Warmth flooded his chest at her bubbling joy. “Easy, love.” He chuckled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “We have the rest of our lives to make our home the warmest, most loving one in the Sapphire Mountains. Besides,” he arched an eyebrow, “I thought you had glittering to get back to.”
Her answering smile outshone the sun streaming through the windows, but then her expression turned serious. “I have one condition before accepting this wedding gift.”
Crone stiffened. “Gifts don’t work that way, love.”
“This one does. I’ll open the studio, provided you sell all the new paintings you’re going to make of the Sapphire Mountains and Rawhide Ranch here.”
“I... don’t paint anymore, Sienna, you know that.”
“Well, I guess then you’ll have to sell this place.” Her jaw set with familiar stubbornness.
Crone looked around, through the windows to the mountains beyond. The late morning light painted them in shades he hadn’t allowed himself to see in years. Burnt umber deepening to purple in the shadows with silver-green pines catching golden sunlight, and wisps of clouds dragging delicate shapes across the peaks created visions in his mind. His fingers twitched, and for the first time in five years, he didn’t immediately suppress the urge to capture that beauty.
Something profound stirred in his soul, an awakening so powerful it nearly drove him to his knees. The artist in him, the part he had buried beneath layers of darkness and pain, stretched toward the light like a flower kept for too long in shadows. He’d felt whispers of it these past months, watching Sienna capture life through her lens, seeing the world slowly regain its color through her eyes. But he’d been afraid to trust it, afraid to believe that part of him could ever truly return.
Now, looking at these mountains, at the woman who had helped him find his way back to the light, he felt that old passion rising, untainted by shadows.
“I can see the colors.” His voice roughened with emotion. “They’re there, in my head again. Not dark ones, not anymore. I see light and life and…” He swallowed hard, fighting past the tightness in his throat. “God, kitten, I see beauty again. Real beauty, the kind that makes your soul ache to capture it.”
His hands were shaking as he reached for her, desperate for her touch as this long-dormant part of himself surged back to life. “I’ve been so afraid to even think about painting. Afraid it would all come out twisted and dark like before. But looking at these mountains, at you…” He touched her face reverently. “The darkness is gone. And what’s rising in its place... it’s like coming home to a part of myself I thought I’d lost forever.”
“I knew that, my love. I felt it every time you looked at the mountains. That yearning to put that beauty onto a canvas.” She shifted. “And,” she continued, pointing to the large wall in the lobby, “we hang the last painting you did right there.”
“No, it’s too dark. It represents the vileness I buried for once and for all.”
“I agree.” She cupped his face again. Her eyes filled with love and understanding. “But like we changed and opened ourselves to the light, so can you change the painting. Add our new light to it, a bright sun overriding the darkness, allowing the beauty to overcome all. That painting drew me for the past year, and as much as it meant to you painting it, I now see it as a sign of our survival and our strength to overcome all obstacles in our way to find each other.” Her voice softened. “You saved me, Crone, in more ways than one... allow me to do the same for you.”
He gazed down at this woman who made his world vibrant again, who saw not just who he was but who he could be. When he kissed her, it was more than just a meeting of lips, it was apromise, a new beginning, and a commitment to the light they’d found in each other’s darkness. As the sun streamed through the studio windows, Crone knew with absolute certainty that this was just the first chapter of their story and all the pages ahead were blank canvases waiting to be filled with their love.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Rawhide Ridge
Sienna
Sienna’s phone ringing shattered their tender moment. The instant she answered, Moira’s fear-laden words sent ice through her veins. “You need to come to the Ridge clinic, Sienna. Milly went into labor right after you left. There are complications and she’s asking for you.”
The drive was a blur of fear and prayers. When they arrived, the sterile hospital smell hit Sienna like a physical force, catapulting her back to another hospital, another time.
She stumbled, caught by Crone’s strong arms as the memories crashed over her. Each flash hit with brutal clarity of how Stan’s face had contorted with rage as he’d lunged at her, the searing pain that followed. Her own screams still echoed in her mind, desperate pleas for help, for her baby, for anyone to save her Hope. Then came the worst memory of waking to that hollow emptiness, and the doctor’s gentle words confirming what her heart had already known. Her baby was gone, stolen by the same hands that were supposed to love and protect them both.
“Stay with me, kitten,” Crone’s voice cut through the darkness of memory as he wrapped his arms around her. “You’re safe. I’m here.”
She drew a shuddering breath, forcing herself back to the present. To Milly, who needed her strength now. Crone’s hand was warm in hers offering his love as a shield against the ghosts of her past as they walked into the ward.
Milly lay pale against white sheets, her usual vibrancy dimmed to a frightening shadow. Fear gripped Sienna as she stared at her friend’s swollen belly and the monitors tracking two heartbeats instead of one. She uttered a desperate prayer that this story would have a different ending.
She clenched Crone’s hand tighter as Dr. Berringer pulled them aside. Every beep of the monitors sent fresh shivers down her spine. This wasn’t the same. This wasn’t then. She visibly shook them off.
“Her blood pressure is dangerously high,” Doc Nigel’s words seemed to come from far away. “The baby’s turned wrong, and with her condition…”
“What condition?” Sienna’s nails dug into her palms, grounding herself in present pain rather than past trauma. “Are you saying she has preeclampsia?”
The doctor’s weary sigh confirmed her fears. “She was diagnosed when she arrived here. We’ve been treating it, but without early intervention…” He ran a hand through his hair. “She wouldn’t let me tell anyone.”
Milly’s breathing was weak when they approached the bed, but her eyes held that same fierce determination Sienna had always admired. “I’m not going to make it, Sienna.”
“Don’t say that, Milly. You’re going to?—”
