“No.” I reached for her hand, relieved when she didn't pull away. “I want you to let me make it right.”
“How do you plan to do that?”
“By being honest. By not running scared every time this feels too real.” I laced my fingers through hers. “By choosing you, even when it's complicated. Especially when it's complicated.”
A tear slipped down her cheek, and she swiped it away. “This is too complicated. The rodeo, the town, that marker we found?—”
“I know.” The fucking marker again. I'd been trying not to think about what it might mean or what it could unravel. “That marker's going to cause problems. It might prove the boundary line's wrong, might drag up the old Kincaid-Hollister feud, might throw everything into question.”
“And you're okay with that?”
“No.” I brought her hand to my chest, pressed it over my heart. “But I'd rather face it with you than alone.”
Her expression cracked just enough to let something vulnerable break through. “You really mean that.”
“Yeah, I do.” I cupped her face with my free hand. “I don't know how this ends. Don't know if the marker's going to blow up in our faces or if the rodeo will survive whatever comes next. But I know I want you here. I know I trust you. And I know I'm done pretending I don't.”
“Slade—” Her voice broke.
“Tell me what you want, Morgan. Not what you think you should want. Not what's practical or safe. What you actually want.”
She looked up at me, tears spilling over her lower lids. But when she spoke, her voice was steady and sure. “I want to stay.”
My chest unclenched. “Really?”
“But not if you're going to keep bracing for me to leave.” She stepped closer, her free hand coming up to rest against my jaw. “Not if you're going to keep one foot out the door in case this doesn't work.”
“I won't,” I promised. “I'm done running.”
“Then prove it.”
I kissed her. Slow and deliberate, pouring everything I'd been too afraid to say into that single point of contact. She made a soft sound and kissed me back, her hand sliding into my hair, anchoring me to her. When we finally broke apart, I rested my forehead against hers, both of us breathing hard.
“I'm scared,” I admitted. “Scared I'll mess this up. Scared that marker's going to tear everything apart. Scared the town will make this harder than it needs to be.”
“Me too,” she whispered. “But I'm more scared of walking away and wondering what we could've been.”
I pulled her closer, wrapping my arms around her. She fit against me like she belonged there, and maybe she did. Maybe that was what I'd been too stubborn to see—that belonging wasn't something you earned through perfection. It was something you built through showing up.
“The marker,” she said against my chest. “We need to deal with it properly. No more avoiding it.”
“I know.” I tightened my hold on her. “Whatever it proves—about the land, about my family—we'll handle it.”
“Together?” she asked, echoing what I'd said in the cabin.
“Together,” I confirmed.
She pulled back just enough to look at me, and for the first time since she'd arrived at the ranch, she smiled. A real smile, warm and unguarded, and it hit me harder than any eight-second ride ever had.
“So what now?” she asked.
“Now we figure out what partnership actually looks like.” I brushed a strand of hair from her face. “Starting with being honest about what we need.”
“I need you to stop deciding for me,” she said. “If I'm going to stay—and I want to stay—I need to know you'll let me choose that. Every day.”
“Done.” I traced my thumb across her cheekbone. “And I need you to be patient with me when I screw up. Because I will.”
“I can do that.” Her smile turned wry. “As long as you actually tell me when something's wrong instead of going silent.”
