Page 95 of Peaches & Pistols

Instead of insisting I’m not ruining anything and telling me not to apologize, he surprises me, as he so often does, and speaks with his body.

He pulls me to him softly, gently coaxing me forward the last few inches, brushes the hair from my face, and kisses me. The kiss isn’t ravenous. It isn’t loaded with passion and unspoken desire. It’s soft and slow, as if he’s trying to draw the pain from my body and replace it with love.

He puts me back together, bit by broken bit, with his love, as he has since our first kiss. We kiss like this for a long while, but it never progresses into anything sexual or demanding. I pull away, feeling much steadier than before.

“I think I’d like to go back to the party, but only if you don’t leave my side. I can’t do this without you. I need you.”

“Anything you need, honey,” Greyson promises.

Does he realize he heals me each time he prioritizes my needs, validates my emotions, and treats me as an equal?

I’m gifted another sweet kiss and with a deep breath, we re-enter the party where Everly and I are celebrated and lavished with love within an inch of our lives.

“Greyson, my god. A horse?” I laugh, unable to wrap my head around the absurdity. “You really got the girls a horse.”

In a freshly mucked stall at Lucky Spurs Ranch, is a stunning bay mare who our children have named Pickle.

For our combined birthday celebration, Greyson gifted us three girls not only the horse, but also every piece of equipment and outfitting a cowgirl could ever need or dream of. Spoiled is the understatement of the century.

I decline mounting Pickle for two reasons. First, because I don’t want to ruin my party dress, and second, because I’m fairly confident my stomach would revolt being jostled around.

Cecelia outdid herself for the party. Instead of a formal sit-down meal, she went for a seemingly endless array of finger foods: sliders, mini quiches, hand pies, pigs in a blanket, toothpick meatballs, stuffed mushrooms, jalapeño poppers, and my favorite, peach tartlets.

To say it was a hit is a gross understatement. I’m pretty sure Izzy cleared out the tray of mini tacos—she playfully bit Reid’s hand when he went for one. I’m no lip-reader, but based on her intense blushing, he told her where he’d like to bite her.

Greyson, being the man he is, brought me treat after treat and whispered to me there’s a wrapped tray of peach tartlets waiting for me to take home. I’ve never been so excited for baked goods—and it wasn’t the promise of pastry that had my core clenching. It was Greyson’s deep voice rumbling in my ear.

Now I stand wrapped in my man’s arms, warding off the March chill as we stand in the stables, Everly losing her ever-loving mind over Pickles.

James catches Greyson’s attention from across the open space and gives him a single nod. Greyson’s arms tighten around me, pressing as much of me into him as possible.

“Can I take the birthday girl home to celebrate properly?” He nips my ear, shooting sparks dancing across my chilled skin.

“I’d like that. Let me round up the kids.” I try to leave his arms, but his hold is steel.

“The kids are staying the night with their grandparents, aunts, and uncles,” he says.

My heart twinges as he seamlessly includes Everly in their family. Our family.

“Race you to the truck!” I holler, running as fast as I can in the moonlit night, laughing the whole way.

His playful threats draw closer; I know he’s letting me win. With my heart beating out of my chest, I can’t help but revel in what a difference a year makes.

Last birthday I successfully went unnoticed. At least if Carter wasn’t focused on me, my body remained free of more bruises than it already bore.

Last birthday I promised myself I was leaving him. Charlie’s warmth wrapped around me when the decision solidified in my heart.

Last birthday I started socking away money in earnest. To escape.

This birthday I’m free.

32

Her laughter echoes in the silent starlit valley. Seeing Mia so carefree is like watching the sun rise for the first time. She deserves to be happy, always.

I’ve been letting her win but we’re closing in on the truck. The stables aren’t too far from the event space, but far enough we’re both out of breath.

I increase my pace a fraction and am on her in no time. I swoop her into my arms as gently as I can at a run, and she gleefully wraps her arms around my neck as I come to a stop beside the truck.