Chapter Six
TJ
Outside, the wind had finally quieted. Snow still fell past the windows, but gentle now—no howling, no rattling glass. Peaceful, almost.
I should've been running through the ranch checklist in my head.
South pasture fence would need walking after two days of this wind.
Generator probably needed refueling. The heifers closest to calving would need extra watching.
Dad and Mom were likely wearing a path in the kitchen floor, waiting for word that I was alive.
Instead, all I could think about was the woman tucked against me and the fact that tomorrow, I'd have to leave her.
The truth settled in my gut like a stone: I'd fallen for Tinsley Pepper.
Somewhere between her calling me a stripper and watching her blend beef stew for a golden retriever pup this morning, I'd gone and fallen completely. The kind you don't climb back out of. The kind that changes everything.
Should've terrified me. We'd known each other less than forty-eight hours. You don't fall in love in two days. That's not how it works.
Except apparently, it was exactly how it worked.
This wasn't like Cassidy. My high school girlfriend had been sweet, and I'd loved her the way eighteen-year-olds love—big and uncomplicated and convinced it'll last forever.
Then she'd left for California, and forever lasted about six months after that.
I'd thought I'd known what heartbreak felt like.
I hadn't known a damn thing.
This—Tinsley asleep against me, Twinkle's warmth across our legs, this cabin filled with the smell of cookies and wood smoke—this felt like coming home to a place I didn't know I'd been looking for.
She fit. Into my world, into my life, into the future I'd been trying to picture for the past year since Mom and Dad started talking retirement.
Could see her in the ranch house kitchen, laughing while she cooked.
She'd probably try to name every single cow in the barn.
And Twinkle full-grown, her and Tinsley both waiting when I came in from the fields.
I could see forever, and it looked like her.
My hand tightened on her hip without meaning to.
She shifted, lifting her head to look at me. Those hazel eyes caught the firelight, worried and vulnerable in a way that made my chest ache.
"TJ?"
"Yeah?"
"Can I ask you something?"
"Anything."
She pulled back a little, tucking her legs under her, putting space between us that I immediately hated. Her fingers picked at the throw pillow, not meeting my eyes.
"What if this is just..." She gestured between us, the movement jerky. "What if it's the cabin? The storm? Christmas making everything feel bigger than it is? What if we go back to real life and this just... fades?"
There it was. The fear I'd been trying not to think about.
"You think that's what this is?" I kept my voice level. Calm. Even though my heart was hammering against my ribs.
"I don't know." Her voice cracked. "People don't fall in love in two days, TJ. That's not real. That's movies and romance novels and—"
I kissed her. Pulled her back to me and kissed her hard enough to stop the spiral I could feel her disappearing into. My hand cupped the back of her neck, holding her there, trying to show her what I couldn't figure out how to say.
When I pulled back, we were both gasping for air.
"Listen to me," I said. "I don't care if it's been two days or two weeks or two damn hours. What I feel for you is real as that storm outside. Real as this ranch I'm going home to. Real as anything I've ever known." I held her gaze. "You telling me you don't feel it too?"
"That's what scares me." Tears welled in her eyes. "Because I do feel it. And what if I'm wrong? What if you wake up next week and realize I'm just some city girl who doesn't belong in your world? What if—"
"Stop." I brushed my thumb across her cheek, catching a tear before it could fall. "You're not wrong. And you belong in my world better than anyone I've ever met. You think I don't see that?"
"How can you be sure?"
"Because you laughed when the puppy peed on the rug instead of freaking out. Because you made your mom’s beef stew and Christmas cookies and didn't bat an eye when I tracked snow through the kitchen.
Because you named a dog Twinkle and meant it.
" I smiled, even though my throat felt tight.
"Because when I talk about cattle and ranch life, you light up instead of looking for the exit.
That's how I know, Tinsley. You fit. You just do. "
She let out a shaky laugh. "I already fell for you, cowboy. Like, crashed and burned fell. That's what terrifies me."
Relief hit me so hard I had to close my eyes for a second. When I opened them, she was watching me with an expression that made me want to promise her things I had no business promising after two days.
So I did it anyway.
"Then we're both in trouble," I said. "Because I'm not walking away from this. From you. I don't care how crazy it sounds."
