"I've been saving. And investing." He squeezed my thigh. "Every sponsorship deal that paid me as your 'training consultant,' every remote consulting call I've done for Dad's old business contacts who still think I'm coming back—which I'm absolutely not—I've been putting it away. Plus the stocks I cashed out when I left. It took everything I had, but I did it. I bought us a future."
"Us," I repeated, the word sticking in my throat.
"Us. Because that's what this is, Win. An investment in what we're building together." He grabbed both my hands now, his palms warm and rough. "Come on. There's something I want to show you."
We walked through the property in the growing dawn light—past the house that needed work but had good bones, past the barn that was waiting for new life, out toward the back where the land sloped down to the creek. The water sparkled in the early morning sun, and I could see it: cattle grazing, trails for riding, a future spreading out like the Oklahoma sky.
"Here," Beau said, stopping at a flat clearing overlooking the creek. "This is my favorite spot. I've been coming here for weeks, planning."
"Planning what?"
Instead of answering, he pulled something from his jacket pocket—a rolled-up paper secured with twine. He handed it to me, and I untied it with shaking fingers.
It was an architect's sketch. Beautiful, detailed, labeled:JAMESON-STERLING EQUESTRIAN CENTER.
"I've been working with someone from Tulsa," Beau said as I stared at the drawing—an indoor arena, attached stalls, an observation area, office space. "Just preliminary plans, nothing committed yet, because I wanted you to see it first. But imagine it, Win. You could train year-round. Bring in client horses. Build something bigger than just competition."
"Jameson-Sterling," I whispered, my eyes catching on our names merged together at the top.
"Both our names. Equal partnership." He took the paper from my trembling hands and set it aside on a rock, then took my hands again. "Because that's what I want this to be. What I want us to be. Partners in everything. In the dirt, in the finances, in the bed."
"Beau—"
"Wait. Let me—I have a whole speech planned. I practiced it on Pickles. He pecked me, but I think he liked it." He took a breath, and I realized his hands were shaking too. "12 months ago, I showed up here with three suitcases and absolutely no idea who I was. I didn't know how to mend a fence or check cattle. I definitely didn't know how to be the kind of man who deserved someone like you."
"That's not—"
"It is. It was true then. But you taught me, Win. You taught me that worth isn't about a bank balance or a last name. It's about showing up. It's about staying when it's hard. You taught me what home actually means." His voice cracked, raw and honest. "And somewhere along the way, this stopped being about proving myself or running from Dallas. It became about building a life with you. The only life I want."
He released my hands and—oh God—dropped to one knee in the dirt, in the growing sunlight, his jeans immediately getting dusty.
"So I'm doing this right," he said, pulling a small velvet box from his pocket. "Naomie Jameson, I'm kneeling in the dirt at dawn on property I bought for our future, about to ruin my knees, because you deserve someone who isn't afraid to get dirty for you. Who stays."
He opened the box. Inside was a ring—simple, perfect, a stunning diamond set in a gold band that looked like twisted rope. Elegant, sturdy, and completely us.
"Will you marry me? Will you let me spend the rest of my life burning coffee, losing arguments to a rooster, and worshipping you every single night?"
I was crying—ugly crying, the kind where your breath hitches—and I didn't even care. "You're proposing to me in the dirt at five in the morning."
"I know. Is it working?"
"You bought property without telling me."
"I know. I'm sorry. I wanted to surprise you. Win, please say yes, my knee is on a rock—"
"Yes!" The word burst out, half laugh and half sob. "Yes, you ridiculous, property-buying, dawn-proposing, perfect man. Yes, I'll marry you!"
His face split into the biggest, most relieved smile I'd ever seen. He fumbled the ring out of the box—his hands were shaking so hard he almost dropped it—and slid it onto my finger. It fit perfectly.
Then he stood, pulled me into his arms, and kissed me.
It wasn't a sweet, gentle kiss. It was deep, claiming, full of relief and promise and a heat that made my toes curl in my boots. I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him closer, feeling the solid thump of his heart against mine.
When we finally broke apart, both of us breathing hard, he pressed his forehead to mine. "You said yes."
"Of course I said yes, you idiot. Did you actually think I'd say no?"
"I mean, there was a non-zero chance you'd be mad about the property thing. Or the timing. Or the fact that I did this without consulting Pops first—"
