Chapter 34
thirty-four
T he timer on the last batch of chocolate chip cookies buzzed through the cabin. Kristie turned from where she’d been washing dishes to silence the irritating alarm. Baking had been her crutch in the past few years, and she’d needed it more than ever since Saturday.
Really, Sunday morning when she’d packed a bag and left her house in Ivory Peaks for this escape in the city. It wasn’t really the city either, but she’d driven almost two hours to the Stag Hollow Lodge, and she’d enjoyed a facial, a massage, and cabin service for the past couple of days.
In all of her quiet downtime, Kristie had had plenty of time to think—and she’d gone down into some deep holes.
“You dug yourself out,” she told herself as she moved this latest batch of cookies—a mixture of milk and semi-sweet chips—to a cooling rack. She’d had to run down the road to the store to get the racks, and she wouldn’t care if she left them here.
She’d be here for one more night, but she had to go back to work tomorrow, as she had a scheduled cattle immunization day at a ranch north of the city.
She had canceled and rescheduled everything else for the past two days, and for whatever reason, she could hear Mission’s grandfather’s voice in her head telling her she’d had her pity party and it was time to get back out there.
Out where, Kristie didn’t really know, but she knew she couldn’t keep hiding at a luxury lodge, ordering expensive food, and pampering herself. She had savings—that wasn’t the issue—but she couldn’t let one person and his opinions drive her out of her own life.
Regret lanced through her, and it felt like she was being squeezed from both sides.
She’d asked Mission for some space, and of course, being the attentive, wonderful cowboy he was, he’d backed right off.
She hadn’t heard from him in over forty-eight hours now, and her nose and the back of her eyes heated at the thought of losing him.
“I can’t,” she said, her voice pitching up into a tinny, too-high timbre. “I have to get him back.”
She wasn’t even sure that she’d lost him, but it felt like she had. In her darkest moments, Kristie had felt like she had lost every thing, and after her manicure appointment that morning, she’d made a list of all the things she had waiting for her in Ivory Peaks.
Her beautiful cottage. Her trio of cats. A car that always started, even in the dead of winter. The cookbooks she loved to leaf through. The recipes she’d lovingly cultivated over the past few years.
And then, of course, Jocelyn, Harper, and Lennie. They had been texting for the past day, the frequency and urgency of their messages increasing the longer she went without responding. She’d finally talked to them, and they knew where she was now.
Kristie finished with the cookies and stepped over to the other counter in the kitchen.
Her list sat there, and she looked down at it.
She’d started listing individual farmers who’d been appreciative to her, and the names of ranches that scheduled her to come multiple times per year.
She put down pet names of the cats and dogs and ferrets that came into her home office.
And right there at the bottom, she put Mission’s name in all caps, saving him for very last. He certainly wasn’t last in her life, though.
He was everything.
She breathed in through her nose and pressed her eyes closed. The scene that formed in her mind came from Saturday at the auction. She couldn’t quite see it clearly, because Mission stood in front of her, shielding her from anything coming her way.
Of course, she remembered everything that had been said, but strangely, it wasn’t what had been shouted, but the tone of voice used. So much disdain and disgust, and she’d let herself wallow in it, feel it, and experience it before she’d finally been able to dismiss it.
Somehow, tonight, instead of spiraling down into one of those deep black holes she’d been in the past couple of days, she opened her eyes and looked at Mission’s name.
Funny how seven letters could mean so much.
Bless him to have a forgiving heart, she prayed.
Then she reached for a paper plate and loaded the first batch of cookies onto it as they had cooled already.
With three dozen cookies in three different flavors, and almost two hours to the Hammond family farm, Kristie finally picked up her phone with the intent of talking to Mission.
If God granted her prayer, Mission could taste-test the different types of cookies and pick his favorite .
Kristie suspected she already knew what he’d choose, as he liked dessert, but nothing overly sweet.
He’d spat out the ultra-dark chocolate she’d had him try a few weeks ago, claiming it to be “like chalk.”
