I didn’t say anything. I just took her hand. She didn’t pull away.
Across the room, Fred was in the middle of a story about the early rodeos. He was talking about a bull named Whiskey that refused to load and how he and my dad had chased it half a mile through a snowstorm. Fallon was laughing so hard she wiped tears on her sleeve.
By the time everyone started leaving, the clock had passed midnight. Griff and Nash went out to check the generators, their voices low outside the window.
I followed Kristin to the porch and helped her into her coat. We said quick goodbyes, and I wrapped my arm around her, because she wasn’t walking a straight line very well.
“You ever notice,” she said after a while, “that even when things go right, it still feels like we’re waiting for something bad to happen?”
“Yeah,” I said. “That’s ranch life. Always another fence to fix, another storm rolling in.”
She turned toward me. “And now another stranger is watching from the dark.”
“We’ll handle it.”
She studied me for a moment. “You always say that.”
“Because it’s always true.”
Kristin stumbled up the porch steps and burst into laughter when she sat in the snowbank beside the stairs. In that moment,she was herself, and everything that had happened in the past month seemed to disappear. She was relaxed, and my heart exploded with joy seeing her like that.
“Come on, wife, let’s get you in the house.” I hoisted her off the porch and threw her over my shoulder.
“Did you know the view from her is really good?” She said, sounding muffled.
“I’ll have to take your word for it, but the view is pretty good from here,” I laughed as I slapped her ass.
“Hey, not fair.” She gave a half attempt at slapping me, but her positioning wasn’t great for contact.
Tossing her down on the sofa, I lit the fire in the fireplace and then took off her boots and coat. It had been a day I wanted to forget, but the evening had redeemed most of the shit.
Kristin rested her head on my shoulder. “You think the rodeo will really help? Bring people together again?”
I looked at her. “Yeah. People need something good. Something that reminds them of what they’re part of.”
That hit deep. I wrapped my arm around her and pulled her closer. “Then maybe we’re doing something right here.”
She tilted her face up, kissed my jaw, and whispered, “Maybe we are.”
The rest of the world fell away. The house creaked softly around us, old wood settling in the cold. The dogs snored in front of the hearth. Outside, snow gathered on the fence line, covering the prints from the trucks that had come and gone.
For the first time in days, the weight on my chest eased. I could almost believe that this moment would hold. That laughter and light could keep the dark at bay.
But deep down, I knew better. Trouble was still out there, waiting just beyond the reach of the porch light.
Still, I tightened my arm around her and let the warmth sink in.
Tonight, we had this: friends, family, the scent of woodsmoke and cider, the soft glow of Christmas lights across the floor.
And for now, that was enough.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
KRISTIN
The smell of dust and leather clung to the air, thick even over the sweetness of kettle corn and hot chocolate. It was the kind of scent that got into your clothes, into your hair, and stayed long after the night ended. Christmas lights were strung along the railings, flickering red and gold through the haze kicked up by boots and hooves. The announcer’s voice echoed under the steel rafters, bouncing off every beam until the whole place vibrated with energy that felt almost too bright for how uneasy I had been all afternoon.
Linc was somewhere on the other side of the arena, checking the chutes and calling out orders. Every few minutes, I caught sight of him through the shifting crowd—his black felt cowboy hat, the dark line of his shoulders, the calm way he moved even when everyone else looked rushed. He was built for nights like this, steady where everyone else spun.
