Chapter 27 #2
We moved through the room the same way we would move through a pasture we knew by heart.
Easy. Natural. This was not a party where people lined up politely and waited to be told what to do.
This was grab a fork and carve off what you want, pass the mashed potatoes over your shoulder, and ask if this pan is spicy or safe.
Or taking someone else's chair and pulling them onto your lap if they complained.
This was to pour somebody a drink because their hands were full and they just came in from checking calves.
If you dropped something, three people bent to clean it up before it hit the floor.
I fixed a plate for Kristin before she could argue and pushed it into her hands.
Her appetite had returned slowly over the last few days.
Watching her lift her fork and actually take a bite without forcing it made something in my chest loosen that had been tight since the night of the rodeo.
Her shoulders dropped half an inch. Her jaw unclenched.
She rolled her eyes at me when she caught me staring, but she kept eating.
We ended up at the far end of the big room near the wood stove.
The stove threw off a thick, steady heat that felt like it went straight into your bones.
The fire inside snapped and popped, sending shadows up the wall.
The heat felt good after the cold walk. Steam curled off the plates we balanced on our knees.
People circled up, and stories started rolling. Work stories first because that is always the opener. You start with something everybody knows because it lets the room find its rhythm.
Who got bucked off in June? Who claimed they didn’t and then had three witnesses stand up and correct the record.
The time Nash drove along the fence line and came back missing half a bumper, swearing he never hit anything.
He still maintained to this day that the post had jumped out in front of him.
The time Ryder tried to flirt with the vet and nearly passed out when she stitched a calf in front of him.
Ryder claimed this version of the story was exaggerated.
No one believed him. Fallon swore she had pictures.
Ryder said that was an invasion of privacy.
Kristin laughed. Not polite. Real. It came from low in her chest and rose up easily.
Heads turned when they heard it. You could feel it.
The shift in the room. It was fast, but it was there.
It was as if everyone had been holding their breath since that night, and they all let a little of it go at the same time.
Shoulders eased. Mouths softened. Eyes went bright in that way people get when they know for sure that the person they love is still in there.
Kipp cut his eyes to me and gave me one single nod.
I felt it too.
After plates were cleared, cards came out. Griffin dealt. He always dealt because nobody trusted Ryder to deal without sneaking something under the table, and nobody trusted Nash not to fold on a winning hand just because someone smiled at him.
Kristin played at my side, her knee pressed against mine under the table. She was sharp and merciless, taking half the pot from Kipp in under ten minutes.
“You cheat,” he said.
“You talk too much,” she replied with a grin. He barked a laugh and gave it up.
Time slipped by easily. A plate passed here, jokes thrown there, refills placed in my hand without me asking.
The pop and hiss of something frying in the kitchen.
Fallon walking by and dropping a kiss on Nash’s cheek like it was muscle memory.
The kind of comfort you cannot buy and you can’t fake.
You only get it by bleeding beside people. You only get it by staying.
Around eleven, somebody turned the music down, and Kipp said we should move outside before the fire burned down to nothing but coals.
Ryder and Nash had built the stack high that afternoon with old fence posts, scrap lumber, and whatever else we had been saying we would haul off since September.
It was already throwing heat across the yard by the time we stepped out.
The night was clear and cold, and the fire made everything glow like copper.
Sparks lifted and drifted up into the black above us and then faded out.
Faces turned gold. Breath puffed in the air in little clouds.
Everyone spread into a loose circle around the flames.
Kids ran in tight loops, wired past their bedtimes, and sugared up on whatever Fallon had let them sneak.
Ryder handed out mugs, and I didn’t ask what was in them.
It didn’t matter; it tasted sweet, warm, and familiar, and hit the back of my throat like a memory.
Kristin stood under my arm. Her head rested against my shoulder. Her hands were tucked into my jacket, her fingers fisted quietly in the fabric at my ribs. She fit against me like she’d always belonged there.
Tonight was different. Tonight wasn’t about fear. Tonight was ours.
Kipp lifted his voice. Almost there, he said. Ten minutes.
People started talking about resolutions because they always did so in the last stretch before midnight, as if saying one good thing out loud might make it stick.
Ryder said he resolved to keep his mouth shut, and everyone laughed because that was never going to happen in any version of this world or the next.
Nash said he was going to actually fix that hinge instead of pretending it was fine, and half the group groaned like witnesses in a courtroom.
Griffin said he was going to stop letting Kipp rope him into extra work. Kipp said that was cute.
Kristin tipped her face up toward me. Her eyes reflected the firelight, making them look almost molten. “You all right?” she whispered.
“Yeah,” I said.
“You sure?”
“Yes.” I pulled in a slow breath. My heart hammered hard enough that I felt it in my throat.
My fingers were not steady. I had stared down plenty of people that should have rattled me more than this.
Fights in alleys, men who wanted to test themselves on me.
A loaded weapon in the wrong hands. A bleeding horse at two in the morning in freezing rain. None of that touched me like this did.
I caught Kipp's eye over the fire and gave him a slight nod. His brows lifted. He understood fast. He always did.
He cleared his throat and raised his mug. “Hold up, he called out. Linc wants a word.”
Every head turned. Conversation quieted. The circle tightened without anyone stepping forward. The kids bounced in place and watched, their eyes wide, because if adults got quiet, it meant something was about to happen, and kids could always sense that.
Kristin looked from Kipp back to me. Her brow drew in. Linc, she said, low, like she was the only one who existed in that second and the only one I needed to answer to.
I stepped in front of her, not far, just enough to face her fully. My hands were shaking. I did not bother to hide it. She had seen me every way a person can be seen. There was no point pretending I was not rattled by her.
