Chapter 29 #2
I nodded. I was more than ready to start the next part of my new adventure. He took my hand as he started the engine. And the world opened.
Montana was… I didn't know a word big enough. It was wide. Endless. Wild. Alive.
Mountains rose on the horizon like giants sleeping under blankets of stone and forest. Pines stretched in every direction, sharp and dark and ancient.
Yellow grass danced in the wind, blinking gold under the sun.
The sky—Gott im Himmel, the sky—was enormous.
Bigger than Berlin, bigger than anything I'd ever imagined.
I felt small under it, but not in the way rubble made me feel small.
This smallness was awe.
"This place…" I whispered, unable to look away. "It feels like it goes on forever."
"It does," Gideon said, voice warm with pride. "This is freedom, sweetheart. Real freedom."
I squeezed his hand. "And this… all of this… is truly your home."
He glanced at me with that look he reserved only for me, soft, hungry, hopeful. "Ours," he said quietly. "If you want it."
I leaned my head on his shoulder, heart full and overflowing. "I do."
He inhaled shakily, like my words hit him deeper than he expected.
Outside the window, the children pointed at everything: horses grazing in distant pastures, tall fences, herds of cattle, barns with red peeling paint, and creeks glinting like silver threads.
Their laughter bounced through the truck bed and into my veins like light.
"Gideon!" Klaus shouted through the open window. "Are those cows?"
"Longhorns," Gideon called back.
"Are those… American cows?" Axel asked, awed and confused.
Gideon chuckled. "The most American cows you'll ever meet."
Hilde squealed as a hawk soared overhead, wings spread wide. I watched its shadow ripple over the grass. I couldn't help it; my eyes prickled with tears. Everything was so big. So clean. So full of promise.
I stared at everything, at Gideon's hand holding mine. At mountains rising to meet us. At the children laughing in the wind. At a life finally beginning.
"Do you think your family will like me?" I asked softly.
Gideon brought my hand to his lips. "They're going to adore you, Inga. How could they not?"
While the truck turned to rumble down the dirt road leading to the Griffin Ranch, its white fences gleaming in the sunlight, I believed him.
I truly believed him.
We drove a little farther in silence, the wind whipping softly through the windows, the children's laughter trailing behind us like ribbons in the air. My hand stayed wrapped in Gideon's, his thumb brushing back and forth in slow, sure strokes that made my chest feel warm.
Then a thought slid into my mind, hesitant, almost embarrassed. "Gideon?" I asked quietly.
"Mm?"
I gestured out the window at the endless sweep of grassland, hills rolling like a green ocean all the way to the foothills of the mountains.
It had been a while since we passed a large gate and a sign reading Griffin Ranch.
"This land…" I began carefully. "Is all this—" I swallowed. "Part of your family's ranch?"
He glanced at me, a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, a little shy, a little proud. "Yeah," he said. "Just about everything you see from here to those two ridgelines, and beyond the creek, across that valley… all ours."
My jaw dropped.
"All of it?" I squeaked.
"All forty-five thousand acres," he said, as casually as if he were talking about a garden plot.
Forty-five thousand acres.
My mind couldn't even comprehend that number. Forty-five thousand acres in Berlin held whole districts. Thousands of families. Blocks of buildings.
Here… it was sky and earth and wind. Open. Wild. Free. And it all belonged to him. To his family.
My breath caught. "Gideon… you're… rich."
He squeezed my hand gently. "We're comfortable. The ranch has been in my family for generations."
"This is more than comfortable," I whispered.
He laughed, warm and a little bashful. "Well… it'll all be yours soon. Yours and the kids, too."
My heart somersaulted. I pressed my hand to my chest as if that could calm it. I had held a feeling Gideon might be better off than I had thought when I met him. I mean, the hotel, the clothes… but this?
I didn't have time to consider what that meant, because just then the house came into view. And whatever thoughts I had vanished completely.
"Oh…" I breathed. "Oh, Gideon."
Because it wasn't a farmhouse.
It was a dream.
A massive two-story home stood at the center of the ranch like a proud white jewel.
Crisp white paneling, freshly painted, gleamed in the sunlight.
Dark green shutters framed every window, matching the wide wraparound porch that hugged the house like welcoming arms. The roof was steep and elegant, with dormer windows and a tall stone chimney sending up a thin curl of smoke.
Behind it stretched a labyrinth of barns, huge red structures with wide doors and loft windows, some newer, some older and sun-bleached. Smaller outbuildings peppered the grounds in neat rows: workshops, storage sheds, a smokehouse, and a chicken coop as big as a Berlin apartment.
