And Matt.
“That’s it?” Church asked.
“That’s it.”
It sounded even smaller out loud.
He hadn’t asked many questions. He just helped. And she was so grateful for both of those actions as well as for the man himself. Church wasn’t only a trusted friend. He felt almost like family.
While she packed, he’d watched her move through the Airbnb. When she turned to pick up one of the bags, she saw Church frozen beside the dresser where she’d placed the wooden box.
His hands hovered over it for three heartbeats before he picked it up.
The box was made of dark walnut, smooth and simple with a small brass plate on the lid. No elaborate carving. No ornate handles. Just Matt’s name etched into the metal with the dates beneath it.
Church had gone still, the box cradled in his big hands with as much care as he’d carried Matt’s coffin to the church that day.
His gaze lifted to hers.
“I didn’t want to scatter him anywhere I wasn’t going to stay.”
She’d moved too often—new towns, new jobs, more temporary places that never felt right. The idea of leaving him somewhere permanent when she didn’t even know where she belonged yet felt wrong.
The sentence slipped out before she could stop it. “I never imagined I’d be carrying him instead.”
Church’s fingers tightened on the box. He looked at the engraved plate, his expression unreadable.
“I would’ve done the same.” His gritty tone and the simple answer felt like strong arms coming around her.
Now, as they loaded the last of her things into the truck, Church carefully placed the wooden box on the passenger seat.
They climbed in, and she cradled the box in her lap as he navigated the road leading to the ranch. The view was different here, but no less striking. Twilight spread across the land in soft blue layers. When the ranch gates came into view, a set of security lights blinked on automatically.
Now this kind of security she could appreciate. She just hoped it was enough.
By the time they parked, tension she hadn’t known she was carrying eased a little, leaving her feeling drained.
“We made it in time for dinner.” He suddenly sounded more cheerful, and the sound drew an unexpected laugh from her throat.
He glanced at her. “You didn’t think that changed, did you? I may be older, but my appetite’s the same.”
She tilted her face up to his. He wasn’t talking aboutthatkind of appetite, but a small shiver—just as surprising to her as her laugh—slipped down her spine anyway.
He stared down at her, silent and as strong as the day she met him. The years had placed a few more lines around his blue eyes and hard mouth. And he was dressed casually in jeans and a T-shirt bearing the Black Heart Ranch logo on it with a horse galloping behind the words with a rope whipping out to cross theT.
Her fingers twitched, ready to run over the words…and feel the solid steel chest of his chest underneath.
Her breath was coming a little too fast. She must be taking their pretend marriage a little too seriously.
“Where do we find this dinner anyway?”
He pointed to a huge building. “That’s the therapy lodge. For veterans.”
She sucked in a breath and faced the lodge. Warm light spilled from the windows, and she knew the inside would be just as welcoming.
“I love it.”
He stepped up beside her, a smile softening his rugged features. “So do I.”
