Eighteen
CASS
Three months after Walker’s promise proposal—his “promise proposal,” as I’d taken to calling it—I finally said the words he’d been waiting to hear.
We were in the barn, of all places. Not a romantic dinner, not the scenic overlook, not any of the carefully orchestrated moments that usually accompany such announcements. Just the two of us in the early morning light, surrounded by horses and hay and the familiar smells of Henderson Ranch.
Walker was helping me with the morning feeding, a task he’d become surprisingly good at. He moved through the barn with easy confidence now—knew which horse needed her grain first, which one needed extra attention, which one was secretly afraid of the wheelbarrow.
“You’re getting good at this,” I said, watching him measure out feed.
“I’ve had a lot of practice. Amazing what you can learn when you stick around.”
“Yeah.” I stepped closer, took the bucket from his hands. “About that.”
“About what?”
“About sticking around.” I set the bucket down and took both his hands in mine. My heart was pounding harder than it had any right to, considering I’d already decided. “I’ve been thinking about us. About the promise you made. About what I want our future to look like.”
His expression shifted—hope and fear and longing all fighting for dominance. “And?”
“And I’m ready.” I squeezed his hands. “I’m ready to stop calling it a promise proposal and start calling it what it is. I want to marry you, Walker. For real. Forever.”
He stared at me for a long moment, like he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. Then something gave way behind his eyes, and he laughed—a startled, helpless, joyful sound I’d never heard from him before.
“You mean it?”
“I mean it. I love you. I trust you. And I want to spend the rest of my life building something with you.”
He pulled me into his arms and held me so tight I could barely breathe. And then I felt his shoulders shaking and realized he was crying—this strong, controlled man who’d spent years hiding everything he felt, finally letting himself feel all of it.
“I’ve loved you,” he said, his voice rough, “since the first day you told me to get off your property.”
“I know.” I pulled back far enough to wipe the tears from his cheeks. “I love you too. Even when you were lying to me. Even when I wanted to hate you. Some part of me knew.”
“Knew what?”
“That you were worth fighting for. That we were worth fighting for.” I kissed him softly. “I spent so long fighting against this. I’m done. I’m ready to fight for it instead.”
Behind us, one of the horses nickered, supremely unimpressed with the most important conversation of my life.
Walker laughed against my hair, and I laughed too, and for a moment the whole world was just the two of us and the warm hay-scented dark and a future I’d finally stopped being too afraid to want.
We told the family over breakfast. Dad set down his coffee, looked at the two of us for a long moment, and said, “Well, it’s about time,” which from him was practically a marching band.
Brody whooped and pulled me into a hug that lifted me off my feet, then shook Walker’s hand and informed him, with great seriousness, that he was now contractually obligated to lose at cards on poker night.
Even Earl, when we found him in the barn, allowed as how Walker had “turned out better than expected,” which I’d learned to translate as genuine affection.
It was a strange, sweet thing—announcing happiness to people and watching them be glad for you, instead of bracing for the next disaster.
I’d spent so long delivering bad news to this family.
Standing in my own kitchen handing them good news for once felt like setting down something I’d carried so long I’d forgotten its weight.