Teagan is here. Alive. Warm. Real. My eyes fall to hers, and I lose myself in the bright emerald of her eyes, and it doesn’t feel like I’m betraying Rosie. It feels like—for the first time—I’m choosing to survive her.
“Yeah,” I reply quietly, meaning the lone word as much as I am able to. “I’m okay.”
She studies me for a moment, like she’s trying to determine whether I’m telling the truth. Whatever she finds in my eyes must satisfy her, because when she relaxes again, her body snuggles more fully into mine.
Kissing her once more, slower this time, I let myself feel it without restraint. I melt into it, letting every thought and worry slip away, existing only in the heat of her lips and the quiet surrender of the moment.
We stay curled together as the sun rises. My back is sore from sleeping on that thin unforgiving mattress, and I roll my head in an attempt to loosen the knot at the base of my neck. “As much as I’d like to stay here with you all day, we both know we can’t.” I rest my chin on the top of her head as my gaze pans the room, taking a catalog of our clothes still lying in sodden piles on the floor. “I’m going to grab dry clothes.”
She nods, her fingers trailing reluctantly along my arm as I shift beneath her. The blanket slips, and I pull it tighter around her before easing her gently off my lap.
The cool, damp air bites at my skin the moment I stand. I ignore it and pull on my boots. I step outside into the clean, washed world the storm left behind.
“Fuck, that’s cold,” I hiss, running across the clearing with nothing but my boots to protect me from the elements.
The horses lift their heads when they see me, their ears flicking forward in quiet acknowledgment. They’re calm, steady, and appear completely unharmed from the storm.And blissfully unaware I’m running through the mud wearing nothing but my birthday suit and a pair of cowboy boots.
I dig through saddlebags quickly, rummaging until I find what we need—dry denim, a few shirts, underwear, and socks. With my arms full, I scurry toward the shack. It might not have heat, but I am desperate to get out of the wind.
When I get back inside, Teagan is sitting up on the cot. The blanket is wrapped around her chest. Her hair is wild and beautiful in the morning light.
We dress without speaking much, the quiet between us no longer awkward or uncertain. Once we’re ready, we check the horses, making sure they’re sound before mounting. We ride the perimeter fence like we’re supposed to, but everything feels different now.
Our horses drift close together without being asked, our legs brushing occasionally, sending small, electric reminders through me that she’s here. That last night wasn’t something separate from this moment, but part of it.
Part of us.
Us?
The sun climbs higher, warming the earth beneath us and burning away the last traces of the storm.
“What happens now?” Her voice—unusually timid—breaks the silence.
I glance at her and immediately notice the uncertainty she’s trying to mask with calm.
We both know what she’s asking.
There’s only one more night before we have to return to the ranch, and reality closes in around us. One night before this fragile, isolated world disappears.
I consider the brevity of her question carefully.
I don’t have any answers. Not the kind she deserves, and definitely not the kind I wish I could give her.
“We enjoy today,” I answer honestly. “And we make the most of tonight. We can figure out the rest later.”
She watches me for a moment, then nods, accepting it for what it is. Not a promise, but not an ending.
By the time dusk approaches, we’re still a few hundred acres from the ranch. We settle on a place to camp beneath a wide stretch of open sky to enjoy the stars in the vast Montana sky. Moving around each other with an ease that feels both new and familiar, we set up the tent and build a fire.
We finish as the sun falls low on the horizon. Standing behind her, I wrap my arms around her shoulders and pull her back to my chest. She rests against me as we watch it sink below the curve of the earth, the sky slowly falling into darkness.
A soft breeze blows across the high plains of Montana. The temperature has dropped along with the setting sun. I pull my wool blanket tighter around my shoulders, shivering as the firelight flickers and dances against the dark canvas of the sky. The stars are out in full force, so bright they shimmer like diamonds.
We’re miles from anywhere. Just Easton and me, pitched in a little hollow where the sagebrush clings to the earth like greenish-gray ghosts. The silence out here isn’t empty. It’s heavy with the weight of thoughts. Easton is sitting on a log a few feet from the fire, watching the flames and drinking a cup of coffee. The smell of woodsmoke mixes with the sharp tang of brush.
The cold has seeped into my bones, making me restless, needy for something more than just heat. After walking toward the fire, I pull the blanket from around my shoulders. I shake it out, and smoke curls beneath it as it spreads over the dirt near the flames. I take a seat on it, my weightshifting against the hard, unforgiving ground beneath me, and pat the empty blanket beside me.
Easton watches me intently, his chocolate eyes cutting through the darkness. He doesn’t say a word as he stands and rounds the fire. Instead of sitting immediately, he takes up residency a few feet away.
