Chapter 18
I’m boneless. Battered. Utterly and thoroughly exhausted.
Not to mention, in love. After our confessions in Hank’s shop, we retired to the bedroom and stayed there until morning. Now, bright sunlight streams through the window, warming my face. I lie on my back for a long second, basking in this picture-perfect Christmas morning.
This second chance.
I’m still so overwhelmed by the way this trip has turned out. Grateful too.
Hank’s mine all over again.
I turn my head, finding Hank’s sapphire eyes on me.
“Stare much?” I tease.
“Only at my wife.”
A shiver works its way through me, leaving pure happiness in its wake.
The side of Hank’s mouth kicks up, crinkling the corners of his eyes. “Happy birthday, sugar.” He kisses me, arms circling me tight, and pulls me into his hard body.
“Hmm.” I nuzzle into him, sweeping my lips over his neck, his chest. “Easy, cowboy. You’re getting ahead of yourself.”
“Hell, I’m aimin’ to right that real quick, Bluebell.” Brow furrowed, he sits up and checks the clock on the nightstand. “Think the courthouse is open?”
“Today’s Christmas, Hank.” With a laugh, I clutch his shoulder and drag him back down into the sheets with me. We face each other, wriggling together, my arms around his neck and his hands on my hips. “It’s time for sloth and gluttony.”
“My favorite sins.” He rubs a thumb across my lips, his voice darkening as he says, “But there’s nothing I love more than you.”
“Hank…” I breathe out, my heart stumbling.
“I could stay like this all day. With you.” The husk of his words vibrates along my bare skin as he inches closer.
“We have to keep traditions,” I murmur.
He slips his fingers beneath the waistband of my silk sleep shorts, pulling a deep sigh from me. “Anyone ever tell you that you worry too much?”
“Only my husband.”
“Sounds like a smart man.” He nudges my cheek with his nose. “Tell me, Bluebell.”
“Pies. Pumpkin. Pecan.” I’m distracted now, a rambling incoherent woman thanks to Hank Blue. A calloused finger pressing on my thigh. I tip my knees open, the smallest whimper falling from my lips as he finds my heat.
“Horseback rides.” Two thick fingers dip into me. I’m breathless now, eyes falling shut. “Coffee and Irish cream. Presents.”
He uses the heel of his hand to work the delicate bundle of nerves.
I throw my head back, a shuddering breath leaving my lungs. “In no particular order.”
“We’ll have all that,” Hank says, voice thick and throaty, “but first, a new tradition.” He sweeps his lips against mine, the rough brush of his stubble catching my cheek as he pulls away.
I crack an eye, peer up at him.
Arms flexing, he presses himself up so he’s hovering over me. His attention trails down my body, pauses on the dusky dark nipples peeking through my thin tank top.
Adrenaline and lust buzz through me. I straighten in the sheets, my body tight with anticipation, already arching, aching for his touch. “Better get to it, cowboy.”
He gusts out a heavy breath, his bright blue eyes catching the early morning sun, all flecked with black and gold. “Goddamn, I love you, Bell.”
I smile up at him, warmth building in my heart, in my limbs. “I love you too.”
This is it. This is forever. I relish the moment. How he exhales in relief when I tell him I love him. How his eyes soften. How he owns every part of me with just a smile. How he lowers himself down my body like he still remembers every curve, every scar.
“Can already tell…” Hank cracks a roguish grin as I drag my feet down his hips, sliding his boxers down. “This is gonna be the best damn tradition yet.”
I shiver beneath his touch. “What? Naked cowboys on Christmas mornings?”
“Exactly, sugar.” He lowers, bites gently at my nipple.
Slowly, slowly, he slides into me.
The breath rushes from my lungs in one wondrous sensation as love radiates through my entire body.
Hank releases a groan from deep in his chest. Together, we’re a mess of rocking hips.
Bodies damp with sweat, frantic. Whispered I love yous.
Eventually, we collapse in the tangled sheets.
We’re laughing, panting, as we reach for each other, his hand gripping my hip at the same time I wrap my legs around his.
“Bluebell,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to the side of my head.
