Epilogue
Tinsley
Christmas Eve, one year after a blizzard changed my life, and the kitchen timer was telling me the cookies were done.
I was home.
The thought hit me as I tied the bow on the last gift box. Not just physically in this house, but home in the bone-deep way that meant I'd finally found where I belonged.
"Perfect timing," I called toward the living room, where TJ was adding logs to the fire. "Cookies are done!"
"Be right there."
I grabbed the oven mitts—the cow-patterned ones Carol gave me when I moved in over Thanksgiving, because apparently I'd become the kind of person who owned themed kitchen accessories now—and pulled out two trays of sugar cookies.
Butter and vanilla hit me first, followed by cinnamon from the snickerdoodles I'd made earlier.
The whole kitchen smelled like Christmas and childhood in Kalispell.
This kitchen.
I paused, just taking it in like I still did sometimes.
The six-burner stove where I could actually cook multiple things at once.
Double ovens that meant I'd never have to choose between cookies and dinner.
That massive farmhouse sink I'd literally sighed over the first time I'd used it.
Counter space for days, currently covered in cooling racks and mixing bowls and the organized chaos of holiday baking.
When Dale and Carol retired and moved to their smaller place outside Livingston back in January, they'd offered TJ the main house.
The ranch house, with its log beam ceilings and stone fireplace and this kitchen that was bigger than my entire Bozeman apartment had been.
He'd asked me to move in with him over Thanksgiving weekend, his eyes nervous like maybe I'd say no.
I'd said yes before he'd finished asking.
Best decision of my life. Well, second best. First was opening that cabin door a year ago.
Twinkle padded into the kitchen, her golden coat gleaming under the lights, nails clicking on the hardwood.
She'd grown into her oversized puppy paws—sixty-five pounds of solid muscle and enthusiasm now, though she still thought she was small enough to be a lap dog.
Her tail wagged so hard her entire backend swayed as she sniffed the air hopefully.
That red bow we'd tied around her collar for the holidays—a callback to the one she'd worn as a puppy—had already slipped sideways.
"Nice try, baby girl." I scratched behind her ears, smiling at the way she leaned her whole weight into my leg. "But you already conned Uncle Josh out of three dinner rolls and a piece of turkey—he was always a soft touch for big brown eyes, whether human or canine. I saw you."
Her tail swept faster. Zero shame, this dog.
TJ appeared in the doorway, leaning against the frame with that lazy smile that still made my pulse jump.
Flannel shirt rolled to his elbows, jeans worn soft from ranch work, dark hair slightly mussed from where Carol had hugged him goodbye earlier and gotten a little emotional.
He looked exactly like he had a year ago when he'd shown up on the porch in a blizzard—except now he was mine, and I got to keep him.
"Everyone get off okay?" I asked, transferring cookies to the cooling rack.
Our families had gathered for Christmas Eve dinner just a few hours ago—both sets of parents, siblings, the whole crew packed around the big dining table.
Carol had made her famous prime rib. Mom had brought three pies.
The house had been full of laughter and love and the kind of chaos that came from two families who genuinely enjoyed each other.
"Emily just texted – she and Greg are settled back at the hotel.
Cole crashed in the guest room." He moved behind me, arms sliding around my waist, chin resting on my shoulder.
The familiar weight of him eased something in my chest. "Your folks and Josh made it back to their hotel about twenty minutes ago.
Dad texted that Mom fell asleep in the car before they even hit the main road. "
I leaned back against him, breathing in leather and that cedar scent from the ranch that clung to everything he owned. "Good dinner?"
"Best one yet." His breath warmed my neck. "Though I thought Mom was going to cry again when Emily showed off her belly. That's the third time today."
"Your mom's allowed to be excited. First grandbaby.
" I smiled, remembering Carol's face when Emily had announced the pregnancy over Thanksgiving.
Pure joy, the kind that made my chest ache with happiness.
Emily was six months along now, her belly round and obvious, glowing with that pregnancy radiance everyone talked about.
"Besides, Emily's eating it up. Did you see her at dinner, letting everyone feel the baby kick while she held court at the head of the table? "
"Pretty sure that baby's going to come out spoiled by every single person in both our families." He pulled me tighter against him. "Speaking of families getting along—I think our dads are planning a fishing trip."
