Chapter 25
Becken
When I woke, dawn was cresting the horizon. I stared at the dark ceiling of my hotel room. Sleep had been impossible, my mind racing with my thoughts about the day ahead. Christmas morning. The day I would give Carla her gift and ask her to stay in Lonesome Creek.
We’d only known each other for a short time, but the connection between us ran deeper than time could measure.
I dressed in the shadows, pulling on dark jeans, a new button-down shirt Aunt Inla had insisted I needed, and my least-worn boots. No cowboy hat today. This wasn’t about playing a role for tourists. This was about being myself with the woman who mattered most.
Outside, Lonesome Creek slept under a fresh blanket of snow.
Christmas lights still twinkled on every building, though the streets were empty, everyone sleeping late after last night’s excitement.
Or they were sharing their own special morning inside their rooms. The birth of Ruugar and Beth’s daughter had been the perfect Christmas Eve miracle, bringing the community together to celebrate new life.
The memory of Carla holding Noma flashed through my mind. I’d always remember the wonder in her eyes, the gentle way she’d cradled the youngling, and the shift in her expression when she looked my way. That moment had given me hope that perhaps what I offered today might be enough.
No, that I would be enough.
Dungar waited on the steps of the sheriff’s office, steam rising from the mug in his hands. “There you are.”
“Yes, I’m here.”
“Nervous?”
“Realistic.” I stomped snow from my boots before following him inside. “She has options. Good ones.”
“So do you.” He closed the door while I took in his office on the right with a big, broad desk, and the jail cell on the left where tourists could play prisoner until someone “bailed” them out, with all the money raised going to charity.
“Do I?”
“Always.”
His office area had been transformed overnight.
The practical desk and chairs remained, but now evergreen garlands draped the walls, tiny white lights twinkling among the branches.
A small tree stood in the corner, decorated with pottery ornaments and red ribbons.
I saw Allie and Hail’s contribution there.
The scent of pine and cinnamon filled the air.
“We all did this together,” Dungar said. “For you and Carla.”
My throat closed off. “You didn’t have to do this.”
“Of course we did.” He nudged my shoulder. “We support each other in everything. Even when we’re being stubborn fools about admitting our feelings.”
The back area of the office had seen an even more dramatic change.
Dungar’s simple space now held a small table covered with a red cloth, set for two with Hail’s handmade pottery dishes.
More lights wrapped around the window frame above the table.
The room felt intimate despite its original purpose.
“It’s perfect. Thank you.”
Voices approached from outside, and Greel and Tark appeared in the doorway, carrying covered dishes and a carafe releasing the sweet smell of my favorite tea.
“Breakfast delivery,” Greel said, setting his burden on the table. “Jessi’s been cooking since four. She said everything needs to be perfect for Carla’s first real Christmas morning.”
“Sel and Holly sent these.” Tark placed a pretty plate loaded with bakery goods beside the dishes. “Fresh cinnamon rolls, still warm from the oven.”
The support from everyone in town left me speechless. They’d all contributed to making this morning special for Carla and me, and I wasn’t sure I’d ever find a way to repay them.
“We’ll leave now,” Dungar said, nudging Tark and Greel’s shoulders. “That’ll give you time for your final preparations.”
“Be happy, cousin,” Greel said, Tark nodding along. “You deserve it.”
Dungar grunted. “Carla belongs here. Make sure you tell her that for us, will you?”
“Will do.”
After they left, I arranged the dishes on the table, uncovering each to release their amazing aromas, finding fluffy scrambled chumble eggs, cragroot fritters, some kind of breakfast pudding that smelled amazing, and thick slices of drundeg. The cinnamon rolls went in the center.
The snow globe came last, wrapped in tissue paper and a box adorned with a big red bow. I carefully laid it beside Carla’s place.
I tweaked the bow, remembering how her voice had caught when she told me about her mother’s snow globe, how something so small had represented her only real connection to Christmas joy.
Now I could give it back to her.
I couldn’t ignore the importance of what I was about to do. After losing Wexla, I’d sworn I would never love and risk facing more pain. I’d come to the surface to escape memories, not to create new ones. To exist, never to live.
Yet here I stood, my heart pounding with anticipation, preparing to offer everything I had to a human woman I’d known for less than a month. A woman with her own dreams and ambitions, who might choose California and her career over Lonesome Creek and me.
Wexla’s face appeared in my memory, not as she’d been in her final days, but as she’d lived. I smiled as I remembered her laughing, creating, and loving life. She’d made me promise not to let grief become my permanent home, not to waste whatever time I had left merely existing.
“You were right,” I whispered to the empty room. “I’m trying.”
Outside, the sky had begun to turn pink and gold. Christmas morning had arrived, plus the moment of truth.
The walk to the hotel felt both too long and too short, my thoughts alternating between hope and doubt with each step. What if she hated the surprise? The management position I’d offer her might not be enough to compete with the glorious job in California.
I could bare my heart only to watch her walk away.
The first floor of the saloon was empty, though it would soon fill with tourists coming to savor a hearty holiday breakfast. I could hear Lavon whistling inside the kitchen as he prepared a variety of dishes.
I climbed the stairs to the second floor, each step bringing me closer to a future I couldn’t predict but desperately needed.
Outside her door, I stopped to gather my courage. I smoothed my clothing. My hair. Then I knocked.
Footsteps approached from the other side, and the door swung open. Carla peeked out at me, dressed in jeans and her Christmas sweater with the red-nosed reindeer. Her hair fell loose around her shoulders, and her face was still soft from sleep.
