He stepped closer, brushing a loose strand of hair from my face. His fingers lingered a second longer than they needed to, warm against my cheek, sending a shiver of longing through me.
I held my breath, waiting.
He cleared his throat. “We should get back before the cider runs out.”
Right. Of course. A soft sigh of disappointment escaped me, even as a wave of affection for the loyal mutt rose within me.
Back at the house, the porch was glowing with light. Laughter filtered from the barn, and the scent of gingerbread hung in the air.
I paused at the bottom of the steps, watching Max disappear inside. A familiar ache, sweet and sharp, settled in my chest. I wasn't sure what just happened between us.
But I knew one thing for certain. This place was starting to feel like home, a feeling of belonging that transcended anything Austin had ever offered.
Just before heading in, I checked my phone. A weather alert popped up.
Cold front moving in. Possible freeze. Light snow expected by Christmas Eve.
I stared at the screen. Snow. In Montana. Right on the heels of our festival. Of course. Another challenge.
I slipped the phone back into my pocket, squared my shoulders, and headed inside. Whatever came next, we’d handle it. Together.
Chapter 16 - Ethan’s Return
Max
I heard the rumble of tires before I saw the dust cloud kicking up near the front drive. Clint and Jerry were still hammering away at the stage platform for the Christmas Eve festival when the sleek black SUV pulled up, way too clean for ranch roads.
Its engine hummed with a quiet power that grated against the familiar sounds of hammer on wood, of wind through hay. Duke barked once, then let out a low whine, tail wagging like he sensed something big was coming. A flicker of annoyance shot through me – even the dog recognized him immediately.
And then he stepped out.
Ethan James. Country music’s golden boy. Cowboy boots clean as polished marble. Aviators. That damn smile that could sell out stadiums—and did.
It was like watching a ghost walk out of a magazine spread and onto my dirt-stained turf, a jarring reminder of a past I’d chosen to leave and a success I hadn't found. A wave of bitter resentment mixed with a strange, unwilling nostalgia hit me.
“Well, I’ll be,” Clint muttered, standing up straight and shielding his eyes.
Ethan took off his sunglasses and scanned the place like he hadn’t seen it in a decade. “Still smells like hay and cow manure. Good to know some things don’t change.”
I folded my arms and didn’t move from my spot near the barn. “Didn’t expect to see you here in person.”
He shrugged. “Figured I’d show up before you could turn me down again.”
That gave me pause. The weight of our unaddressed past, and the time I’d been too proud, too lost, to accept his help, settled between us.
“You mean like last time?” I asked.
He nodded, eyes serious now. "You always stopped by to see me when I'm here visiting. I asked if you needed help, and you saidno. But I could tell you did.” His gaze held mine, no judgment, just a quiet understanding.
I didn’t respond.
“So,” Ethan continued, “this time, I didn’t wait for an invitation.”
He walked over, his boots crunching the gravel. “Max.”
“Ethan.”
A pause. A beat. Then he clapped me on the shoulder in that way he always did—like we hadn’t gone years without talking, like we were still thick as thieves from our rodeo days. The familiarity was unsettling, a phantom limb of a friendship I thought was long gone.
