Chapter 18 Delaney
Delaney
Pale winter light slants through the barn doors running a brush down Captain Winky’s neck. The one-eyed gelding leans into my touch, ears relaxed, trusting me completely.
Four months ago, I couldn’t get within ten feet of a horse without my pulse spiking. Now, I handle Captain Winky like I’ve been doing it my whole life.
A movement catches my eye, and I turn to see Daniel watching me from the doorway.
“You going to stand there all day, or are you going to saddle up?”
His mouth twitches. “Just enjoying the view.”
“My ass again?”
“Your everything.”
I roll my eyes, but my cheeks heat. “Flatterer.”
He crosses the barn. Comes up behind me and slides his arms around my waist, pulling me against his chest. I fit perfectly. Always have.
“Not flattery if it’s true.”
I turn in his arms and loop my hands behind his neck. “We’re supposed to be riding.”
He smirks. “We are riding. Later.”
I shake my head. “What am I going to do with you, husband?”
Saying that word—husband—still makes me a little breathless.
“I was hoping you’d figure it out,” he says, resting his forehead against mine. “So far, you seem to be handling me just fine.”
I smile, soft and sure, thumb brushing the back of his neck. “I like you like this,” I admit. “Unapologetic. Slightly distracting.”
“Careful,” he murmurs. “I might start thinking that’s encouragement.”
My laugh is quiet and warm because I’ve earned this peace.
Daniel kisses me. Slowly and thoroughly, the way I wanted him to this morning before the family descended. He tastes like coffee and maple syrup, and he makes that half-growl in the back of his throat that lands straight between my thighs.
Captain Winky snorts. Stamps his foot.
I pull back, laughing. “Even the horse thinks you need to behave.”
“The horse can mind his own business.”
But he lets me go. Steps back. I finish with Captain Winky while he saddles Sargeant Potter—another of Tom’s dubious naming conventions inspired by the lightning-bolt scar on the horse’s forehead.
We lead them out into the afternoon light. The winter sun is past its peak, and the land stretches around us in every direction. Rolling pastures, the snow glittering like diamonds. The ridge rising on the horizon.
We ride out together. No particular destination. Just riding side by side. His horse matching mine stride for stride.
“What are you thinking?” he asks.
“That four months ago, I didn’t know how to sit on a horse without looking like I was about to die.”
“And now?”
“Now I’m riding in the snow, married to a cowboy, living on a ranch, fighting corporate land grabbers, and somehow”—I shake my head—“happy. I’m actually happy."
He reaches over. Takes my hand across the gap between horses. My fingers lace through his.
“Happy looks good on you.”
“It feels strange. Like I’m waiting for something to go wrong.”
He doesn’t rush to contradict me. He squeezes my hand instead. “Something always does.”
I study him, searching for the catch.
“But that’s not the point. Things go wrong whether you’re ready or not.” His eyes capture mine. “The difference is who you’re standing next to when they do.”
My smile stretches my cheeks until they ache. “Right answer, husband.”
He sighs dramatically and presses his free hand to his chest. “At last, the words I’ve been longing to hear. Next, you’ll be telling me my filing system was better than yours all along.”
I snort. “In your dreams, cowboy.”
We stop at the ridgeline.
The boundary between Stoneridge and Havenridge. Sutton land in both directions, stretching toward horizons I’ve come to love. The pastures lie white and quiet under fresh snow, and smoke curls from Havenridge’s chimney in the distance.
Somewhere beneath us lie minerals or whatever LandCorp wants badly enough to wage economic warfare.
But on the surface: snow-covered pasture, cattle moving slow and steady, and a future worth fighting for.
“This is what they want,” I say.
“They can’t have it.”
“No.” My voice is steel. “They can’t.”
I look at my husband, hair tousled by the wind, and something primal tightens in my chest.
Mine.
This man. This life. This land. Mine.
“What happens when the six months are up?” I ask.
“We’ll be stronger. The grant will be working. Phase one of the vet program will be up and running at Stoneridge. The coalition will be solid. Ethan will have evidence.”
“And if that’s not enough?”
He nudges Sergeant Potter forward until we’re side by side again. Reaches over to cup my face, thumb tracing my cheekbone.
“Then we fight harder. But we fight together.”
I lean into his touch. “Together.”
“Always.”
The word hangs between us. A vow. Another one to add to all the others we’ve made—some in front of witnesses, some in the dark with only each other to hear.
The light thins as afternoon gives way to dusk, the snow catching it in pale blues and silvers.
We turn our horses toward home.
The ranch house comes into view. Smoke curling from the chimney. The porch where we sat last night and talked under the stars. The door that’s always open.
Home.
A few months ago, it was just Kitty and me. Waking up every morning with the weight of everything I couldn’t control.
Now, I’m riding home beside my husband. Toward a table that’ll be full tonight. Toward a future that’s uncertain but not terrifying.
LandCorp is still out there. The fight’s not over. Might never be completely over—there’s always someone who wants what you have, always another battle coming.
But I’ve got him. I’ve got a family. And we’ve got allies along the ridge who know what we’re facing.
I turn to Daniel with a grin. “Race you to the barn?”
“You’re on.”
I take off before he finishes speaking—he’ll let it slide—and my laugh carries on the wind as he gives chase.
I beat him by a nose. I’m giddy and breathless when he catches up, grinning like I just won the damn Kentucky Derby.
Daniel swings down from Sergeant Potter and catches me before my boots hit the ground. Pulls me against him, my back to Captain Winky’s warm flank.
“Cheater.”
“Winner.” I smirk up at him, hands fisted in his shirt. “What’s my prize?”
He lowers his mouth to my ear. Lets his voice drop. “Whatever you want. After dinner.”
“That’s a bold statement, cowboy.”
“I’m a bold man,” he says. “Married a woman who stares down antisocial roosters and rides one-eyed horses.”
My laugh floats into the air before it’s whipped away on the wind.
“She’s also pretty good at riding her husband’s cock.”
I arch an eyebrow. “Only ‘pretty good?’”
“Fine,” he concedes. “Exceptionally talented.”
I smile—soft, knowing—and trail my fingers down his arm.
“Dinner first,” I say. “Then we’ll see how bold you really are.”
He brushes his lips across mine. Light. Teasing. Making me chase it. “Challenge accepted.”
The afternoon slips into evening as we take care of the horses and walk toward the house, hand in hand. The smell of Miss Maggie’s pot roast drifts through the open door.
Whatever comes next, we’re ready.
We’re home.