She comes up behind me, slipping her arms around my waist, cheek resting between my shoulder blades like fate carved that spot for her.
“I’m sweaty, Princess,” I scold, trying to pull away. But she won’t let me.
“You’re sexy, Cowboy,” she murmurs.
“Could say the same.”
“You haven’t even looked at me.”
“Want to know a secret?” I drawl.
“What’s that?”
“I never stop looking at you, Mia. Even when I’m halfway across the ranch. Never stop feeling you, either.”
She smiles against my back.
We stand like this for a while. The hop lines darken from deep emerald to ebony as the thin, white-light of the moon scatters, stars twinkling overhead.
“Remember the first time we stargazed together?” I ask.
“I do,” she answers, sliding around to face me.
My head dips, and I take her mouth. Not frantic or rushed. But slow, steady, the way I work the ranch.
Learning every line of the sinewy land. The dips where shadow shelters seedlings from the day’s heat. The hidden creeks and quiet springs where green grass tufts, and pronghorns drink.
Slow work. Patient work. The kind that pays off if you don’t rush it.
“My legal team called earlier…”
“And?” I ask, tensing slightly.
“Between negligence, financial mishandling, and insurance issues, Crowe is done.”
“And your parents, Mia?”
She sighs, mint eyes large and fringed with thick black lashes. Moonlight kissing her face, threading white gold in her tresses.
“I saw they called, too.”
She nods, frowning. “They want to help fund the audit. No strings.” Her eyes cast to the side. “They apologized.”
My hand comes up, brushing her cheek. I move slowly, measuring the moment.
“That what you want?”
She considers it. Then nods. “Yes. On my terms.”
Pride settles deep in my chest, heavy and warm.
“But?” I ask, noticing sadness flicker behind her eyes.
She shrugs, biting her bottom lip. “Maybe part of me wants to see Crowe punished for what he did. Maybe part of me doesn’t want to accept my parents’ apology. Doesn’t think it’s enough.”
I nod, pulling her close. “You want justice.”
“Yes. Justice.” Her voice softens. “Does that make me wrong? Or vindictive?”
