I close the small gap between us and grip the lapels of his Carhartt coat.
"Wes Dawson, you drive me absolutely crazy. When you don’t come over to help with the horses at the end of the day, I miss you. When you're with me, I feel like my heart might explode from sheer happiness. And when I saw Hannah wearing your ring, I wanted to tackle her to the ground and rip it off her finger.
"You took care of me when I couldn't get off my couch for a week—for no other reason than I needed you. You built a new pen for the goats, and somehow, Roscoe still hasn't managed to escape it. You take me exactly as I am—prickliness and all—and youlook at me like I’m the only person in the world who matters.
"Wes, I’m so in love with you, it hurts."
I hadn’t even admitted all of that to myself yet, but as the words pour out, it feels right.
Wes nods, deep in thought for a moment as he peers out at the brown grass covering the gently rolling hills. He wraps his arms around me. “The idea of not being able to see you every day makes me want to puke. I don’t want to be without you.”
Tears slide down my cheeks.“I don't want to be without you either, but my entire life is here.” My voice is muted, a croaking whisper that I mumble into his coat.If this is a goodbye, it might just break me.
He grabs my chin with his thumb and index finger, making me meet his eyes. “So is mine,” he states matter-of-factly, tracing the line of my jaw with his thumb in a slow, soothing stroke. “You’re my entire life now, Sawyer. All the best parts of it, anyway. I can’t bear the thought of leaving Cottonwood Creek, of losing you. I don’t want to go a single day without waking up to that wildness in you and that fire in your eyes. You make me feel alive. I’m not willing to go without that feeling ever again.”
“What are you saying?”
His throat bobs as he swallows, and he smiles at me in that heartbreakingly tender way he always does. “I’m saying that I love you, too. I finally know what I want and that's you, Red. I’m not going anywhere.”
“You’re staying?” I can’t risk the hope. Can’t fathom that everything I wanted is right here in front of me.
He cups my face in both hands, so I have no choice but to look at him. “I’m staying. And I’m gonna take over Dawson Ranch.”
I’m not sure how I have any more liquid left to cry, but my eyes brim up with tears yet again. “You’re staying?” I ask again because I can’t believe it. “But Pops...”
“Don’t you listen to a word anyone says, Red?” he jests. “I’m staying. I reckon Pops thought taking the pressure off by telling me he was selling the place might force me to get my head out of my ass. So, yeah. I’mst—.”
I stand on my toes and shut his mouth up with mine. My heart explodes with joy as the flurries of snow fall more heavily. Snowflakes catch in his hair as I kiss him, the cold air forgotten in the warmth of his solid embrace that anchors me to this moment—this impossibly beautiful reality that I was too afraid to believe in.
When we break apart, I search his eyes, still needing reassurance that this isn't a dream. His forehead rests against mine, and he breathes out a soft chuckle. "Do you believe me now?"
I nod. "Say it again anyway," I whisper, because I need to hear it one more time.
He gives me a crooked grin. "I'm staying, Red. I'm staying, and I'm yours."
"All mine."
He seals the promise with a kiss, deeper this time, as the world outside of this little cocoon around us disappears. My cheeks are numb, my nose possibly frost-bitten, but I don't mind. Not when his lips move against mine with such certainty, chasing away the cold in a way no amount of layers ever could.
“I hate to break it to you," he murmurs against my mouth, "but the hardest part is yet to come.”
I cock my head to the side, wondering what the hell he’s talking about.
“I have to tell my parents.”
I brush my lips against his once more before pulling away. “Don’t worry. I’ll be by your side the whole time.”
Telling his parents should be a piece of cake. The hard part—the uncertainty, the possibility of losing him—is over. I have everything I want right here in front of me.
And now, he's staying.
Turkey day
Wes
Sawyer bustles around her kitchen, basting the turkey and mixing the green bean casserole while I finish peeling the potatoes. Pops sits at the table with his cup of coffee, arranging the relish tray in the shape of a turkey—the way Grams always used to do.
We’ve put up a long folding table in her living room, and it’s set with the tablecloth and dishes we always used for holiday dinners when Grams was still alive. Despite the mouthwatering aroma of turkey and homemade stuffing, my stomach is turning in on itself with nerves. The thought of breaking the news to Mom and Dad that I'll be taking over the ranch weighs heavy on me. This wasn’t part of their plan, and I have no idea how they'll react.
