and settle down?” My voice cracked, betraying the fear laced through the question. “How would they feel about me calling you if I needed you? If I…if I was craving your touch?”
The air shifted between us, thick and heavy. Brooks’ breath hitched, his thumb stilled against my skin, and for the first time that night, his composure faltered.
“Red…” His voice was rough, low, like gravel caught in his throat.
I swallowed, the weight of his hand anchoring me in place, the heat of him spilling into me. I set my wine glass down on the floor. “I don’t want to just call you. I want you here. With me. With Ruby.”
Brooks’ jaw flexed. His thumb traced a slow, torturous line across my bottom lip, and my chest rose sharply at the intimate touch.
“I want to be the only woman you touch. the only woman you think about. The thought of you away from here, meeting someone new, touching someone else, makes me sick.”
We were so close, his touch still grounding me to this reality, the one where I laid it all out for him to hear.
My fingers came up, touching his hand pressed against me.
“You’re playing with fire,” he murmured, though there wasn’t a single ounce of warning in his tone.
“Maybe I like fire.”
That was all it took.