“I know what we said,” he murmured. “I know the rules we made. But Cash, I can’t pretend anymore that this is just physical for me. I can’t pretend that I don’t care about what happens to you.”
My breath caught in my throat. “Don’t say that.”
“Why not? It’s the truth.”
“Because it makes everything harder,” I said, my hands coming up to cover his. “Because I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to stay in one place, how to trust that someone won’t just... leave when things get difficult.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Mike said firmly. “I signed a five-year contract with this church, remember? Even if I wanted to run, I couldn’t.”
I let out a shaky laugh. “That’s supposed to be reassuring?”
“It’s supposed to be honest.” His forehead pressed against mine. “I’m here, Cash. For better or worse, I’m here. The question is whether you want to be here too.”
I closed my eyes, feeling the weight of the decision pressing down on me. Everything in me screamed to run, to get in my truck and drive until Sagebrush was nothing but a speck in my rearview mirror. But there was something else too, something quieter but more persistent. The memory of this morning’s sunrise over familiar land. The satisfaction of helping Rowan with that calf. The way Mike’s face had lit up when he’d seen me in that church pew.
And the way it felt to wake up next to him… I liked that more than anything else.
“The ranch is a fuckin’ mess,” I said finally, my eyes still closed. “The house is gone, most of the fencing is shot to hell, the barn is flat, and I don’t even know if the land is still good for cattle.”
I felt Mike’s smile against my forehead. “That sounds like a yes.”
“That sounds like a maybe,” I corrected, opening my eyes to meet his. “A very tentative, probably-gonna-regret-this, maybe.”
“I’ll take it,” he said, and then his mouth was on mine, soft and sweet and full of promise.
When we broke apart, I rested my forehead against his shoulder, breathing in his familiar scent. “You know this is crazy, right?” I murmured against his neck. “A month ago I barely wanted to be in the same state as this place.”
“A month ago I was still unpacking boxes and wondering if I’d made the biggest mistake of my life coming here,” Mikereplied, his arms tightening around me. “Funny how things change.”
I pulled back to look at him, studying the gentle planes of his face in the lamplight. “What are you sayin’?”
“I’m saying maybe we’re both exactly where we’re supposed to be.” His hand found mine, fingers intertwining. “Maybe this whole mess with the tornado, with you losing those buyers, maybe it was all leading to this moment.”
“You sound like a preacher,” I said, but there was no heat in it.
“I am a preacher,” he grinned. “And I happen to believe that sometimes God, or the universe, or whatever you want to call it, conspires to put people where they need to be, even when they’re fighting it every step of the way.”
I thought about that for a moment, about all the things that had had to go wrong to get me here. The failed sale, the tornado, even my father’s death. It was either the world’s worst luck or something else entirely.
“So what happens now?” I asked, suddenly feeling vulnerable again. “If I stay, I mean. What does that look like?”
Mike’s thumb traced across my knuckles. “Well, first you’d need somewhere to live while you rebuild. The parsonage has plenty of space.”
“Mike...”
“I’m not asking you to move in permanently,” he said quickly. “Just... practically speaking. You’ve already been living here anyway. No one will think twice about it just taking a bit longer.”
He was right about that. And the thought of waking up next to him every morning for more than just a few stolen nights here and there made something warm unfurl in my chest.
“And second?” I asked.
“Second, you’d need help with the ranch. Rowan told me he offered you work at the clinic. And Brooks knows everycontractor and rancher in three counties. You wouldn’t have to do it alone. They’re your family.”
The word ‘family’ hit me harder than it should have. I’d been alone for so long I’d forgotten what it felt like to have people in my corner. But here in Sagebrush, somehow I’d managed to collect a small group of people who actually gave a damn what happened to me even though I’d attempted to push them away every chance I got.
“And third?” I pressed.
Mike’s cheeks flushed slightly. “Third, we figure out what this is between us. Without timelines or exit strategies. Just... see where it goes. If you’re okay with that.”