She was the most beautiful person I’d ever seen.
“Becken. Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas.” I swallowed and it went down too hard. “If you’re not busy, I have something to show you.”
“At six in the morning on Christmas Day?” Her smile lit something warm in my chest. “Mysteriously, my schedule is wide open.”
“Good.” I offered my hand. “Come with me?”
After tugging on her coat and zipping it up, she took my hand, her smaller fingers fitted perfectly between mine.
We walked through the quiet town, fresh snow crunching beneath our boots, while the eastern sky blazed with color, promising a clear, bright Christmas Day.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“It’s a surprise.”
“I’ve never been big on surprises.”
“You’ll like this one.” I hoped. “Trust me?”
She squeezed my hand. “Of course.”
My heart clenched. Trust wasn’t something Carla offered easily, yet she’d given it to me without hesitation.
She shot me a questioning look as we approached the jail steps.
“The sheriff’s office? You plan to arrest me?”
“Not this morning, though if you’d like me to do so in the future, I’ll be happy to oblige.” I guided her up the steps and opened the door. “Close your eyes for a moment?”
She raised an eyebrow, but her eyelids fluttered shut. I led her inside, shutting the door and positioning her in the back of the office where breakfast waited.
“Okay,” I said. “You can look.”
Carla opened her eyes, and her breath left in a soft gasp. “Oh, Becken.” Her gaze moved from the decorated walls to the Christmas tree to the table set for two, wonder blooming across her face. “What is all this?”
I guided her closer. “I’m offering you a real Christmas morning, the kind you should’ve had growing up.”
Tears trickled down her cheeks, but her smile could have lit the entire town. “You did all this for me?”
“Not just me.” I pulled out her chair. “Everyone helped. Jessi made breakfast. Sel and Holly baked cinnamon rolls. Everyone else handled the decorations.”
“Your family was in on this?” She sank into the chair, her expression stunned.
“They care about you. We all do.” I took the seat across from her.
“It’s beautiful.” Her voice wavered. “I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t have to say anything. Just enjoy.”
We ate breakfast together, the food as delicious as it smelled.
Carla’s delight in each dish, each thoughtful detail, made it all worthwhile.
She asked questions about the orc dishes, and I shared stories of Deep Season celebrations from my childhood.
She told me about the few positive holiday memories she had, mostly from school events rather than home.
With each passing minute, the nervous tension in my shoulders eased. This was right. We were right, together like this, sharing a meal and conversation in the quiet glow of Christmas morning.
When we’d finished eating, the moment I’d been both anticipating and dreading arrived. Carla stared at the box beside her plate.
“That’s for you.”
“What is it?”
“Go ahead and open it.” My voice barely rose above a whisper.
“I didn’t… I don’t have a gift for you.” Color flooded her cheeks.
“Being here with me is enough.”
She shook her head slowly, her eyes swimming with tears.
At my urging, she untied the bow and opened the top, lifting out the globe, turning it this way and that. “Becken. This looks just like…”
“I hope it’s close to what your mother had. Wind the key.”
With trembling fingers, she turned the snow globe over and twisted the bar at the base.
When she set it upright, the first notes of “I’ll Be Home for Christmas” tinkled out, sweet and clear.
Snowflakes swirled inside the dome, dancing around the tiny evergreen forest, the decorated tree, and the little rabbit watching in awe.
Tears spilled down her cheeks as the snow settled, and the last notes faded away. “How did you find this? They don’t make these anymore.”
“Dungar helped.” I brushed a tear from her cheek. “You deserved to have this piece of your past back.”
“No one has ever done anything like this for me before.” She clutched the snow globe to her chest. “I don’t know what to say.”
I knew what I wanted to hear.
“Stay,” I said. “Here in Lonesome Creek with me.”
Her eyes widened. “Becken—”
“I know you have the offer in California. I know it’s what you’ve worked toward for years.
And if that’s what you want, I won’t stand between you and your dream.
” My words rushed out. “But I think you’ve found something here that matters just as much, a place that values you for who you are, not just what you can do. ”
“And you?” Her voice was barely audible. “Where do you fit in this offer?”
“I love you.” The admission felt like exhaling after holding my breath for too long. “I didn’t expect to feel this way again after Wexla. I didn’t think I was capable of it. But you changed everything. You brought light back into my world.”
Her hands trembled, her expression vulnerable in a way I’d never seen before.
“The town needs someone to manage all operations, not just the rodeo program. We need someone with your skills, your vision. It would be a permanent position.” I cleared my throat.
“We’re not a package deal. If you only want the job, that’s alright too.
But…I’m here if you want me. The choice is yours. It always has been.”
She stared down at her mating mark. When she looked up, her eyes held a longing that made my heart race. “I need to know what I’d be choosing. Not just professionally, but personally. What exactly are you offering, Becken? What do you want from us?”
“Everything. Partnership. Family if the fates bless us. A life built together. I’m offering forever, Carla. However long that may be.”
The silence that followed stretched my nerves to breaking point. She looked down at the snow globe, then back to me, warmth filling her expression.
“I’ll Be Home for Christmas,” she sang softly.
“If only in your dreams,” I whispered after she’d finished. “This doesn’t have to be a dream. It can be real.”
She wound the key again, and the snow swirled as the melody played again. When it finished, she set the globe on the table.
“Becken,” she said, and my future hung on the next words from her lips.