Chapter Thirty Seven
Trading Stars for Ashes and Tears
T he first thing I notice is her.
Not the stars still falling from the sky or the bite of cool air brushing over my bare shoulders—but her .
Georgia, warm and soft, curled up against me beneath the thick pile of blankets in the bed of my truck.
One of her legs is tangled with mine, her face tucked under my chin, palm resting just above my heart.
It’s quiet as hell, except for our breathing.
So still that, for a second, I think I might be dreaming.
But then her fingers twitch against my chest, and I blink up at the sky, eyes adjusting to the streaks of light slicing through the dark.
Shooting stars, dozens of them, maybe more, all at once.
The meteor shower must be at its peak, which means it’s around two or three. We haven’t been asleep for long.
I pull her in closer, my heart thudding with something wild and full in my chest.
Peace .
It’s the only word I can think of.
Not the lazy, passive kind—but the bone-deep, soul-shattering kind that settles in when something fits so right, it stops feeling fleeting and starts feeling like home.
We went twice more before we passed out, her just as insatiable as I am.
Once with her riding me, the stars catching in her curls like the wildfire in her soul—like the freckles I’m in love with, and once bent over the stack of pillows, her bare back arched, body slick and trembling beneath me.
We ate every damn thing I packed. Drank until the thermoses, waters and cider were empty. Took pee breaks wrapped in blankets and teased each other over how weird but comfortable it all was.
And she made wishes.
God, did she make wishes.
Every time a star streaked overhead, her lashes fell, her lips moved, and I watched her whisper them like prayers. I didn’t ask what they were—I didn’t have to. The way she looked at the sky told me enough.
When Georgia Walked wishes, she wishes for more. Something bigger, greater, and deeper. Something that’ll soothe the ragged, worn parts of her lonely soul.
Don’t need to know the exact words to know it’s not fleeting. And for one night, I’m grateful I could give her a chance to sink into that hope. Into the magic of wishes.
Everything was perfect.
Not just the sex—even though I’ll be riding that high for the rest of my life. Not even the laughter or dancing naked under the stars or the way her hands never stopped touching me, like she was trying to memorize me in the dark.
No, it was the trust.
The way she let go, gave me all of her—mind, body, heart, and fuck, when we connected, my girl gave me her soul. The way she let me take care of her, again and again. And the way I gave myself back in return.
I’ve never felt like this before. Never had something like this. Even with Marlee, it wasn’t like this. We were young and dumb, and I thought it was love. Over the years, especially recently, I’m starting to realize it was something much darker. Ugly and rotten at its core.
With Georgia, everything feels… just more.
I brush her hair from her cheek when she shifts, snuggling closer in her sleep, and my chest cracks wide open, a quiet voice inside me whispering words on a loop. Words that make my stomach clench and flip, heart hammering beneath her.
This is it.
This is everything.
You could love this woman for the rest of your life.
She smiles as my lips brush her forehead. “Again already? Abby was right. Cowboys are insatiable.”
The words, it’s you I’m insatiable for , sit on my tongue, but before I can say them, a breeze cuts through the air, and it’s all wrong.
I inhale deeply—and freeze.
Beneath the scent of honey and sweat and Georgia… There's smoke. Deep and thick, and gaining by the damn second.
My heart slams into my ribs.
Gently, I roll her off me, easing her onto the pile of pillows, and sit up, scanning the darkness ahead. The truck bed sits at the edge of a drop-off, a steep hill that rolls down toward the river, and beyond that, the end of our property.
Everything’s still and quiet so I grab my boxers and jump out.
“Where are you going?” Georgia mumbles, burrowing deeper into the blankets.
“Stay there, darlin’.”
“Oookay…”
I quickly step into my boxers and snag my jeans, tugging them up as I circle the truck, searching the direction we came from only to stop dead in my tracks.
To the far left, past the tree line and fencing, a haze of orange light pulses against the sky, smoke rising thick and high.
