Chapter 23 The Overnight
The Overnight
Jackson
* * *
She texts me on Saturday morning: Feel like a trail ride?
I'm dressed and at the barn before I finish typing my reply.
The morning is crisp, the kind of late autumn day that reminds you winter's coming even while the sun pretends otherwise. Frost still clings to the grass in the shadows, but the exposed hillsides glow golden in the light.
Maren arrives in her old riding boots, hair pulled back in a braid that makes her look younger somehow, more like the girl I fell in love with seven years ago. She's carrying a small overnight bag, and when I notice it, she catches me looking and raises an eyebrow.
Maren notices my attention drop to the bag and lifts it out of my line of sight. "Don't get ahead of yourself."
I take the mare's reins, trying to keep the grin off my face. "I didn't say anything."
She puts the bag back in her truck before coming toward the mounting block. "You were thinking very loudly."
She's not wrong, but I keep my expression neutral as I finish saddling the horses.
I've chosen the gentlest mounts for today: a steady mare for her and my old reliable gelding for me.
The trails in the lower valley are forgiving this time of year, and I want to enjoy the ride without worrying about footing.
"Remember when you tried to teach me to ride?" Maren takes the reins I hand her, stroking the mare's nose. "That first summer we were together."
"Remember? You stepped over me to get to the mounting block." I swing up into my saddle and wait for her to mount. "Apparently I was taking too long explaining the saddle."
Maren checks the stirrup length before she counters my version of the story. "You were blocking the steps."
I settle my boot into the stirrup and give her my most innocent expression. "I was offering helpful advice."
"My form was fine." She settles into the saddle with the easy grace of someone who's spent years proving that point. "You were just being insufferable."
I bring the gelding alongside her mare, defending my younger self. "I was being instructive."
She takes the lead while I am still trying to explain, neatly making her point. "Same thing."
We head out along the trail that winds through the lower pastures, keeping to a walk that lets us talk without shouting. The mountains rise in the distance, their peaks already white with early snow, and the valley spreads out below us in a patchwork of gold and green.
Maren slows her horse to bring us side by side. "I've been thinking about your flying lessons. Have you looked into starting again?"
"Made some calls last week, actually." The admission feels strange, like I'm confessing to something. "There's an instructor in Cody who does private sessions. I'm thinking about booking a few hours before the snow really sets in."
"That's good, Jackson." She turns to look at me, and her smile makes me glad I admitted what I wanted. "Your gran was right. You need something that's just yours."
I wait until we've passed a bend in the trail so I can hear her answer. "What about your Paris course? The culinary thing you mentioned."
"Still researching." She guides her mare around a rocky patch. "There's a two-week intensive next spring that looks interesting. Pastry techniques from a master chef. It wouldn't interfere with my client commitments if I plan it right."
I picture her enjoying a room full of people who care as much about food as she does. "You should do it."
"I'm considering it." She shoots me a sideways glance. "I'm going to look at dates properly after Montana."
I imagine her sending me photographs from a kitchen in Paris, pleased with something she's made. "Send me the course you choose. I'd like to see what you'll be doing."
She smiles before turning back toward the trail. "I will."
We ride in companionable silence for a while, the horses picking their way along the familiar trail.
I watch Maren from the corner of my eye, the way she sits a horse now, confident and relaxed, nothing like the nervous beginner I once knew.
She's grown so much in the years we've been together, and I missed too much of that growth because I was too busy with the ranch to pay attention.
"There's a spot up ahead," I say as we crest a small rise. "Overlook point. We used to come here when we were first married, remember?"
"I remember." Her voice holds something warm. "You packed enough lunch for six people and said the ride would make us hungry."
I point toward the flat rock where we used to spread out lunch. "We ate most of it."
The overlook opens up before us, a natural clearing on a ridge that gives a panoramic view of the valley below. We dismount and let the horses graze while we settle onto the flat rocks that serve as natural benches.
Maren pulls out a thermos from her saddlebag and hands me a cup. "I brought coffee. You can carry the thermos on the way back."
I take the cup she offers, glad to have an excuse to sit beside her. "A fair arrangement."
We drink in silence, watching the light shift across the valley. After a while, Maren leans against my shoulder, and I wrap an arm around her, marveling at how natural it feels.
Maren rests her hand on my knee, staying against my shoulder. "I had a dream about this place once. During our separation. We were sitting right here, and you were telling me about some problem with the cattle, and I was pretending to listen while actually just watching your mouth move."
"Pretending to listen?" I press a hand to my chest in mock offense. "I'm shocked."
"You talked about cattle a lot." She pokes my ribs. "A person can only absorb so much bovine information."
"That's fair." I turn to look at her properly. "What happened in the dream?"
"You kissed me." She meets my eyes. "And I woke up crying because I missed you so much and I still couldn't trust you."
I brush a strand of hair away from her cheek. "You told me you missed me at Rosie's. I've been holding on to that ever since."
She leans into my hand instead of turning away. "I meant it. Even when I was angry."
She catches my hand and presses it against her cheek. "I want to stay tonight."
The words land somewhere deep in my chest, spreading warmth.
I keep my hand against her cheek while I make sure I've understood. "At the house?"
"At our house." She holds my gaze. "You saw the bag. I was hoping we'd get this far."
I look toward the trail instead of making her carry how badly I've wanted this. "I didn't want to pressure you."
"I know." She turns her head to kiss my palm. "That's why I'm telling you. So you don't have to ask."
