Jessica. The burned-out tech VP who arrived a few days ago with the same hollow look Sloane had. I'm her guide the same way I was Sloane's, and the parallel isn't lost on either of us.
"What'd you tell her?"
"That I stopped running long enough to remember what it felt like to be seen. That being scared doesn't mean you're doing it wrong." Her fingers lace through mine where they rest against her ribs.
The words hit close to home, and my arms tighten around her. "You're good at helping people."
"I'm good at recognizing myself in them." She shifts in my arms, turning to face me. "Thank you."
"For what?"
"For waiting. For remembering. For convincing me not to run." Her voice cracks on the last word. "For choosing me even when I was too scared to choose myself."
A wave of humbling gratitude hitches in my chest, making my breath go tight. I pull her against my body, one hand steady at the small of her back while the other cradles her head. "You never have to thank me for this, Sloane. Loving you is the most natural thing I’ve ever done."
She kisses me then, unhurried and claiming, and the horses graze nearby while the sun tracks west across the sky. When she pulls back, her smile is easy and unguarded.
"I got an email from Diane this morning," she says. "The Harmon merger finally closed. It took four people without me."
Tension climbs my spine, tightening the muscles across my shoulders. "How's that feel?"
"Like closing a door I should've closed years ago." She pulls out her phone and shows me the email—Sloane, thanks for all the work you did before you left. The merger finally closed. You made the right choice in leaving. Proud of you. —D, then deletes it without ceremony. "I don't miss it, Cash. Not even a little."
The reality of us settles deep in my marrow, and I pull her against my chest, her back to my front. We stay silent as the sun dips, bleeding pink and gold across the valley floor. From up here, the ranch looks like a map of our history: the glow from the Cabin 5 where someone else is staying, the shadow of the barn where we finally stopped running, and the house, the one with our names on the mailbox and our life inside.
"I've been thinking," she says eventually.
"Dangerous." I grin against her hair.
She elbows me, and I catch her arm, pulling her tighter. "The difference between a pipe dream and getting something real off the ground is proof of concept. The contract I got today proves I know what I’m doing. I’ve been thinking about something bigger, but I needed to close this deal first to see if I could do it.”
"You want to grow the program?"
"I want to help more people. People like me. Like Jessica." She turns in my arms, and determination burns in her expression. "Lucinda’s booked solid for months with a waitlist that keeps growing.Wecould do this, Cash. Build something real."
She pauses, and I could swear that her eyes are actually sparkling. “What are you getting at?” I ask.
“What if you and I bought the adjacent ranch property? Hired a full team, fixed it up like a proper ranch retreat. We could call it Granitehart Ranch, after Granitehart Ridge where you’re from."
I study her face, taking in the way her eyes light up when she talks about the future. The way her whole body leans forward with enthusiasm. A month ago, she was hollow and running. Now she's building something that matters.
"You know what that means, right?" I ask.
"What?"
"You'd be tied to this place. To me. Permanently."
Her smile is slow and certain. "I'm already tied to you. Might as well make it official-official."
"Darling, we got married last week. Doesn't get more official than that."
"You know what I mean." She kisses me, quick and bright. "This would be ours. Not just the program, but land. We wouldn’t be working for someone, we’d be the owners. It’s a real legacy, something we built together that outlasts us."
The wordlegacymakes my jaw ache. I cup her face with both hands, thumbs stroking her cheekbones while the sun drops lower behind us. "Okay."
"Okay?"
"Yeah. Let's do it." I kiss her forehead, her nose, her mouth. "Let's build something permanent."