That simple name, that tone choke me up. There are no words to tell him what he’s done.
Given everything back to me and more.
“I could have ridden my own horse, you know.”
“But this is better.” Hank’s breath is warm on my neck as he leans in, pressing his front to my back. “Together.”
“Yeah,” I murmur with a smile, glancing down at his strong hand resting possessively on my thigh. “It is.”
The pies are in the oven, and Hank and I are thoroughly bundled up for our Christmas morning horseback ride. Well, afternoon, thanks to our late start.
Moonshot, Hank’s Tennessee walking horse, snorts as he leads her into a slow trot. We’ve brought provisions: a full thermos of coffee and hunks of Papa Blue’s banana bread tucked into the saddlebag.
We’re almost there. The winter chill feels like love. Electric. Shivering.
Ahead of us, Zelda gives three short yips, her universal signal for hurry it up! and blasts off across the snow-covered field.
“She thinks it’s a race.”
“She always thinks it’s a race.” Amusement in his voice, Hank snaps the reins.
Moonshot takes off into the breed’s infamous running-walk.
We rush the remaining miles between the Christmas tree farm and the ranch. When we reach miles of white fencing, we take a left and crest the steep hill. At the top, the land evens out.
My breath catches when I see it. The house where Hank and I spent six years together. It’s a small farmhouse with blue shutters and a wide front porch.
Happiness floods my soul so viciously I feel like I’ll be swept away.
I swallow down the emotions that have taken over since I came to Silverwood. So big and beautiful over these last few days, I almost don’t know what to do with them all.
Except I do.
I hold them. I let them in. Like sunlight through the cracks of an old farmhouse.
“What do you think, Bluebell?” Hank rasps, thumb stroking over the soft skin on the top of my hand.
It’s not hard to decide what I want to do.
How could it be, when Hank is the easiest, the truest love I’ve ever had? This cowboy who’s stitched my heart back together. Who encouraged me to feel everything even if I didn’t want to.
I tip my head back to look up at him. His handsome face shielded in shadow by the brim of his hat.
“I think…” I inhale, and on the exhale, I say, “I’m ready to pack my bags and come home.”
“Been waiting to hear you say that for three damn years now.” He loops his arms around me and rests his chin on my shoulder.
On top of this hill, we take in the silence of the blue-hued Christmas Day. Snow swirls in the wind, but the bright sunlight cuts the chill.
It’s bittersweet, having lost three years with Hank, but I’m a stronger, better woman because of it. I may not know everything, but I know what’s important.
“We need to head back soon.” I sink into his warm chest, savoring his touch. “Papa Blue will be over at three.” And that means presents and pie. Eggnog and whiskey and Papa Blue singing along to Merle Haggard with Zelda as backup.
Hank hums low in his throat. He wants to stay here as much as I do.
That’s when it hits me. I gasp.
He stiffens. “Sugar?”
I twist to look at him. “I don’t have an ornament for you.”
“I didn’t get one either.” He presses his lips to my messy hair and inhales. “Next year. We’ll start fresh.”
I shiver against the wind but smile at the promise in his words. Next year.
Whatever next year holds, I’m all in. Whatever it is, with Hank, I can handle it.
“What do you think?” His husky voice pulls me out of my happy thoughts. He lifts his chin, gesturing to the farmhouse, puffs of white breath billowing between us. “You want to go inside and get your ring?”
“You still have it?” I laugh, overcome with delight. Unexpected tears fill my eyes.
A smile tilts his lips. “My nightstand drawer, sugar. Been waitin’ for you.”
“Of course I want it.”
Hank’s smile grows bigger. He’s so beautiful and he’s mine, and I don’t ever want this moment to end.
“I can’t wait to love you again,” he breathes against my skin as he tilts my mouth toward his and leans lower to kiss me. He tastes like maple syrup and smells like firewood.
Sighing, I close my eyes and curl up in his arms. “This is my favorite Christmas ever.”
A rumble of a chuckle rolls through his chest. “And we got more to come.”
“Promise?”
His voice, choked with emotion, is low and rough as he tightens his hold. “Yeah, sugar. I promise.”