“You all right?” he asked.
“I am now.”
“You sure?”
“I’m sure.”
We walked the rest of the way without talking. We did not have to. The lights from Kipp’s house faded behind us, softening to a distant glow. Ahead of us, our place sat quiet, porch light on, windows warm. The snow along the fence line shone pale in the moonlight, unbroken and clean.
When we stepped inside, Linc hung our coats by the door and turned on the tree in the corner. The colored bulbs flickered to life, washing the room in a soft glow that felt almost like candlelight: reds, greens, golds, low blues. The light shifted along the ceiling and across the floorboards, warm and familiar.
I stood there and let it wash over me. The house smelled like pine and coffee, and Linc. The quiet here no longer felt empty. It felt earned.
Linc came up behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist. His chest pressed to my back, solid and sure. His chin settled on my shoulder.
“Thank you,” I said.
“For what?” His voice brushed against my ear.
“For today. For making sure I was okay, for holding me together, and for being you.”
“I didn’t do much.”
“You did more than you’ll ever know.”
That was the truth of it. He always tried to act like the way he held the line for me was not a thing, like anyone would do it. But the way he had moved around me all day, the way he had watched the room without making me feel like I was under a spotlight, the way he had stayed within reach without caging, that was not nothing.
He turned me gently until I was facing him. He didn’t let go. His eyes were tired but still steady, the way they always were when he had made up his mind and planted his boots in the dirt and dared the world to move him. It was that same look now, only softer around the edges because it was me.
“We made it through,” he said.
“Yes, we did.”
He brushed a strand of hair behind my ear and kissed my forehead. His mouth was warm. His beard scraped just a little. The whole thing lasted two seconds, but it felt like a vow.
“You should rest,” he said.
“I will. In a minute.”
He stayed with me and didn't rush me. The two of us stood in the glow of the tree and listened to the house breathe. The fridge hummed low. The heater kicked on, emitting a soft sigh through the vents. Wind pressed against the windows and then eased off. Somewhere outside, near the barn, a horse stamped once and settled. The ranch had its own heartbeat. I could feel it, steady as his pulse under my palm.
Outside, the world was still winter dark. In here, the light felt like something we had built with our own hands.
When I finally went to bed, he followed and lay beside me. The mattress dipped under his weight in that familiar way that made my body stop bracing. His hand found mine under the blanket, palm to palm, fingers lacing and staying.
I held it until sleep came.
It was still Christmas, and for the first time in months, I felt safe enough to dream.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
LINC
The pace never really slowed in this place, not even on New Year’s Eve. Morning settled into work the way it always did. The sky was that hard winter gray that never really turned into full daylight, just lifted from dark to a softer kind of cold. Breath hung in the air when we talked. Leather creaked. Metal rang. You could feel the ground frozen solid under your boots, even through the layers.
There was hay to move, salt to check, and a busted hinge on the south gate that had been annoying everyone for a week. Ryder swore it would stay on for one more day, and of course, the whole thing dropped when he leaned on it. The panel hit the mud with a sound that echoed all the way down the line of pens, and a chorus of calves bolted like somebody had fired a gun. Nash laughed until Ryder told him he had to hold the panel while it was rehung. Nash tried to quit laughing. He failed.
Every year, we said we were going to take this day off, and every year, the cattle reminded us that talk like that was foolish. You could tell yourself whatever you wanted about tradition, holidays, and rest. A hungry animal did not care about any of that. Winter did not care about any of that.