Too much for a simple bonfire. Too much for a controlled burn.
Something’s on fire.
And it’s bad.
Alive and hungry—eating through something big.
It’s not a field. There aren’t any in that direction.
All that’s off to the east are buildings.
Barns. Animals. Houses. People.
“Fuck.”
I sprint to the cab, yanking open the door and grabbing my phone off the charger I hooked up when the playlist drained the battery earlier.
“No missed fuckin’ calls,” I snap, tugging at my hair as my mind spins. No one knows. They’d call if they did. “Shit.”
Who’s on night watch? Who’s even running point while Ridge and Hazy are out of town?
Should have fuckin’ asked, but I was too caught up in Aurora. In Georgia. In trying to find my footing in this new life while it merges with the one I left behind a long damn time ago.
Hazy never came to me with plans for her absence. No one did.
Phone in hand, I step back, eyes on the fire. I swallow hard, panic clawing at my chest.
My whole world is where that fire is.
Shaking the anxiety away before it can take over, I call my mom. No answer. I call again. Still nothing.
I don’t stop hitting numbers, trying to reach out for anyone who might be close, who might pick up, and circle back to the truck bed. Phone on speaker, I dig through the piles of blankets until I find our clothes, quickly sorting them.
“Baby, wake up,” I call, gently shaking her. “We gotta go.”
“Huh?” she asks, bleary-eyed.
I shake harder. Not enough to scare her—but fuck, I’m terrified . “Georgia, darlin’, you need to get up. There’s a fire at the ranch.”
That does it. She shoots upright so fast the blankets tumble off her body, revealing every inch of smooth, naked skin—breasts rising and falling with each panicked breath. I stare for all of two seconds, my brain short-circuiting at the sight, before reality slaps me in the face and I shake it off.
“What the hell?” she gasps, still half-asleep, voice thick with confusion. “What do you mean? Is Aurora okay?”
Christ. My heart caves in on itself and twists sideways.
This woman—bare, vulnerable, and worried about a kid who’s not even hers by blood—is damn perfect.
“I don’t know.” I toss her clothes across the truck bed. “Can you get dressed? I’m trying to get a hold of my mom.”
“Of course,” she chokes out, already moving, pulling on her sweatshirt with shaking hands as I ram my boots on.
She stands, balancing like a pro as the truck sways slightly under her weight, completely unconcerned about her body being on full display.
My eyes flick between her and the faint glow across the hill, adrenaline crackling under my skin.
I’m calling anyone I can think of—Mom, the twins, Ridge, Hazel—but no one’s picking up. My jaw’s locked so tight, I think I’ll crack a tooth.
Finally, Hazel answers, panting like she’s out of breath. “What the fuck do you—?”
“There’s a fire!” I bark, helping Georgia step down from the bed of the truck. “A building’s lit. I’m at Archer Hill with Georgia. We’re heading back now. I can’t get a hold of anyone else.”
“Ridge!” she snaps, her voice cutting through the phone like a whip. “Ridge! Get up! We gotta go!”
“Hazy!” I bark, slamming the tailgate shut. “Don’t need you home. Won’t make it in time. I need to know who’s managing right now. And do we have anyone on fire duty?”
She sucks in a sharp breath. “No. We had to let them go. Couldn’t afford the fire crew anymore.”
Fuck .
I yank the passenger door open and Georgia climbs in silently, her fingers already flying over her phone. She’s pale, lips pressed into a tight line, but she’s with me, ready for fuckin’ battle.
Ridge’s voice explodes in the background of Hazel's line—loud, angry, commanding. It’s oddly comforting. That prickly bastard might be impossible to deal with, but he knows how to run this place.
“Who’s on night watch?” I ask again, throwing myself behind the wheel.
“Ridge called Vander. We left him and Nev in charge tonight,” Hazel says, voice tight. “But they were at Saddle with everyone else.”
