Page 34 of Stealing the Runaway Bride

As the sun disappears behind the peaks, painting the sky in bruises of purple and gold, I realize standing together isn’t only about the ranch. It’s about this. It’s about the silence between us that doesn't need to be filled. It’s about the way he looks at my bare, dirty feet like they’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

The water might be running low, and the lawyers might be drafting their papers, but standing here on the skeleton of a dream, I’ve never felt more secure.

"I'm going to finish it, Juliette," Cag says, pulling back to look at the beams above us. His voice is different now. The stagnation is gone. The "unfinished" man is dying, and something much more dangerous is taking his place. A man with a purpose. "Every nail. Every shingle. I’m going to build you a fortress."

"Good," I say, a sassy little smile playing on my lips. "Because I have a feeling I’m going to need a lot of room for my sewing machines."

He laughs—a rare, genuine sound that transforms his face, smoothing the edges of his scars. It’s the sound of a man coming back to life.

We stand there for a long time, watching the stars begin to prick through the velvet sky. The cold is starting to bite, but I don't feel it. I’m wrapped in the heat of a man who has already decided I’ll never go cold again.

In the distance, I hear the cattle calling, a reminder of the life that’s at stake. The upstream flow is restricted, the western tanks are under pressure, and my father helped finance the company responsible. But as I lean my head against Cag’s shoulder, I know we’re not losing.

We’re just getting started.

The walk back to the house is slower. This time, he carries me. He doesn't ask; he just scoops me up, his arms like iron bands around my back and knees.

"I can walk," I protest, though I’m already curling into his chest.

"I like carrying you," he says simply. "It reminds me that you're real."

As we approach the main house, I see the lights glowing in the windows. I see Linda on the porch, probably waiting to make sure we’re okay. I see the silhouette of Andy near the barn. This is the family I chose. This is the legacy I’m going to help defend.

The letter is a ball of trash in a kitchen bin. The wedding dress is a memory of a girl I don't recognize anymore.

I’m Juliette Marchand—no, just Juliette. And I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.

"Cag?" I whisper as we reach the porch.

"Yeah?"

"Don't ever stop whittling. But stop whittling ghosts. Start whittling things that are going to live here."

He stops at the foot of the stairs, looking down at me with an expression that’s so raw it aches. He leans down and kisses my forehead, his lips lingering for a long, quiet moment.

"I already started," he says. "I love you, Juliette. That’s what I’m whittling."

He carries me inside, past the empty place setting Ruthie left for me, past the sketches Linda made, and up toward the loft. The war is coming. The drought is here. But as the door closes behind us, the only thing that matters is the weight of his claim and the dirt on my feet.

I’m home.

The next morning, the reality of the Black Aspen threat hits with a new, sharp edge. I find Cag in the kitchen before dawn, hunched over the table with Andy and Benjamin. They have maps spread across the table—yellowed Pine Ridge plats beside crisp copies of Black Aspen’s newly filed surveys.

"They're not just diverting the creek," Andy is saying, his voice tight with controlled fury. "They've tapped the aquifer further up. If we don't get the gates open by the end of the week, the western quarter is dead. We’ll have to move the herd, and there’s no room on the eastern side with the way the grass is drying up."

Cag looks up as I enter, his eyes softening for a fraction of a second before returning to the maps. "The surveyor was back yesterday. At the upstream gate. He had a legal injunction."

"I know," I say, stepping into the circle of men. I don't wait for an invitation. I’m a partner now. "My father doesn't do anything without a legal shield. He uses the law like a blunt instrument."

Benjamin grunts, leaning back until the chair creaks. "A man like that bills more in an afternoon than this ranch clears in a season, Juliette. He doesn't have to beat us. He just has to keep the meter running till we fold."

"He can," I agree, leaning over the map. I point to a spot about three miles north of the ranch boundary. "But he can't out-maneuver local zoning. If this is where they’re tapping the aquifer, they're crossing into what used to be old mining territory. Those land rights are a mess of nineteenth-century claims."

The brothers look at me, surprised.

"How do you know that?" Andy asks.

"Because my father made me sit through three years of 'internships' where I did nothing but proofread land acquisition contracts," I say, a dry smile touching my lips. "I was his little 'designer' who he thought wasn't paying attention. But I was bored out of my mind, so I read everything. Including the files on Pine Valley."