I step outside into the late-afternoon chill. The second he sees me, Colt pushes off the truck and straightens, that slow, private smile spreading across his face—the one that’s just for me. I don’t walk. I run.
He catches me mid-stride, big hands closing around my waist, lifting me off the ground like I weigh nothing. My arms go around his neck, legs wrapping his hips, and I bury my face in the warm crook of his throat. He smells like pine, leather, and home.
“Hey, sweetheart,” he murmurs against my hair.
“Hey, cowboy.”
I pull back just enough to kiss him—soft at first, then deeper when his tongue brushes mine. He tastes like coffee and winter air. When we finally break apart, I’m breathless and grinning like an idiot.
The library doors open behind us. A chorus of small voices erupts.
“Mr. Colt!”
“Hi, Mr. Colt!”
The kids spill out, backpacks bouncing, circling us like excited puppies. Colt sets me down but keeps one arm around my waist, turning to face them with that easy charm he pulls out for anyone under twelve.
“Hey, troublemakers,” he drawls, tipping his hat. “Who’s winning at spelling this week?”
Mateo jumps up and down. “Me! I got all the bonus words!”
“Atta boy.” Colt ruffles his hair. “What about you, Sofia? Still reading to that stuffed dog of yours?”
Sofia nods shyly, clutching her backpack straps. “He likes Charlotte’s Web best.”
“Smart dog.” Colt crouches to her level, voice gentle. “Tell him Mr. Colt says hi.”
She beams. The twins—Liam and Lucas—start tugging at his coat sleeves, begging for a ride in the truck.
“Maybe next time,” Colt says, laughing. “Gotta get Miss Willa home before it gets dark. Horses get grumpy when dinner’s late.”
They groan dramatically, but they’re smiling. Every single one of them loves him—the big, quiet cowboy who shows up every pickup day with stories about Stamp and Whiskey, who lets them pet his hat, who once brought a real horseshoe for show-and-tell and let them all touch the worn grooves.
My heart swells so big I’m afraid it might crack my ribs. This man—this grumpy mountain man who used to live alone and like it—has become the favorite part of their week. And mine.
We wave goodbye, promise to see them Thursday, and climb into the truck. Colt cranks the heat, pulls me across the bench seat until I’m tucked against his side. His arm drapes over my shoulders, thumb stroking lazy circles on my arm.
“Good day?” he asks.
“Best one yet.” I rest my head on his shoulder. “You?”
“Quiet. Horses were good. Missed you, though.”
I tip my face up for another kiss—slow, lingering. “Missed you more.”
The drive up the mountain is peaceful. Snow has melted off the lower roads, but higher up the pines are still dusted white. The cabin comes into view just as the sun dips behind the ridge, painting the sky pink and gold. Home. Our home.
Inside, dinner is simple—venison chili I put in the slow cooker this morning, cornbread, the last jar of peaches from the pantry. We eat at the table, knees touching under it, talking about nothing important and everything that matters. Mateo’s new reading level. Whiskey’s latest attempt to steal Stamp’s hay. The way the aspen will turn gold again come fall.
After dishes, we end up on the porch swing. The night is cold, but Colt wraps us both in the big wool blanket he keeps out here. I’m curled in his lap, back to his chest, his chin resting on my shoulder. Stars are coming out one by one above the dark pines. The only sounds are the creak of the swing chains and the soft hoot of an owl somewhere down the ridge.
Colt’s arms tighten around me. “You happy, Willa?”
I turn my head, kiss the underside of his jaw. “Happier than I knew I could be.”
He exhales, long and slow, like he’s been holding the question for months. “Good. Because I’m never letting you go.”
I twist in his arms until I’m straddling him, hands framing his face. His beard is soft under my palms, green eyes steady in the porch light.
