“Promise?”
His eyes darken, but it’s playful. “Careful what you wish for, darlin’.”
We spend the morning like that—him teaching me the rhythm of the ranch. How to measure grain without overdoing it (“They’ll con you into thinking they’re starving”), how to check hooves for stones, how to brush them in long, soothing strokes so they lean into you like cats. I’m terrible at first—fumbling the curry comb, getting hay in my hair—but Colt’s patient. He stands behind me sometimes, hands over mine to guide them, his chest warm against my back.
“Like this,” he murmurs near my ear when I’m brushing Whiskey’s flank. “Firm but gentle. They feel everything.”
I turn my head just enough to catch his lips in a quick kiss. “You’re not so bad at gentle yourself.”
He growls low. “Don’t tempt me out here. Horses get jealous.”
I laugh again—free, easy, the kind of laugh I haven’t let out in years.
By afternoon we’re back inside for lunch—thick venison stew he’d had simmering, cornbread still warm from the oven. We eat at the table, knees touching under it, talking about nothing and everything. He tells me about the first winter he spent up here alone, how he almost lost a finger to frostbite fixing the roof. I tell him about the kids in my class—how one boy, Mateo, finally read a whole page out loud last month and beamed like he’d won the lottery.
“You light up when you talk about them,” Colt says quietly.
“They light me up.” I reach across, trace the scar on his knuckle. “What lights you up?”
He looks at our joined hands for a long moment. “Used to be just the quiet. The work. Now?” His thumb strokes the inside of my wrist. “You. This. Waking up and knowing you’re here.”
My throat gets tight. “I don’t want to leave, Colt.”
He squeezes my hand. “Then don’t. Not yet. We’ll get the evidence to Hank tomorrow. Let the wheels turn. But after that… we figure out what staying looks like. For both of us.”
I nod, blinking fast. “Okay.”
The rest of the day slips by slow and golden. We walk the ridge hand in hand, snow crunching under our boots, sun warm on our faces. He points out the eagle’s nest high in a dead pine, the frozen creek where he fishes in summer. I steal kisses under low branches, laughing when snow dumps on us both.
By nightfall the fire is roaring again, quilts piled on the rug in front of the hearth. We’re tangled together—me between his legs, back to his chest, his arms wrapped around me like he’s afraid I’ll vanish. The flames dance, casting flickering light across his face. He looks softer than I’ve ever seen him. No hard lines. No guarded eyes. Just Colt. My Colt.
“You’re not grumpy anymore,” I murmur, tilting my head back to look up at him.
He presses a kiss to my temple. “Had nothing worth smiling about before.”
I turn in his arms, straddle his lap, frame his face with my hands. “You’re smiling now.”
“Damn right I am.” His hands settle on my hips, thumbs stroking slow circles. “Got the prettiest girl in the Rockies sittingon me, wearing my shirt, talking about never leaving. What’s there to be grumpy about?”
I lean down, kiss him soft and slow. “I love it here. I love the horses. I love the quiet. I love you.”
His breath catches. “Love you too, Willa. More than I thought I could.”
We stay like that—kissing lazy, talking in whispers, laughing at nothing. The fire pops. The wind sighs against the windows. Outside, the world is vast and cold and waiting.
But in here?
I’ve never been happier. I’ve never felt more like I belong. And for the first time, tomorrow doesn’t scare me. Because whatever comes next, it comes with him.
TEN
COLT
The fire’s down to glowing embers, casting a soft orange pulse across the cabin walls. It’s late—way past when sensible people go to sleep—but neither of us has moved. Willa’s curled in my lap on the rug, head tucked under my chin, fingers tracing lazy circles on my chest through my Henley. Every few minutes she presses a kiss to my throat, soft and deliberate, like she’s reminding me she’s here. Like I could forget.
I’ve been hard for hours. Not urgent, not frantic—just a steady, aching want that’s become background noise since the moment she straddled me last night. But now it’s louder. Sharper. Because tomorrow we drive down the mountain, hand over the flash drive, set the wheels in motion to bury her ex for good. And after that…
After that she could leave.
