Chapter 13 - Carson
THIRTEEN
CARSON
A week passes after I bring Lennon home. We settle into a routine, and part of it feels normal. The rest feels like a fucking dream. Lennon is basically living here now, sleeping in my room, her presence transforming the space from a source of anxiety into a haven.
Tonight, we’re in the kitchen making dinner together. It’s chicken fajitas, which is her request. I’m slicing peppers while she marinates the chicken, and we’re arguing good-naturedly about whether cilantro is necessary or an abomination.
“It tastes like soap,” I insist, pushing the bunch toward the far edge of the counter.
“It tastes like freshness,” she counters, pulling it back. “And I’m putting it in whether you like it or not. Unless you’re being honest, and you have the gene that makes cilantro taste like soap to you.”
“Ugh, I don’t have the gene. It’s just gross,” I mutter, but I’m grinning.
“Damn right.” She hip-checks me as she reaches for a lime. “My kitchen, my rules.”
“Your kitchen?” I catch her around the waist, pulling her back against me. “Last I checked, this was still my family’s ranch.”
She turns in my arms, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “You sure about that, cowboy? Because I seem to remember you giving me free rein.”
Before I can respond, headlights flash through the kitchen window. Right on schedule. Devlin and Atlee have been coming over most nights this week, turning dinner into a regular gathering of the four of us.
“They’re here,” Lennon says, but she doesn’t pull away immediately. Instead, she leans up and kisses me, soft and sweet, before returning to the chicken.
I usher them in, and we all fall into our routine. Devlin helps me set the table while the women finish cooking, conversation flowing easy and comfortable.
“Storm’s coming in,” Devlin says, gesturing toward the darkening sky visible through the windows. “Weatherman says it’ll hit by the end of this week.”
“How bad?” I ask, already mentally calculating what we’ll need to do to prepare.
“Bad enough. Heavy snow, potentially whiteout conditions for a day or two.” He accepts the beer I offer him. “Which means we’re probably looking at some long nights at Grizzly River Ranch.”
I nod, understanding immediately. “The pregnant cows.”
“Yep.” Devlin leans against the counter. “Any time we get weather like this, they start dropping their calves early. Something about the pressure changes. We’ll need to be ready to help with difficult births.”
“I can handle it,” I say. “Been through enough seasons to know the drill.”
“I know you can.” Devlin’s expression is serious. “But with everything going on with Lennon, I wanted to make sure you were prepared for some potentially long stretches away from the ranch.”
I glance toward where Lennon and Atlee are laughing about something, their heads bent together over the stove. The thought of being away from her, even for a night or two, makes my chest tight. But this is part of the job, part of the life I’ve chosen.
“We’ll figure it out,” I say quietly.
Dinner is ready soon after, and we gather around the table, passing plates and bowls among each other.
“I swear if that old man comes in and asks me about erectile dysfunction medication again…” Atlee giggles as she takes a drink of her margarita.
Devlin growls. “I hope you show him the ring on your finger every time he does.”
I find myself relaxing in a way I haven’t in months, the constant tension that’s lived in my shoulders since Noah finally easing.
I watch Lennon across the table, the way the light plays across her features, the way she laughs at Atlee. She catches me staring and raises an eyebrow, a small smile playing on her lips.
What? she mouths.
I just shake my head, returning her smile. How do I explain that watching her here, in my home, with our family, feels like everything I didn’t know I wanted? That for the first time in my life, I can actually picture a future beyond the next day, the next week?
After dinner, we migrate to the living room. Atlee and Lennon curl up together on the couch while Devlin and I take the armchairs.
“Turn on Netflix while we sit here,” Devlin says. “Otherwise I’m gonna fall asleep.”
We’re talking and kind of watching what’s on the screen between the four of us.
But I’m only half listening to what’s going on around me. Mostly, I’m aware of Lennon beside me, the way she’s relaxed into the cushions, her guard down in a way I rarely see during the day.
Here, in this environment, she can just be. Watching her laugh at the movie, seeing her exchange knowing glances with her sister, I’m struck by how much has changed in such a short time.
When I brought her here, I was sleeping on the couch, convinced I’d never feel normal again. Now, I’m sleeping through the night with Lennon in my arms. I’m making plans, thinking about the future, feeling hopeful in ways I thought Noah had stolen from me forever.
“You okay?” Lennon asks quietly, her hand finding mine in the space between us.
“Yeah,” I say, and I mean it. “Better than okay, actually.”
She squeezes my hand, understanding in her eyes, and we return our attention to the movie. But the moment stays with me, a quiet recognition of how far I’ve come and how much of that progress is because of the woman beside me.
Later, after Devlin and Atlee have left and we’re cleaning up the kitchen, Lennon wraps her arms around my waist from behind, resting her cheek against my back.
“Thank you,” she says softly.
“For what?”
“For this. For making me feel safe. For letting me be part of your life.”
I turn in her arms, cupping her face and tilting it up to mine. “You’re not just part of my life, Lennon. You’re becoming the center of it.”
The admission should terrify me. Instead, it feels like the most natural thing in the world.
She rises on her toes, kissing me with a tenderness that makes my chest ache. “Good,” she whispers against my lips. “Because you’re the center of mine too.”
We head upstairs together, falling into bed. As I drift off to sleep, Lennon warm and safe in my arms, I can’t help thinking that maybe, just maybe, the storm that’s coming won’t just bring snow and hard work.