“The first time I asked you, it wasn’t romantic or planned; it was a life or death situation. And your yes wasn’t exactly enthusiastic.” I smiled, and everyone around us laughed quietly. Kristin closed her eyes and shook her head.
When she opened her eyes, they were already shining.
Her throat worked like she was trying not to cry.
That woman, who had barked at Nash about minerals and told Ryder to watch his footing, and stared down fear with her chin up, was standing in front of me, shaking, yet still meeting my eyes with her whole heart showing.
“We did that for survival,” I said. “But this time, I want this for us.”
I dropped to one knee in the packed snow. The cold bit through the denim of my jeans right away, up through bone and muscle, but it only made everything feel sharper, truer. I pulled the box from my pocket and opened it. The ring inside caught the firelight and flashed.
“Kristin Felder, will you marry me again? Here. With every person who matters to us standing right here to hear you say it.”
Her hand came up to her mouth. Her shoulders shook once. For a second, she did not speak. The fire cracked. Breath hung in the air. The world narrowed to her face.
Then she nodded, and the word came out clear and strong.
“Yes.”
I heard the cheer, but it sounded far away for a moment. Like I was standing under water and everything was muffled. My ears filled with a rushing sound, and my chest felt too full.
I felt hands clapping my back, and someone whooped loud enough to scare the horses in the far pens, and I heard Ryder yell that he knew it, and he was going to win the bet with Nash, and I heard Nash swear he was not crying, which meant he was, and I heard Kipp say about damn time under his breath.
All of it blurred. The only thing sharp was her.
I stood, and she stepped in close and kissed me.
It was not for show. It was slow, sure, and familiar.
It was home. It tasted like smoke and winter air and the cider she had been drinking.
Her hands slid up over my chest and hooked in the collar of my jacket, and held on like she had every right to.
When she pulled back, her breath shook against my cheek.
“You idiot,” she whispered, the words barely there. “Of course, yes.”
My chest finally let go.
I slid the ring onto her finger. It settled there like it had always belonged there. It had, in one way or another, since the first time I held her and felt the world stop fighting me for a second.
The crowd started counting without waiting for permission.
Ten
Nine
Eight
Her forehead leaned against mine, her nose brushing mine, her eyes half closed.
Seven
Six
Five
Her fingers curled into the front of my jacket and held on.
Four
Three
Two
Her voice was barely there, just for me. “I love you.”
One
The fire crackled, and everyone yelled, "Happy New Year!
" Somebody shook a bottle, and it sprayed foam and fizz in a perfect arc, and Ryder shouted that now it was a party.
Nash started passing hugs like handshakes.
Griffin handed Kipp a mug and told him to stop pretending he was strict and admit he was sentimental.
Kristin stayed right where she was, arms around my neck, chest pressed to mine, ring warm on her hand. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright, her mouth soft and happy in a way I had not seen since before everything went sideways.
I kissed her once more, softer this time, a promise more than a show. “Happy New Year, sweetheart.”
She smiled. “Happy New Year, husband.” The word settled into me and locked there. I felt it move through me from my throat all the way down. It felt right.
We stayed by the fire until the cold became sharp enough to bite through our coats, and the last of the kids started drooping against whoever was closest, turning wild energy into heavy limbs and slow blinks.
People drifted back toward the house in groups of two and three, talking low, shoulders hunched against the chill, boots thudding in tired rhythm. We hung back and let the crowd go ahead. It felt good not to rush. It felt like the whole night had been leading to this quiet walk.
Kristin walked pressed to my side, her hand in mine, her head against my shoulder. The ring caught the last flicker of firelight and flashed with each step, and I could not stop looking at it. She caught me staring and laughed under her breath.
“Is this the one you bought for me three years ago?”
“Yep, I’d had it designed specifically for you.
I knew you’d need a thicker band to withstand your daily grind, a lower set stone so you don’t catch it on things, and although you might be flashy in the arena, in your personal life, you prefer to go unnoticed.
So, while the diamond isn’t a boulder like you deserve, it’s tastefully large. ”
She lifted our joined hands and looked at them, like she was memorizing the sight of both of us together. “How did I ever think you didn’t know me inside and out?”
When we reached our place, we didn’t turn on any lights right away. We stood in the entry and let the dark settle around us. The windows of Kipp's house still glowed up the lane. Our yard lay quiet and blue in the starlight. The world felt quiet and ours.
Inside, I helped her out of her coat and hung both up by the door. She toed off her boots and left them on the mat. I shut the door and locked it out of habit. She watched my hand on the lock and nodded once, like that was good, like that meant there was a line drawn and nobody crossed it.
She turned, slid both arms around my waist, and pressed her face into my chest. I felt her smile against my shirt.
“Thank you,’ she said.
“For what?”
“For asking me again.”
I kissed the top of her head, breathing her in. “Thank you for saying yes twice.”
She pulled back just enough to look up at me. Her eyes were still bright, and the firelight from outside caught in them and stayed there like a reflection she carried. “Both times there wasn’t any other answer than yes.”
The words hit me harder than anything else all day.
We stood there in the soft hum of our house, just breathing the same air, just listening to the quiet settle around us. The tree lights still glowed in the corner, washing the room in that warm color. Our boots dripped a little on the mat. It felt like a snapshot I wanted to hold forever.
There was nothing chasing us. Nothing waiting outside. Only home. Only us. Only a new year that finally felt like it might let us keep what we had.
She leaned up and kissed me again. “Take me to bed,” she whispered.
“That’s one thing you never have to ask me twice to do,” I said, laughing as I lifted her into my arms.
The year turned, and for once, the only thing I felt was right.
That is how it should be.