"I heard." I'd spotted the two of them in the corner earlier, talking about fly fishing and spring runoff like they'd been friends for decades instead of months. "My mom and yours are already planning a joint birthday party for the baby. They've got a Pinterest board."
"It's not even born yet."
"Details." I turned in his arms, sliding my hands up his chest. The snap buttons on his shirt were cool under my fingers. "Also, your sister cornered me in the kitchen and asked if I'd be her birth partner when she goes into labor."
His eyes went soft. "What'd you say?"
"I said yes, obviously. Though I warned her I might pass out."
"You won't pass out."
"I passed out during a root canal demonstration in my first year of dental assisting school, TJ. I absolutely might pass out."
He kissed me—slow and sweet, tasting like pumpkin pie and the coffee we'd been drinking all evening. When he pulled back, his gaze had turned hungry, that look I recognized.
"Cookies first," I said, even though my insides fluttered. "Seduction later."
"Who said anything about seduction?"
"Your face. Your face is saying things about seduction."
"My face is very subtle."
"Your face is about as subtle as Twinkle begging for turkey." I patted his chest and stepped back, grinning. "Come on. Let's exchange gifts before I get all distracted and we end up christening the kitchen counter."
"That's an option?"
"No. Your mother might visit tomorrow. I can never look her in the eye again if we do that."
"Fair point." But he was smiling as he followed me into the living room, one hand catching mine, fingers lacing together.
The living room was exactly how I'd imagined ranch Christmas would look.
Fire crackling in that massive stone fireplace, throwing orange light across the leather furniture.
Nine-foot Douglas fir in the corner—the one TJ and I had cut down together three weeks ago, him wielding the chainsaw while I took approximately seven hundred photos.
White lights wound through the branches, mixed with ornaments from both our stashes.
A few new ones too: the "Our First Christmas" one Melody had sent last year with a note that said "You're welcome for the stripper," the tiny pair of cowboy boots I'd bought as a joke that TJ had insisted we hang up.
Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, snow fell in fat, lazy flakes. Not a blizzard like last year—just enough to make the ranch look like a Christmas card, coating the barn roof and fence posts in fresh white.
Twinkle claimed her spot on the rug in front of the fire, circling twice before collapsing with a dramatic sigh. Guard dog duties complete for the evening, apparently.
I'd changed after everyone left—traded my nice sweater and jeans for my favorite lounge pants (gray, covered in tiny reindeer) and one of TJ's old ranch shirts that hung to mid-thigh.
"Okay." I settled on the couch, tucking my legs under me. "I'm going first because I'm impatient and you know it."
"Wouldn't have it any other way, ma'am."
I handed him the first box, watching his face as he unwrapped it.
He was careful about it—unlike me, who attacked wrapping paper like it had personally offended me.
The box opened to reveal leather work gloves, the expensive kind lined with fleece that would actually hold up to Montana winters and ranch work.
TJ pulled one out, turning it over in his hands. "Tinsley, these are—"
"Your old ones are held together with duct tape and prayers. I noticed." I'd watched him try to make them last through one more winter, his hands red with cold when he came in for lunch. "They're the good kind. Waterproof liner, reinforced palms. The guy at the store said these are the best."
He tried one on, flexing his fingers. The leather moved smoothly, already broken in enough to work in. "They're perfect. Thank you."
"There's more. Don't get all emotional yet."
The second box made him laugh—a deep, surprised sound that made Twinkle's ears perk up. Inside was a black Stetson, the felt still crisp and new.
"Figured you could use a backup," I said. Then added with a grin I didn't even try to hide, "Also figured I might borrow it sometime. For... reasons."
His eyes heated. "Reasons."
"Purely practical reasons involving significantly less clothing than I'm currently wearing. Possibly just the hat. And boots."
"Tell me more about these reasons."
"Open your last present first, cowboy."
His hand slid up my thigh, warm through the thin fabric of my lounge pants. "Or we could skip to the reasons part."
"TJ."
"Fine." But he was grinning, that dimple showing in his left cheek. "One more?"
"One more."
The third box was flat and rectangular. He opened it slower this time, and I watched his expression shift when he saw what was inside.