Chapter 30LARK #3
Then they both wrap their arms around me, squeezing so tight I let out a little wheeze. I hug them back just as hard, laughter bubbling up in my chest until it mixes with the tears still clinging to my lashes.
Molly’s next, easing in gently and holding my hand like it’s made of glass. “Let me see, honey,” she says, turning it slightly toward the sun. Then she holds up her phone so Ridge—still on FaceTime—can get a clear view.
“Well shit,” Ridge says, tilting his head on screen. “Would you look at that? You actually did something right for once, Boone.”
Boone laughs beside me, shaking his head. “Glad I’ve finally earned your approval.”
Ridge glances past the camera like he’s searching for someone. “Is that Miller I see back there? Hey, Millie girl!”
Miller steps into view, crossing her arms, her expression flat. “Call me that again and I’ll zip-tie your ankles together and roll you into the deepest ditch I can find.”
Ridge’s laugh crackles through the speaker. “God, I missed you.”
Miller flips the phone off and then turns to Boone. “Tell your brother I hope his next bull steps on his damn ego. And then backs up and does it again.”
“I heard that,” Ridge calls.
Miller narrows her eyes. “I know.”
Everyone bursts out laughing again, the sound of it filling the air around us, bouncing off the porch and into the hills.
I stand there, surrounded by family—my family—and feel more rooted than I ever have.
Like this is the beginning of something that’s already been growing, quietly, beneath the surface all along.
Sage claps her hands once, then spins on her heel like she just remembered something important. “Nobody move,” she says, already jogging toward the ATV parked in the gravel. “I have my camera.”
Wren groans. “Of course you do.”
Sage waves her off with one hand, grabbing her bag from the back of the ATV and pulling out her Nikon like she’s about to shoot a Vogue spread instead of a porch full of people who’ve just been ugly crying in public.
She tucks her long hair behind her ears, adjusts the strap over her shoulder, and marches back up the driveway.
She’s been the staff photographer for Montana Modern , one of the swankier lifestyle magazines in the state, ever since she graduated from college—and it shows. The girl’s got an eye. You could hand her a disposable camera and she’d still manage to make someone look like a damn supermodel.
“Okay,” she says, gesturing toward the porch like a drill sergeant in high-waisted jeans and perfect eyeliner.
“Boone, hold Lark’s hand like you didn’t just cry five minutes ago.
Hudson—chin up, babe, you’ve got a great jawline.
Miller, fix your hair. Mom, stay right there, the light is perfect on you. ”
Molly mutters something under her breath about bossy children, but she still turns into the sun like she’s auditioning for a skincare ad.
Sage clicks and snaps and bosses and swears, and somehow it all works. The next thing I know, she’s gotten everyone in a group shot, then one with just Boone and me, then Hudson gets pulled in again for a picture that makes my heart squeeze.
Then she crouches low and gestures for my hand. “Let me see that rock up close.”
I hold it out, the diamond catching what’s left of the evening light, and she whistles. “Damn, Miller. You did good. Boone, I guess you did, too.”
Miller tips her imaginary hat. “Only the best for my best girl.”
Sage snaps a few shots, tilts my hand this way and that, gets a close-up of Boone’s hand over mine. I glance over at him, his thumb brushing across my knuckles as he watches me like he’s never going to stop.
“Perfect,” Sage murmurs, lowering her camera and grinning. “Frame-worthy.”
I look down at the ring, at our joined hands, at the porch full of people I love more than anything in the world—and yeah. It really is.
Boone slides his arm around my waist, tugging me in until my side is flush with his. I tilt my head back, narrowing my eyes at him. “So was this whole ‘date night’ a setup? Is the restaurant even real?”
He grins. “The restaurant’s very real. So is the hotel reservation. We’re staying in Bozeman tonight.”
My brows lift. “Really?”
He presses a kiss to the top of my head, his voice dropping low and soft. “Really. Miller recommended the place. Swears by the short ribs. ”
I let out a laugh, leaning into him. “Of course she did. That woman knows the best food in the state.”
“I do,” Miller pipes up, slipping her sunglasses down from the top of her head and leveling a look at us. “And you two better go enjoy it while you still have time to make out between courses without your kid gagging in the corner.”
“Miller,” Boone says, half amused, half warning.
“What? It’s the truth.”
Molly wraps her arms around me next, warm and strong and full of something that feels like home. When she pulls back, her eyes are glossy and her hands cradle my face.
“I’ve seen you as my daughter for a long time now,” she says. “But I’m glad it’s finally official. You’re going to be a Wilding.”
Tears prick again and I nod, swallowing hard as I wipe under my eyes. “Me too,” I whisper. “So much.”
She presses a kiss to my cheek, then turns toward Hudson. “Alright, my boy, let’s get some pictures and then get you changed. We’re taking you bowling with Wren and Sage. It’s gonna be a party.”
“Wait—you’re going bowling?” I ask.