We pack up slowly, neither of us in a hurry now that the day has a destination. The ride back feels different, charged with possibility, with the knowledge of what's waiting at the end of the trail.
At the barn, I take care of the horses while Maren retrieves her bag from the truck.
"You look at home here," I say, hanging up the last bridle.
"I am home here." She hangs her coat on the hook beside mine without asking. "That was never the question."
I stop putting away the tack and turn toward her. "What was the question?"
"Whether home could be safe again." She pushes off from the door and crosses to where I'm standing. "Whether you could make it safe."
I leave room for the answer instead of offering the one I want. "And?"
Maren closes the space between us and rests her hands against my chest. "I'm here, aren't I?"
I pull her close and kiss her, slow and deep, tasting the coffee we shared, unwilling to let the kiss end.
The house is quiet when we enter, late afternoon light slanting through the windows. Maren walks through the rooms slowly, touching surfaces, remembering.
"I used to love this time of day," she says, pausing by the window in the living room. "The light would come through just like this, and everything felt golden and warm."
I stand beside her at the window, looking at the room through her memory of it. "It still does."
She turns to look at me, and there's something vulnerable in her expression that makes me want to hold her and never let go.
Maren stops before we reach the hallway, her hand tightening around mine. "I was afraid to come back. The safe room is upstairs, and every time I thought about being in this house again, I thought about that night."
"We can stay somewhere else." I mean it. "The lodge, a hotel, anywhere you want."
"No." She shakes her head. "This is our home. I won't let what happened take it from me." She keeps my hands in hers. "I won't let her take anything else from me."
I pull her into my arms and hold her, feeling the tension slowly drain from her body.
"I love you," I say against her hair. "I missed the way you argue with me. Even about coffee. I missed hearing you laugh in this house."
She laughs, a wet sound that tells me she's crying again, but when she pulls back, she's smiling.
"I love you too." She touches my face. "Take me to bed, Jackson."
Our bedroom is neat again. The broken things were repaired after the police finished, but I kept what she left behind. Her photographs are on the dresser and her books are still on the nightstand. The quilt we chose together is folded over the foot of the bed.
Maren notices. "You didn't pack any of it away."
"I couldn't." I stand in the doorway, letting her have the space. "It would have felt like giving up."
She turns toward me beside our bed, and I go to her because there's nowhere else I want to be.
She reaches for me beside our bed, and I stop waiting for her to decide she's made a mistake. I kiss her and stay close when she draws me down beside her.
* * *
Afterward, she lies against my chest, her fingers tracing idle patterns on my skin.
Maren rests her hand over mine on the sheet. "I want to talk about coming home. Properly. I'm still keeping the commercial kitchen."
"I know you like working there." I keep my thumb against her knuckles. "Will you still want the blue bowl here, or does that belong with your work things?"
She laughs against my shoulder. "Here. And I'm not moving a truckload tonight, so you can stop planning the whole thing."
I can't stop smiling, but I can manage that. "Just the bowl, then."
She tips her face toward mine. "And me. Eventually."
We drift in the comfortable silence, the sun setting beyond the windows, the room filling with the soft blue light of evening.
She falls asleep before I do, and I lie awake for a long time, listening to her breathe, feeling the weight of her against my side. My wife chose to come back to this house, this bed, this life. Not because she had to. Because she wanted to.
In the morning, I wake to the smell of coffee and find her in the kitchen, wrapped in my robe, watching the sunrise through the window.
Maren pours from the pot into my usual mug before I reach the counter. "I made it the way you like it. Too strong and too hot."
I take the mug she holds out, warmed by the familiar care of it. "You know me so well."
"I should." She lifts her own mug before taking a sip. "I've been studying you for seven years."
We drink our coffee standing at the window, shoulders touching, watching the light spread across the valley. It's the same view I've seen a thousand times, but it looks different with her beside me. Fuller, somehow. More complete.
Maren carries her mug to the table and sits in her old chair. "I was thinking. About Christmas."
I carry my mug to the table and sit across from her. "What about it?"
"Your mother usually hosts. And Helen and Tyler usually come, and the Hendersons sometimes." She glances at me sideways. "I was wondering if maybe this year I could handle the dinner. Cook for everyone. Make it official."
I turn fully toward her, hopeful about what she might be offering. "You want to cater my mother's Christmas party?"
"Our Christmas party." She points between us, claiming her share of it. "I want a table full of people we love. I want to enjoy being here with them."
I look at her across the table, afraid I've gotten ahead of myself. "Are we? Happy?"
She considers the question with the seriousness it deserves.
She sets down her mug and reaches across the table for me. "We're getting there. We're choosing to get there. I think that's enough."
"It's more than enough." I set down my mug and pull her into my arms. "It's everything."
She leaves after breakfast, heading back to her apartment to shower and prep for a client meeting. I walk her to her truck and kiss her goodbye against the driver's door.
She pauses with her bag over her shoulder, unwilling to end the morning just yet. "I'll call you tonight. We can talk about the logistics. Moving, I mean. When and how."
I keep my hand against the truck door while she finds her keys, unwilling to rush her answer. "Whenever you're ready."
"Soon." She touches my face. "It'll be soon."
I watch her drive away, the dust settling behind her truck, and I stand there for a long time after she's gone.
She's coming home. Not today, maybe not this week, but soon. She said soon.
I walk back into the house, and for the first time in months, it doesn't feel empty. It feels like it's waiting. Like it knows.
Soon.