My entire body goes rigid before I finally come back down.
The room gradually quiets until the only sounds left are our uneven breaths. Strong arms gather me close, careful now, where moments ago, they’d been anything but gentle. Someone else brushes damp hair away from my face. Another presses a lingering kiss to my forehead.
I curl closer without thinking. No one lets me go.
Maybe that’s what surprises me most.
Not that they wanted me. That they keep choosing me.
I smile to myself as sleep begins to pull me under.
I’m exactly where I belong.
CHAPTER 50
BLAKE
Silver Pines rises from the mountainside. A monument made of timber and stone, looking more like something plucked from Colorado than the little Wyoming town I remember. Snow clings to every roofline, smoke curls from massive stone chimneys, and strings of warm white light trace the covered walkways leading toward the entrance.
Hundreds of people mill around the plaza. Children zip through the crowd carrying helmets bigger than their heads while skiers click awkwardly across the packed snow in rental boots. Somewhere nearby, a group roasts chestnuts over an outdoor firepit, the sweet smell mingling with pine and woodsmoke.
The crowd gradually drifts toward the temporary stage erected in front of the resort’s main entrance. Evergreen garlands wrap around the wooden railing, and an oversized red ribbon stretched across the stone walkway leading into the lodge. Newscasters murmur into microphones as their camera people jockey for a position.
Walker scans the people from our spot to the side of the stage. He’s working security for the event, being the head ofthe police department. Levi and Santiago are here as well, along with Tessa and Ridge.
I got to tag along because I argued that this isn’t a crime scene. It’s a town event.
“Stay close,” Walker demands.
“Iamclose.”
He lifts a single brow. “You wandered off for a cinnamon roll ten minutes ago.”
I roll my eyes. “I wandered less than five feet.”
“You still wandered.”
The unamused expression on my face doesn’t sway him. Regardless, I slip my hand into the crook of his arm, which seems to satisfy him.
A burst of applause ripples through the crowd as a distinguished man in his early sixties steps onto the stage. His silver hair is neatly combed beneath a black Stetson, and his tailored charcoal coat looks far too expensive for Wyoming winters. He smiles with practiced ease, the kind that says he’s spent years shaking hands and posing for photographs.
Neil Redford.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Neil begins, his voice booming through the speakers. “Thank you for joining us today.”
The applause from the crowd dies down.
“For generations, Evergreen Falls has been a place people drove through on their way to a different destination. My hope is that Silver Pines gives folks a reason to stop, to stay, and to experience everything our little town has to offer.”
The crowd erupts into applause again.
Neil continues his speech, talking about new jobs, local businesses, and other opportunities the resort will bring.
I glance toward Martha, who is standing with Gus near the front with a few other business owners, and she’s positively glowing.
“So without further ado,” Neil says, reaching the end of his speech. He accepts a pair of ceremonial scissors from one of the organizers. “Welcome to Silver Pines Mountain Resort.”
The crowd cheers even louder than before as the scissors slice cleanly through the bright red ribbon.