“Of course we are,” Sage calls, tugging Wren toward the car.
Ridge’s voice cuts through the phone screen. “If I were there, I’d wipe the floor with all of you.”
Miller snorts. “Sure you would, Rodeo Barbie.”
“Love you too, Millie.” Ridge blows her a kiss and Miller scowls.
Boone kisses my temple again, his hand tightening at my waist. “You ready, sweetheart?”
I nod, heart bursting as I glance between the people I love, this house he built, the life we’re starting. “Let’s go to dinner,” I say. “I’m starving, engaged, and riding high on endorphins. Seems like the perfect time for short ribs.”
I catch Hudson’s arm and pull him in for a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay? Try not to have too much fun without me.”
He wipes the spot dramatically, grinning like a little devil. “I’m gonna dominate everyone at bowling.”
Boone snorts behind me. “That’s the spirit, kid.”
Then he’s pulling Hudson into a hug, one of those solid, anchoring hugs that Boone gives best. He wraps his arms around him and presses a kiss to the top of his head, and Hudson stands there, soaking it up like sunshine—like it’s his favorite thing in the world and he doesn’t care who sees.
Boone doesn’t let go right away, and neither does Hudson.
My chest goes tight, the good kind—the kind that reminds me this is real. This is ours.
Hudson lets go first, jogging toward the group with a wave over his shoulder. “Don’t forget to save me cake!”
“There’s no cake!” Boone calls back, chuckling.
He reaches for my hand and laces his fingers with mine as he walks me toward the passenger side of his truck.
He opens the door like a gentleman, offering his other hand to help me climb up.
I slide into my seat and the second he shuts the door, the scent of his cologne wraps around me—clean and woodsy with something a little sweet underneath.
He rounds the front, gives a wave to everyone still on the porch, and climbs into the driver’s seat. I follow his lead, waving out the window as he turns the engine over.
Everyone’s still hollering, throwing out kisses and peace signs and blown-up cheers.
My cheeks hurt from smiling.
Boone reaches for my hand again and rests it on the center console, his thumb running over the edge of the ring like he can’t stop touching it.
Neither can I.
I tilt my hand toward the last streaks of light through the windshield, admiring the way the diamond catches it, throwing tiny sparkles across the cab. “I still can’t believe this is mine,” I say, turning it slowly. “It’s perfect, Boone.”
He glances over at me, grinning like he’s got a secret he’s dying to tell. “Good. You deserve perfect.”
I settle back in the seat, the warmth of the truck’s cab wrapping around me like a blanket. “Alright,” I say. “Important question. What are we listening to on this very fancy drive into town?”
Boone hums, reaching over to pop open the glovebox. He rifles through a few things—some old receipts, a flashlight, a pair of sunglasses—before pulling out a scratched-up CD in a clear case. He holds it up like it’s made of gold. “ My Dixie Chicks CD.”
I snatch it out of his hand so fast he doesn’t see it coming. “Excuse you— my Dixie Chicks CD.”
He barks out a laugh and leans in to kiss me, quick and full of affection, his smile still pressed against mine. “ Our Dixie Chicks CD,” he says. “We’re engaged now, remember? What’s mine is yours and what’s yours is mine.”
“Everything but this,” I reply, clutching the case. “You can have my heart, Boone Wilding, but you are not getting the lead vocals on ‘Cowboy Take Me Away.’ ”
He laughs again, louder this time, and it fills the cab like music. “Deal. As long as I get to be the cowboy you’re singing about.”
I look over at him, heart thudding wildly in my chest. “You already know you are.”
I slide the CD into the player, and the familiar twangy intro fills the cab before the first notes of Wide Open Spaces start to spill out.
Boone grins, already mouthing the words, and by the time the first chorus hits, we’re both belting it—loud, off-key, and with the kind of shameless joy that only comes from singing songs you’ve loved since you were a kid.
Boone’s tapping the beat on the steering wheel, his voice cracking on the high notes, not that he seems to care. I’m no better—half-screaming, half-laughing through the lyrics, hair whipping around my face from the cracked window.
When Cowboy Take Me Away comes on, he reaches for my hand again, lifts it to his mouth, and presses soft, lingering kisses to each knuckle. His thumb traces over the ring like he still can’t quite believe it’s there.
The sun’s nearly gone now, the sky fading from lavender to dusky blue, and I sit there in his truck—with my bare legs sticking to the seat, the Dixie Chicks crooning through the speakers, my hand in Boone’s—and I couldn’t want anything more than this.
This man. This life. This messy, beautiful, rebuilt thing we’ve made from all the pieces we used to think were broken.
I don’t care where we go from here. What challenges come next. I’ll take them all if it means I get to face them like this—with my boys, in our house, with music playing and laughter spilling out into the night.
Boone looks over at me and smiles. “You good, baby?”
I nod, too full to speak, my voice caught somewhere between my chest and throat.
Because yeah, I’m good.
I’m more than good.
I’m home.