Duke steps over to the back wall, glancing at the pile of boards we hauled in last week and the blueprints laying on the floor. “I’ll start framing out one of the bedrooms, boss.”
I nod, already half out the door. Truth is, I just want to get the hell out of here for a bit. The list of materials is legit, and we need it. I could’ve sent Ridge or Duke just as easily to grab it, but I want the drive. I want the air. More than that, I want to stop by the Harts’ ranch so I can talk to Vaughnand get to the bottom of this shit with The Bluebell. But first, before any of that, I need to see Lark.
I grab one of the ATVs we hauled down here, the engine growling to life beneath me. The trail up to the cabin is rough, winding along the edge of the ridge, but I could drive it in my sleep. I check my watch. She might still be asleep. That woman sleeps like the dead.
As I ride, wind cutting across my face, I can’t stop thinking about last night. Abouther.About the way she told me she loves me.
She’s said it before, but not like this. Not like it was something she wasn’t afraid of anymore. This time, it felt different.
No hesitation. No edge of pain. No memory lurking underneath the words.
Just love. Simple. Direct. Real.
I knew what it cost her to say it. How many walls she had to tear down to even get there. I know how many versions of herself she’s had to become since I left and how carefully she built a life that didn’t leave room for me in it.
So for her to say those words like that—without flinching, without bracing for the fall—it mattered.
It didn’t just feel good.
It felt like a beginning.
When I came back to Summit Springs, I didn’t have a plan beyond the ranch. I didn’t think much past the work—long days, worn boots, cattle drives, auction prep, fixing what was broken. It felt simple. Safe. I figured maybe down the line I’d find time to settle in a little, maybe get a dog, think about a wife and kids if I ever got around to it. But I didn’t want that with just anybody. I wanted that with her.
Always her.
I just didn’t know if that was still possible.
Now it feels like it could be. Not just the two of us trying to find our way back to what we were, but building something new, something that lasts. I’m not good at saying things before I can prove them, but I figure Old Faithful’s a start. I’m not just rebuilding a house. I’m showing her I’mhere, for good this time. That I want this life—with her, with Hudson.
I want to throw a baseball in the yard with him. Teach him how to saddle a horse, how to fish out at the creek out past the north pasture where the trout bite early if you know what you’re doing. I want to take him into town for ice cream on Friday nights, let him talk my ear off about whatever the hell twelve-year-olds are into these days. I want mornings that start slow and end with all three of us around the table, too full, too tired, too happy to want anything else.
The trail winds uphill, sun climbing higher behind me, casting long shadows across the grass. Cattle graze off to the right, tails swishing lazily, and the breeze carries the scent of pine and sage, earthy and clean. The cabin’s just ahead now, tucked into the trees, sunlight catching on the windows. I ease off the throttle and coast the last stretch.
When I push the door open, she’s already awake.
She’s at the kitchen counter, one leg folded under her, the other moving slightly, heel tapping against the rung of the stool. She’s still in my old T-shirt, the sleeves too long and big, slipping off one shoulder, the hem barely covering the tops of her thighs when she sits. Her hair is falling down her back in soft, loose waves—all sleep-mussed and golden in the light, messy in the way that only happens first thing in the morning and somehow looks better than anything intentional. The laptop is open in front of her, her fingers hovering over the keys like she was typing and then forgot what she meant to say.
There’s something about her here—in my shirt, in this cabin, on this ranch—that pulls at something deep in my chest. I don’t have the words for it, not really. I just know I’ve never wanted anything more than to keep walking into rooms and finding her in them.
She looks up when I walk in, a smile already stretching wide across her face. She’s always had a grin that took up all of her—big and bright and impossible to ignore. When we were kids, I would’ve done just about anything to make her smile like that. Still would.
“Hey,” she says, voice light, warm. “How’s your morning going?”
I don’t answer right away, just walk behind her, sliding my arms aroundher waist underneath her T-shirt, palms flat against her stomach. She’s warm beneath my hands, skin soft, and I press my lips against the side of her neck. “Better now.”
She laughs, tilting her face up to mine. Her lips find mine in that way they always do—soft, sure, like it’s something we’ve done a thousand times and still haven’t gotten enough of.
She holds up the note I left earlier, pinched between two fingers, her mouth pulling into something smug. “Also, my coffee is not awful.”
“It is,” I say, already grinning.
“It’s not. You just have bad taste.”
“Sure. That’s the problem.” I laugh and press another kiss to her temple, then glance at the laptop still open in front of her. “What’re you up to today?”
She sets the note aside, stretching her arms over her head. “Gonna get dressed, head up to the main house, see Hudson. I don’t want Molly feeling like she’s got to keep him busy all day.”
I snort, pulling back just enough to meet her eyes. “Are you kidding me? She’s in grandma heaven right now.”
