We didn’t even make it out of the parking lot before I had her moaning my name. And she had, in fact, not worn any panties.
23
Ch 22 - Delilah
Morning sunlight stretched over the paddocks, golden and soft—the kind that promised a fresh start, a new dawn, if you wanted to get cliché about it.
Freedom Reins was opening today. The air smelled like fresh hay and coffee, and somewhere a horse snorted, restless with morning energy that also coursed through me.
It had taken months—plans, permits, sleepless nights, an absurd amount of Pixy Sticks, and more tears than I’d ever admit—but standing here now, hearing the low murmur of voices and the shuffle of shoes on gravel, it all felt worth it. Every single setback, every doubt, every moment I’d wondered if I was out of my depth.
I clutched my clipboard to my chest, watching as our first ten patients looked around. With every step they took, I felt the weight of responsibility for them and their well-being settle on my shoulders. It was a foreign feeling, but one that I welcomed. I hadn’t realized just how badly I wanted this until Ethan had pulled his funding.
Emmett’s hand found mine. “You did it, sugar,” he said quietly. “Look around.”
I did. Claire was directing vets where to put their luggage. Tess and Savannah were talking to some of them, laughing as if this were a party instead of the start of something bigger than all of us. Beau and Colt were checking the fences, making sure everything looked picture-perfect. Some of the veterans even recognized Weston from his rodeo days and were getting autographs and pictures.
Even Ethan Carmichael was here, finally getting his tour. He looked just as proud as I felt. As well as some Cavendish Academy reps, checking in on their investment. They walked around with clipboards and crisp suits, nodding to themselves, pleased.
A man with a cane and a prosthetic leg went over to the horses. I recognized him from the intake forms. Sergeant Harlan, forty-three, discharged ten years ago, with PTSD and anxiety. The same diagnosis that had followed Emmett home. I watched as he reached out towards Willow, tentative. She lowered her head, letting him stroke her muzzle. Something in his shoulders loosened. Willow snorted softly, and Harlan laughed. Really laughed.
I blinked hard, wondering how I’d gotten lucky enough to turn something I was so passionate about into an actual career.
This wasn’t about proving I could build something successful. It wasn’t about headlines or reputation. It was about this—connection. Healing. Peace.
“Hey,” Emmett murmured, squeezing my hand. “You okay?”
I looked up at him, vision blurred with tears. “I’m perfect.”
He smiled, eyes crinkling in that way that still made my stomach flutter. “You sure?”
I turned toward him fully, my heart so full it hurt. “I used to think I had to prove myself to everyone,” I admitted. “To your family, to the town, to myself. I don’t feel that way anymore.”
Emmett brushed my hair off my face. “You don’t have to prove anything, Lilah. You never did.”
“I know that now,” I said, smiling. “But it feels good to finally believe it, too.”
He kissed me then. Slow and unhurried, the kind that didn’t hide, didn’t apologize. No more secrets. No more fear of what anyone thought. Just us.
When he pulled away, I pressed my forehead against his. “We’re really doing this, huh, Cadet Hayes?” He smirked. Emmett had agreed to take Colt up on his offer. Starting at the Police Academy in Dallas in two weeks. He’d be commuting back and forth for the next six months before he could begin field training with Colt at the Wild Creek station.
“Yeah, sweet girl, we are,” he whispered.
I linked our hands. “Proud of you, baby.”
“Not as proud as I am of you.” He pulled away, eyes sparkling with pride. “Now go enjoy what you’ve built.”
I walked around, introducing myself to the veterans. I saved the most timid-looking one for last. Lucinda. She’d been hovering away from the crowd since she got here. She reminded me of Emmett, and the way he’d looked when he first came home two years ago. Brittle around the edges, convinced he had to carry it all alone.
“Hi,” I said with a soft smile. “You must be Lucinda.”
She lifted her chin. “That’s me.”
She still carried that stiff posture that had worn off the other vets—off Emmett. That determined glint still shone in her eyes. She had been discharged just six months ago and was struggling to adjust. Her unit had been ambushed, and she was taken hostage, hidden away for weeks. I remembered crying when I read her file and knew I had to get her here.
I extended my hand. “I’m Delilah. We talked on the phone last week. I’ll be your therapist.” She stared at my hand fora moment, skeptical, before taking it. “I want to show you something, if that’s okay.”
It was important to me that every decision was theirs. Especially Lucinda, when her agency had been taken from her. She had told me about her concerns about the lodging being mixed gender, and I assured her that everyone was thoroughly vetted before being selected.