"But I live in Bozeman. You're here. How do we—"
"Livingston's only about ninety minutes from Bozeman.
" I pulled her back against me, needing her close.
"You said you need to finish clinical hours before you take your boards in spring, right? Like I said, there are dental practices in Livingston. Small town, but good people. Let me put the word out.”
She pulled back to stare at me. "You’re serious about this? You want me to move to Livingston?"
"Not right away. Take your time, finish what you need to finish. But yeah. Eventually." I paused, then figured I might as well go all in. "I also want to keep Twinkle. If that's okay with you."
Her eyes went wide. "But the woman who’d bought her—"
"I'll give RoyAnn a call soon as cell service comes back.
Mom bred three females in this litter. RoyAnn will understand—she's a good woman.
We'll make sure she gets one of Twinkle's sisters, maybe throw in some free vaccinations.
" I glanced down at the sleeping animal between us. "But this one's ours now."
"Ours," she repeated, like she was testing out the word.
"Ours. You, me, and a dog named after Christmas lights."
The laugh that burst out of her sounded wet with tears, but real. Happy. She launched herself at me, kissing me hard enough that I nearly fell backward on the couch.
When she finally pulled away, she was smiling through the tears streaming down her face.
"I'll do it," she said. "I'll look for work in Livingston in the spring. Clinical hours, job, all of it."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." She wiped her eyes with the heel of her hand. "Because I'm not ready to lose you either. Not even close."
I kissed her again, slower this time. Savoring it. The taste of her, the feel of her hands sliding around my neck, the knowledge that this wasn't ending when the storm cleared.
Twinkle whimpered in her sleep and rolled over, sprawling across my lap with her paws in the air.
Tinsley laughed against my mouth. "We should probably get her settled for the night."
"Probably should."
Neither of us moved.
Then her hand slid down my chest, fingers curling into my shirt, and my pulse kicked up about twenty notches.
"Or," she said, voice dropping low, "we could put her to bed and spend our last night here making sure we remember this. Making sure it's real."
Heat shot through me. "You sure about that?"
"Very sure." She stood, holding out her hand. The firelight caught in her hair, turned her eyes dark and wanting. "Come on, cowboy. Let's put our baby to bed."
WE CARRIED TWINKLE upstairs between us, her little body limp with sleep.
I settled her into the carrier in the second bedroom, made sure she had water and her favorite squeaky toy within reach.
The door didn't quite latch fully—swollen from the humidity, probably—but it was pulled mostly closed. Good enough for a sleeping puppy.
When I turned around, Tinsley was leaning in the doorway, watching me with an expression that made my mouth go dry.
"What?" I said.
"You're good with her. Gentle." She pushed off the doorframe, moving closer. "It's sexy as hell."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." Her hands slid up my chest. "Last night was amazing. But tonight, I want it different."
I backed her into the hallway, bracing my hands on either side of her head. "Different how?"
"Slower." She pulled me down for a kiss that started soft and turned hungry fast. "Like we have all the time in the world."
"We do have all the time in the world." I kissed down her neck, felt her pulse jump under my lips. "This isn't ending tomorrow."
"Then prove it." She grabbed my shirt, pulling me toward the master bedroom. "Show me we're not crazy."
I kicked the door shut behind us, and we stood there in the firelight, just looking at each other. Her chest rose and fell with quick breaths. Color high in her cheeks. Hair messy from the couch. Still wearing those snowflake pajama pants that I'd been wanting to peel off her all evening.
"Let me look at you," I said, voice coming out rougher than I intended. "Just for a minute."
She stood still, letting me drink her in. The curve of her hip. The way the soft light played across her skin. The trust in her eyes that made something in my chest pull tight.
"You're staring again," she said, but she was smiling.
"Can't help it." I closed the distance between us, sliding my hands under the hem of her sweatshirt. "You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. You know that?"
I pulled the top over her head slow. She wasn't wearing anything underneath, and the sight of her—full breasts and smooth skin—damn near brought me to my knees.
"TJ—"
"Shh." I kissed her shoulder, her collarbone, the hollow of her throat. "Let me take my time with you."
I undressed her like unwrapping something precious. Kissed every inch of skin I revealed. By the time I slid her pajama pants and panties down her legs, she was trembling, hands fisted in my hair.
"Your turn," she whispered.