I bury my face in her neck, teeth grazing her pulse. One last hard thrust and I’m gone—coming hard, pulsing deep inside her, groaning her name like a prayer. She clenches around me again, milking every drop, and it feels like my soul leaves my body for a second.
We stay locked together under the spray until the water starts to cool. I ease out slow, careful, then turn off the shower. Grab a towel, wrap her in it, lift her again like she’s fragile glass even though I know she’s not.
Back in the bedroom I dry us both, gentle now. Lay her down on clean sheets. Climb in beside her, pull her close. Her head on my chest, leg thrown over mine again.
“I love you,” I say. Quiet. Certain. The words feel right. Necessary.
She tilts her head up, eyes shining. “I love you too.”
I kiss her forehead. “We’re getting that evidence to Hank tomorrow. Ending this. Then you decide what’s next. But whatever it is, you’re not doing it without me.”
She smiles, sleepy and soft. “Good. Because I’m not leaving this mountain—or you—unless you’re coming with me.”
I tighten my arms around her. Never felt anything like this. Never will again.
She’s it.
My woman.
My home.
And I’m all in.
NINE
WILLA
The sun climbs higher than it has in days, melting the top layer of snow into glistening rivulets that run off the porch eaves. The sky is a sharp, endless blue, the kind that makes everything feel possible. I stand at the kitchen window in Colt’s thick wool socks and another oversized flannel, watching him move through the yard with that easy, deliberate stride. He’s already been out since first light, but now he’s waving me over, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
I get dressed quickly in my clothes and grab my shoes. I grab my coat off the hook, and step outside. The cold nips at my cheeks, but it’s crisp, invigorating. No wind. No threat. Just us.
“You ready to meet the boys?” he calls, jerking his thumb toward the barn.
My heart does a little flip. “More than ready.”
He waits for me at the barn door, holding it open. The smell hits me first—hay, leather, horse, earth. Warm and alive. Two heads swing toward us from the stalls: a big bay with a white blaze and a gray with a mischievous glint in his eye.
“This is Stamp,” Colt says, patting the bay’s neck. The horse nickers softly, bumping Colt’s shoulder like an old friend. “Solid as they come. And this troublemaker is Whiskey. Thinks he’s smarter than both of us.”
I laugh. “He probably is.”
Colt snorts, but there’s no edge to it. No gruffness. Just warmth. He hands me a flake of hay. “Here. Show ‘em you’re not scared.”
I step forward, offering it flat on my palm. Stamp lowers his head, lips soft and careful as he takes it. Whiskey shoves in next, greedy, making me giggle when his whiskers tickle my wrist.
“Easy, you pig,” Colt mutters, but he’s smiling—really smiling—as he scratches Whiskey’s forelock. “They like you already.”
“I like them.” I lean my forehead against Stamp’s, breathing in his warm, sweet scent. “I like all of this. The quiet. The space. You.”
Colt goes still for a second, then reaches over and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. His fingers linger. “Never thought I’d hear someone say that about this place. Or about me.”
“You’re not as grumpy as you pretend to be,” I tease, bumping his hip with mine. “You just needed the right person to soften you up.”
He arches a brow. “That so?”
“Yep. I’m basically a cowboy whisperer now.”
He laughs—low, real, the sound rumbling through his chest. “Careful. Keep talking like that and I’ll put you to work every day.”