To the left spread a cluster of fenced pastures where horses grazed, tails flicking lazily. Beyond them roamed cattle, hundreds of them, like dark dots moving across the light green fields.
And then—
Cowboys.
Real cowboys.
Riding horses, dusty hats tipped low, lean bodies rocking with their mounts. One lassoed a steer in a practiced arc; another led a string of horses toward the barn; a third shouted something across the field, waving as the truck approached. The kids simply exploded.
"Kühe!" Klaus screamed.
"Horses!" Axel squealed.
"Look! Look! Cowboys!" Hilde shrieked, standing up so fast she nearly toppled over.
The truck hit a bump, and the children bounced like popcorn, laughing, pointing, shouting in three different directions at once. I pressed a hand to my heart. This wasn't just different from Berlin. It was the opposite of it.
I blinked hard as we turned down the long dirt lane toward the house. This was where Gideon had grown up. This was the world that shaped him. The sky. The land. The freedom. The dragon in him. The goodness in him.
"This is…" I whispered, unable to find the words. "Gideon… it's beautiful."
He looked at me then, really looked at me, eyes soft and full.
"Not as beautiful as the woman I brought home," he murmured.
My heart turned to melted butter.
As the truck rolled to a stop in front of the great white house, I knew this was the beginning of my real life. The one I had never dared to dream of. The one I would protect with everything in me.
We had barely rolled to a stop in front of the great house when the screen door snapped open.
A woman stepped out onto the wide porch, blinking into the sunlight.
She wore her graying dark hair braided and pinned back, an apron tied around her waist, hands still damp from whatever she'd been doing in the kitchen.
Her round face was warm and soft, the kind of face children would instinctively trust. Flour dusted her cheek.
She squinted toward us, shading her eyes with her hand.
Suddenly, she jolted backward. "Gid—?" Her voice cracked. "Giddy?"
I felt Gideon stiffen beside me, then smile. Before he could even open the truck door, the woman's voice rang out through the warm Montana air, "HANK! HANK! Get out here, right now!"
She flew down the steps so fast her apron strings trailed behind her like ribbons. Her feet hit the dirt, and she sprinted toward us with the speed of someone twenty years younger. Gideon barely had time to step around the truck before she crashed into him with enough force to stagger them both.
"Mom," he laughed, arms going tight around her. "Hi."
"Giddy," she breathed, clutching the back of his shirt as though she feared he'd disappear again. "Oh my sweet boy, you're home. My baby's home."
He held her close, face pressed into her hair, and for a moment I saw him not as the strong, unstoppable dragon who could level a building… but as someone's son. Someone deeply loved. Cherished.
Gideon's mother's eyes moved. Past Gideon. Past the truck. Straight to me—
and the three children clinging to the hem of my coat. Her hand covered her heart. Her eyes filled instantly, as if her heart recognized us before her mind did. "Gideon…" she whispered. "Is that… is that your girl?"
Gideon glanced at me, then back at her, smiling softly. "Mama… this is Inga."
I swallowed hard, nerves fluttering everywhere at once. "Mrs. Griffin," I whispered. "It's an honor."
She did not hesitate. Not even a heartbeat. "Oh, sweetheart," she said, and swept me into the warmest, fullest embrace I had felt in a long time. Not since my mother… she smelled like fresh bread and pine cleaner and sunshine. "Call me Maggie."
"Oh dear Lord," she murmured into my hair. "My Giddy's gone and got himself married. I can't believe it. I thought he'd fly forever and never land long enough to give me a daughter."
I flushed. "We're… not married yet."
Gideon cleared his throat sheepishly behind us. "Well… technically, Mama, we were hoping you'd help plan the wedding."
"Gideon!" I squeaked, pulling back to look at him. "You can't just—your mother has—"
"Oh, honey," Maggie said, gripping my arms, eyes sparkling with delighted tears, "I would love to. I have been waiting my whole adult life to throw a proper Montana ranch wedding."
Gideon winced playfully. "Brace yourself."
"Oh, hush," she swatted him. Then she looked down, smiling gently at the three little forms half-hiding behind my legs. "And who are these beautiful babies?"
Klaus peeked out. Axel tried to bow. Hilde clung to my skirt, staring with huge eyes.
"These are… my brother Klaus," I said softly, pushing him gently forward, "and Axel and Hilde. They're… orphans. Trümmerkinder."