Chapter 25 #4
“I used to imagine this,” I confessed quietly. “Before. When the barn was still on paper. I’d stand and picture… moments. And sometimes…” I hesitated.
“Sometimes?” he prompted.
“Sometimes I’d picture this,” I said. “The two of us. In the barn we built. Dancing to music no one else could hear.”
His chest rose and fell under my cheek. “Me too,” he said.
“You did not,” I accused, amused.
“I didn’t call it dancing,” he admitted. “More like… that thing where you move your feet and hope you don’t step on her toes.”
I smiled into his shirt.
We turned slowly in that wide, open space. For once, my brain wasn’t running a mile a minute. I was just… here. In this moment. In this barn. In his arms.
“Do you still have nightmares?” I asked, after a while.
“Sometimes,” he said. “Less here. A lot less when you’re snoring down the hall.”
“I don’t snore,” I protested.
“You do,” he said. “It’s cute. Sounds like a congested kitten.”
I gasped. “You are absolutely never allowed to repeat that to another living soul.”
“Copy that,” he said, his voice amused against my hair.
We fell quiet again.
“Hey, Milly?” he said eventually.
“Yeah?”
“Before that day in front of the airport,” he said.
“Yeah?” I asked.
“Did you ever think you’d be here now, on a ranch, dancing in the arms of a man that loves you?”
“Absolutely,” I said firmly. “I knew it the moment I saw you.”
“Liar,” he smiled against my hair, “but I like the sound of that,” he murmured.
We stopped moving but didn’t step apart.
This, I thought, is what love looks like. It’s not the grand gestures. It’s late-night dances. Cocoa in chipped mugs. Lists on the fridge and spare gloves in the truck. It’s knowing exactly which floorboard will creak when he sneaks into the kitchen at midnight.
It looks like him. Over and over again.
I tilted my head back to look at him. His eyes were soft in the dim. Curious. And completely mine.
“What are you thinking?” he asked.
“That I used to be afraid I’d inherited trouble, like my mom,” I said. “And I did. There’s no way around that. But I also inherited… you.”
He smiled. “That sounds like trouble too.”
“You have no idea,” I said. “But definitely worth it.”
His gaze dropped to my mouth, then back to my eyes, then he dipped his head the last two inches until his perfect lips met mine.
His right hand met the back of my head, and his fingers threaded through my hair, holding me closer.
The kiss started out slow and soft. His lips moved against mine, and my heartbeat thundered in my chest. I had no doubt that Austin was my perfect. He was my forever.
I grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him closer, wanting to be as close as possible. He’d been gone for two weeks, and it felt like forever. With him here, I felt like I could finally breathe again. The kiss in the barn was different from before. This one was hungry.
My hands moved up from his chest and slid to the back of his neck. His hands moved to my waist and pulled me in. He deepened his kiss, his lips moving feverishly against mine. We fit. Together, we were perfect. Together, we could handle anything. Together.
When we parted, I rested my forehead against his. Our breath came out in bursts. Breathless and still wanting more.
“Now,” he said, “we wake up tomorrow and feed animals, clean stalls, run your clinic, and balance ledgers. We argue about where to put the new fence line. We fix what breaks and celebrate each other. We live the everyday.” Then he got a look in his eye.
I knew this look. “And I get to kiss you anytime I want.”
“That sounds like a lot of work, and the best ending to every day. If kissing you is the price, then I’ll gladly pay it,” I said, pushing up on my tippy toes and giving him a quick peck.
“I like it,” he agreed. “Definitely worth the price.”
I smiled. “Good. I never was afraid of hard work.”
He took my hand in his. The wind sighed along the edges of the barn.
Snow drifted heavily outside. “We better head in.” Austin led me out of the barn, and we walked back to the house together, boots crunching in time, shoulders bumping now and then.
At the porch, he paused and looked back over the ranch.
“Home,” he said quietly.
“Home,” I repeated.
Inside, I switched off the porch light. Austin took the bedroom at the top of the stairs, across from mine. A bigger room with an ensuite bathroom like mine and windows facing the south.
Later, lying in my bed with the soft sound of Austin moving in the room across the hall, I took Penny’s letter from the drawer of the nightstand and read it one more time.
A fire resets a field. Let the new things grow. Life bends. You bend, too—but you do not break. Love with an open heart. Stay where you are loved and happiest.
—Aunt P.
I smiled up at the ceiling.
“I found it, Aunt P,” I whispered. “I found Austin and happiness.”
I closed my eyes, listening to the soft, familiar creak of the third stair as Austin tested it on his way back from the kitchen. All was right.
For the first time since Penny’s letter landed in my lap, I didn’t feel like I’d inherited trouble at all.
I’d inherited a life. A town. A love.
I’d inherited home.
THE END