He wanted something that would melt and give him that sugar high without being cloyingly sweet. And knowing Mission as she did, she suspected him to be a dessert purist.
“He liked his birthday cake,” she told herself as she pulled a sweatshirt over her head, tucked her car keys into her purse, and picked up the plated cookies.
The Stag Hollow Lodge had an enormous main building with four restaurants on-site. She’d gone to the spa there too, and they had three outdoor pools and two indoor, with seven hot tubs scattered throughout the property.
But back behind all of that, even further from the road and civilization, sat a series of cottages.
Kristie had been assigned Cabin 712, which boasted two bedrooms, a full living room and kitchen, and her own private deck out the back that faced the wilderness.
She’d sat there in the evenings for the past couple of nights, and as she opened the cabin door, she paused.
“Would it be too much to ask Mission to come here?” she wondered.
It was her last evening at the Stag Hollow Lodge, and she wouldn’t be able to sit on the back porch with his hand in hers as they simply existed together, the silence between them beautiful and poignant.
“You’re not going to call him and ask him to drive two hours here,” she said right out loud, and she double-checked her purse for the key to the cabin so she wouldn’t inadvertently lock herself out.
She hurried down the sidewalk as night had fallen and the temperature had dropped with it. She balanced the cookies on the passenger seat and rounded the hood to get behind the wheel of her car.
Each cluster of three cabins had its own parking area with a dedicated parking space, but Kristie had ignored the others staying at the cabins near her. Hers sat on the end row, and a pair of headlights came down the one-way road toward her just as she flipped her car into reverse.
The lights sat up higher, probably belonging to a truck, and Kristie ducked her head so she wouldn’t get blinded. The truck barely seemed to be moving as it took forever for it to inch closer and closer to her.
Irritation drove through her when the driver didn’t turn and continue on his merry way—but stopped right behind her. Her heartbeat hammered at her as she looked in her side mirror, holding up one hand to block the glare of the headlights.
Had she done something wrong? Was this a police officer?
She didn’t see any red or blue flashing lights, but she also couldn’t make out any distinguishing features of the vehicle. She did notice when the door opened. A boxy, broad-shouldered figure came toward her—a man.
Kristie fumbled with the automatic locks on her SUV, then noted that no other cars had been parked in her little parking lot. Trees, shrubs, and sagebrush prevented her from seeing the other cabins, including her own, and she had no idea if anyone would hear her, even if she could scream.
Just like on Saturday, when she’d been in a tough situation, Kristie felt herself shutting down system by system.
She didn’t want to do that, and she’d always been able to stand up for herself decently well. So she took a breath and looked out her window as the man continued his approach.
He finally arrived, and he wore a dark leather jacket with his hands tucked inside. He leaned down, and it took Kristie all of two moments before she recognized the man peering at her from underneath a midnight-black cowboy hat.
“Mission,” she breathed.
It took her another few seconds to get her body to move, as such disbelief cascaded through her, rendering her still and silent. He frowned and had just started to lift his hand to knock when Kristie slid her fingers across the door handle and pulled it open.
She spilled into the night, a level of franticness moving through her that she hadn’t felt since leaving Arizona.
“You’re here,” she said. “What are you doing here?”
Mission looked at her, and she cataloged the slow movement as he swallowed. “I miss you, kitten,” he said.
Just like that. I miss you, kitten.
Those four words undid her completely.
God had been good to her, and kind, in sending this wonderful, attentive, forgiving cowboy.
She didn’t want to cry in front of him again, so she lunged at him and pressed her face into his chest—the familiar warmth of his body along with the scent of leather and musk and clean cotton clothing smelled like coming home.
She fit beautifully in the space in Mission’s arms, and he easily accepted her into his embrace the way he’d always accepted her into his life.
“You’re all right, Kris,” he said as he stroked one hand down her hair. “I brought dinner, and everything is going to be okay.”