The night had gone deep and cold. Stars scattered over the ranch like shattered glass. The snow reflected enough moonlight to turn the yard silver. Dylan walked slowly because the ground was slick, and though he healed well, cold still made his side ache sometimes. He never said so. I knew anyway.
We stopped near the corral fence.
The house glowed behind us.
Laughter drifted faintly through the windows.
Dylan turned toward me.
He looked nervous.
Actually nervous.
My heart stumbled.
“Dylan?”
He reached into his jacket pocket.
Everything in me went quiet.
Not scared.
Not exactly.
But suddenly every moment of the last year seemed to gather around us. The hospital. Georgia’s ring on the table. The carnival lights. The bungalow. San Diego mornings. Lily crying into moving boxes. Edge calling me baby girl. Regan telling me I was not Mandy’s sins. Dylan’s hands building walls, sanding floors, making space for a life neither of us had believed we could have.
He lowered himself onto one knee.
Carefully.
Because romance was romance, but the man still had scar tissue and I was still a nurse.
“Do not hurt yourself proposing to me,” I blurted.
His mouth twitched. “Beautiful.”
“I’m serious.”
“I know.”
“Your form is questionable.”
“Destiny.”
I pressed my lips together.
He took my hand.
The warmth of his fingers cut through the cold.
“I had a speech,” he said.
“Of course you did.”
“It was good.”
“I’m sure.”
