“I meant what I said,” I told her, brushing a loose curl from her cheek. “This place means more now than it ever did. Because you’re in it.”
Her gaze met mine, tender and unguarded. “Then let’s keep building it. Together.”
We stood there a while longer, hand in hand, as laughter swirled around us like the snow outside. The day had turned into something we hadn’t dared hope for: a beginning.
As the snow piled higher and the warmth of shared celebration filled every corner of the barn, I realized something I hadn’t dared believe until now: I wasn’t just standing on Starcrest soil—I was standing in my future.
Chapter 29 - Christmas Miracles
Ella
Snow shimmered across the pastures like powdered sugar, and the morning light spilled golden over Starcrest Ranch.
I stood at the edge of the porch, mug of cinnamon tea warming my hands, and watched as the world outside sparkled with a profound, peaceful stillness. There was a hush to the morning, a peace so complete it felt like a gift.
It was the day after Christmas. The day after the shared meal, the concert, the miracle. My heart still hadn't caught up.
Behind me, laughter trickled from the barn where children played tag between bales of hay and adults packed up folding chairs and streamers.
Someone strummed a guitar off-key, and Sarah’s voice floated through the air calling someone in for leftover pie. I smiled. This was the messy, beautiful reality of a life I had chosen.
Max’s boots creaked across the porch floor. He joined me, sliding an arm around my waist, his familiar warmth a comfort against the cold.
“So,” he said, pressing a soft kiss to my temple, his lips warm against my skin. “What now, city girl?”
I leaned against him, soaking in his presence, his strength. “Now, we live the life we saved.”
He smiled, his gaze soft and full of love. “Together?”
“Only way I want it.”
Max
We took a walk later, just the two of us, across the pasture dusted in snow. Duke bounded ahead, occasionally plunging into drifts like it was the best day of his life, his joyous barks a punctuation mark on our shared quiet.
The air was crisp and clean, and for the first time in as long as I could remember, I felt truly at peace.
The storm had passed, the festival had healed something in all of us, and Ella—she was my home now.
Not just the woman who stayed when she didn’t have to, but the one who fought for something bigger than both of us. The one who taught me what it meant to share a life, not just endure one.
“Funny thing,” I said, kicking a rock with my boot, sending a spray of snow into the air. “I used to think I didn’t belong anywhere. Not really. Always felt like I had to earn my place.”
Ella looked up at me, her eyes filled with a tenderness that made my chest ache. “You do belong, Max. You always did. You just needed someone to remind you.”
I stopped walking. Turned to her. The world went still, the only sound the faint whisper of the wind. I reached out and took her hand.
“I love you,” I said simply, the words feeling both immense and utterly natural.
She blinked, her breath catching in the cold air, a single, perfect snowflake landing on her eyelashes.
“I love you too,” she whispered, her voice breaking with joy.
We kissed there under the wide Montana sky, a sacred, quiet moment of promise. Snowflakes danced around us, the ranch stretching behind us like a promise—a promise of a future we would build together.
Ella
That night, the lights still twinkled across the barn and the house, their glow soft and magical. I walked into the living room to find Max stringing a new garland across the mantel, his flannel sleeves rolled up, his smile soft. He had the Christmas ornament—the one he’d made from the fence post—in his hand.
