32. Elias
ELIAS
Months slip by in a rhythm that feels earned, the kind of steady work that turns scars into something worth standing on.
I wipe sweat from my brow and step back from the fresh timber framing around the keeper's structure, the restoration crew hammering away nearby.
South Gate looks alive again—paths cleared and graveled, native grasses replanted in the old scars, a simple memorial stone set near where Noah fell.
The preserve is nearly complete, a place that honors without weighing us down.
I never thought I'd stand here and feel peace instead of that old knife twist.
Lila's permanent gallery opened last week in the refurbished barn near the main house, her photographs lining the walls under soft lighting.
People drive in from across the valley now, not just for the images but for the stories they tell.
She's turned it into the heart of our preservation push, with rotating exhibits and workshops that bring folks out to learn the land's real history.
Watching her move through the space, camera in hand and that focused spark in her eyes, reminds me daily how she pulled me out of the dark.
Today the whole town turns out for the dedication ceremony.
Trucks and cars line the drive, families spreading blankets on the grass while kids chase each other near the new trails.
Ruthie set up long tables loaded with food, Amelia's coordinating the historical society display, and the hands—Wyatt, Denny, Chuck—stand tall in their clean shirts, pride written across their faces.
The air carries barbecue smoke and wildflowers, laughter mixing with the low murmur of conversation.
I spot Lila across the gathering, her sundress catching the breeze, dark hair loose around her shoulders. She looks rooted here now, no trace of the drifter who showed up soaked that first night. She catches my eye and smiles, the kind that still hits me low in the gut every time.
The program starts simple. A few folks speak about the valley's heritage, then it's my turn at the small podium near the memorial stone. My boots feel solid on the ground as I step up, notes in my hand but mostly speaking from the chest.
"This place took my brother Noah too soon," I say, voice carrying over the crowd.
"For years I let that loss define everything—how I ran the ranch, how I kept people at arm's length.
But today we're dedicating South Gate as a preserve, a living memory instead of a wound. None of this happens without Lila."
I look straight at her, the words coming easier than I expected.
"She showed up with her camera and stubborn heart, refusing to let me hide.
Her photos woke the town, her digging uncovered truths we'd buried too deep.
She saved Emberland Ranch from losing a piece of itself, but more than that, she saved me from years of walking alone.
Lila, you made me see this land—and myself—clear again. Thank you."
Applause ripples through the gathering, warm and genuine. Lila's eyes shine as she steps closer, but I don't stop there. I reach for her hand and pull her up beside me, the crowd quieting as I turn to face her fully.
"I spent too long thinking forward meant cutting ties with the past," I continue, my thumb brushing her knuckles.
"But you taught me it means building on it.
With you. Lila, I want you here for every season, every hard day and good one.
Not as a guest, not temporary. Marry me.
Build a permanent future with me on this ranch, in this life we fought for. "
The words hang in the open air, raw and true. Whistles and cheers break out from the crew and neighbors, but I only see her—those expressive eyes widening, the soft curve of her mouth as emotion washes over her face.
She laughs through happy tears, squeezing my hand tight.
"Yes, Elias. A thousand times yes. I spent my whole life packing light and moving on, never believing I'd find a place that felt like mine.
But Emberland is home now. You're home. I choose this—us, the ranch, the future we're making together. "
I pull her into my arms right there, kissing her deep while the crowd erupts.
Her body fits against mine like it always has, warm and certain, the scent of her hair mixing with the open air.
Wyatt claps me on the back when we break apart, Ruthie dabbing her eyes with a napkin, and the celebration kicks into full swing with music starting up and plates passing around.
Later, as the sun dips and the gathering winds down, we slip away together toward the south boundary.
The restored South Gate stretches peaceful under the evening light, new plantings green and promising, the keeper's structure standing strong with fresh repairs.
We stand at the edge overlooking it all, her arm around my waist, mine draped over her shoulders.
"Look at what we've done," I say quietly, the pride deep and settling. "Not just saving the land, but turning it into something that gives back. Noah would approve. Hell, he'd probably be racing me down these new trails already."
Lila leans her head against my chest, her hand splayed over my heart.
"He'd love seeing you free of that weight.
And he'd love knowing his big brother finally let someone in.
I can't wait to build all of it with you—the gallery expansions, more preserves, kids running these fields someday if we're lucky. "
The words warm me through, painting pictures I once couldn't imagine.
I kiss the top of her head, holding her closer as the sky deepens to purple and gold.
"Kids, trails, arguments over fence lines and the best light for your shots.
All of it. No more isolation, no more running from the hard parts. You've got me, Lila. Whole and here."
We stay like that as night settles, the ranch lights flickering on in the distance, voices of friends and family carrying faintly on the breeze.
The community we strengthened surrounds us even in the quiet, the future stretching wide and open.
South Gate isn't a shadow anymore—it's foundation.
With her beside me, the man I am now feels ready for whatever comes next.
We've earned this view, this life, together.
And damn if it doesn't look like everything worth riding toward.