She smiled, slow and wicked and full of promise. "Ours. Everything ours."
Later, we sat on the porch with coffee and the eggs I’d scrambled while she wore my shirt and nothing else. Morning sunlight spilled over the hills, the breeze soft, the smell of rain still clinging to the air. The cattle were lowing somewhere down by the creek. It was so domestic, so normal, that it made my chest ache with how much I wanted this forever.
“We need to talk about Dallas,” she said finally, and reality slid back in like a shadow.
“You’re leaving.” Not a question.
“To close that chapter properly,” she said quickly, reaching for my hand. “I’ve got an apartment to pack, a lease to break, furniture to deal with. I can’t just disappear this time. I need to do it right.”
“How long?”
“Two weeks. Maybe less.”
Two weeks. After all this time, what were two weeks? Still, the thought of her gone—even for that long—made my chest feel too tight.
“You’ll come back?” I hated how vulnerable it sounded.
She set her mug aside, then climbed right into my lap, knees bracketing my hips. The shirt slid up just enough for me to realize—yep, still no panties. For a second, every logical thought in my head short-circuited.
“Well, hell,” I muttered, voice rough, “you really expect me to talk about logistics right now?”
Her lips curved, that slow, knowing smile that had always been my undoing. “Focus, cowboy.”
“Hard to,” I said, and she laughed, low and throaty, before pressing her forehead to mine.
“I will always come back,” she whispered. “This is home. You’re home. I just need to close that door properly so it never calls me back.”
I nodded, swallowing the knot in my throat. “Then go. But take this with you.”
I shifted her onto my other leg, reached into my pocket, and pulled out the silver horseshoe pendant she’d left behind. I knew keeping it on me all these years would come in handy. The morning light caught it as I fastened it around her neck.
“Wear it,” I said. “Remember what you’re coming back to.”
Her fingers brushed the charm, tears bright in her eyes. “As if I could forget.”
“Two weeks,” I told her. “I’ll be counting the days.”
“So will I.”
We spent the rest of the morning tangled up between sheets and sunlight, making love and talking about the future between kisses—plans for the breeding program, new ideas for the co-op, little things that felt big because they were ours.
When she finally drove away that afternoon, dust rising behind her car, I stood on the porch and watched until she disappeared beyond the ridge.
But this time, I wasn’t broken. This time, I knew she’d come back.
The horseshoe would bring her home.
And this time, home would be forever.
Chapter 21
Ivy
The Dallas skyline appeared on the horizon like a mirage I'd once believed was real. Strange how small it looked now, after weeks of Texas sky that stretched forever. The buildings that had once made me feel important, sophisticated, successful, now just looked like boxes blocking the view.
I'd left Copper Creek at dawn, Wyatt kissing me goodbye on the porch of our cabin with the kind of desperation that suggested he still wasn't entirely sure I'd come back. His hands had tangled in my hair, his mouth hot and demanding against mine, and it had taken everything in me to get in my car and drive away.
"Two weeks," he'd whispered against my lips. "I'll be counting."