Of course they were. Drinking and dancing and well on their ways to fuckin’ instead of watching the damn property.
Swearing up a storm, I toss my hat into the back and rake a hand through my hair.
“I’m calling Summit Rural Fire,” I decide, mind already racing. “We need help.”
“Do it,” my sister barks, breathless. “We’re heading out now. Call the second you know more.”
“I will.”
Then I slam my phone into the cup holder, my foot hitting the gas so hard the tires spin before we launch forward down the hill, back toward the farm, back toward whatever the fuck is waiting for us.
“I got ahold of your mom,” Georgia rushes out, hand squeezing mine.
“Everyone is safe. Aurora and your sisters are with her. She went outside to check and said the fire is…” She pauses, glancing at her phone.
“She thinks it's somewhere near the north ridge. She couldn’t see clearly, but it looked close to the livestock paddock.”
“Fuck!” I shout, fingers tightening around the wheel. The truck slides in the mud, and I fight it, forcing myself to slow down. My pulse is thunder, but I keep my grip steady. “Baby, grab my phone. Need you to call for backup.”
By the time we pull onto the gravel road leading toward the heart of the property, I’m more collected than I was before.
Maybe it’s knowing that no one I love is in danger.
Maybe it’s the training or sheer survival instinct.
Years in the Rangers taught me how to compartmentalize when shit hits the fan. Right now, my family needs that guy.
I park the truck a hundred or so feet from the blaze, the fire lighting up the night sky like a second sun. The equipment barn is a full inferno—red, orange, and violent. It's roaring, feeding on fuel and dry timber, and the wind is pushing those flames toward the horse barn.
Turning to Georgia, I pull her into me and kiss her hard, grounding myself in her even as the fire crackles in my periphery. She trembles against me, and my heart damn near shatters.
“Need you to go find my mom, darlin’. Need you to be with my family. Take care of Aurora. Can you do that for me?”
She pulls back, blinking fast, eyes flitting between the blaze and my face. “What? No. You c-can’t go in there. Absolutely not, Kade!”
I cup her face, forcing her to meet my eyes. “I can, baby. I’m trained. Volunteer for Summit County Fire Watch. Certified for rural wildfire containment. I’ve done this before. I have to.”
She sobs, low and guttural, fingers white-knuckled around mine. “Please don’t. Don’t go. I just… I just got you.” She sucks in a harsh breath that cracks something deep inside me. “D-don’t leave me .”
I press my forehead to hers, forcing back the flood of emotion threatening to take me under. Her fear isn’t just about fire. It’s about abandonment. Loss. Being left behind.
Know that fear well. I’ve lived it too.
“I’m coming back,” I whisper. “You hear me? I’m not going anywhere. Not now. Not ever.”
I kiss her one more time and then nod toward the blaze.
“The equipment barn’s gone,” I say quietly. “But the horse barn’s only a few hundred feet away. And with the wind? The grass? That fire will leap in minutes if we don’t stop it. The others’ll be here soon. Ten, maybe less. But until then, it’s just me.”
She nods, eyes wide and glassy. “What do I do?”
“Go to the house. Find my mom. Get to Aurora. That’s your job. Our girl needs you.”
“Our…” she breathes, voice catching before she shakes herself hard. “Okay. I can do that. You can do this. We’re going to be fine.”
“Yes we are,” I vow, pulling her close one last time, then I force myself from the truck before I convince myself to stay with her. “Now go.”
She hesitates just a second longer, then climbs over the stick shift and drops into my seat. Our eyes lock—something raw and unspoken passes between us. Words neither of us are ready to say sit on my tongue like a loaded gun.
Instead, I rough out, “Go, Georgia.”
That lower lip of hers is locked between her teeth, but she nods. And then she’s gone, wheels spinning through gravel and smoke, racing toward safety, toward our girl.
Leaving me behind and taking my heart with her.