In the kitchen, I could hear Milly moving around. For a moment, I just sat there and listened: coffee brewing, her humming, the rooster outside. It was all familiar. It felt a lot like home. But I had to remember my mission. I was the backup plan, activated when Plan A failed, and it did. Harold and Arnie saw to that.
Then Browne’s voice threaded through my memory: “As Penny’s terms have been fulfilled, Mr. Adams, your contract has also been fulfilled.”
There it was. The line I’d known was coming the day I accepted the mission. But now it was the end of the mission. It was time to pack up and rotate out.
So why did the thought of leaving feel like anything but rotating out?
I pulled on jeans, a flannel, thick socks, and padded out into the kitchen. Each step looked the same, but felt different.
The kitchen smelled like coffee and cinnamon. Milly stood by the sink in one of her oversized sweaters, hair twisted up in a messy knot, steam curling around her face. The sight punched a soft hole straight through my chest.
“Morning,” I said.
She turned, eyes bright but still soft with sleep. “Morning.”
It had been a week since the barn raising and the ceremonial ribbon-cutting. It was less a ribbon-cutting and more like Milly and me drinking sparkling cider on a blanket on the floor, but the feeling was the same.
Milly had talked about her plans for the future and the clinic. She’d mentioned me like I was part of the plan, but not the plan. She never mentionedus. I wasn’t sure if I was an afterthought or intentional.
“How’s it feel?” I asked, brushing off the thought and leaning against the doorframe. “Official Queen of Thomas Ranch.”
She made a face, but the corners of her mouth twitched. “Don’t call me that.”
“I beg your pardon,” I said. “Your Majesty.” I mock-bowed.
Milly threw a rag at me, then snorted and handed me a mug. My fingers brushed hers, and that small, simple touch did all kinds of unprofessional things to my heartbeat. I already knew my heart belonged to Milly, but when she pulled back without a thought, my heart cracked a little.
“It feels…” She stared into her coffee. “…right. I think that’s the word.”
“Good,” I said, proud, because I was proud of her.
Outside the window, snow fell in big flakes. This place was beautiful. It reminded me I’d always belonged to dirt and sky more than to concrete and fluorescent lights. That’s what I liked most about the military: more outside, less inside.
I took a sip of coffee. It burned, but I drank it anyway.
Browne’s voice wouldn’t let up. “Your contract has also been fulfilled. You can either return to work, or…”That pause at the end. That grin.
On paper, this was the point where I left. I was a temporary measure. A human shield against Milly’s trouble.
I glanced at Milly. She was studying the ranch with a look I recognized. When I walked into a hangar full of men, helicopters, and orders to keep them alive for the first time, I’d seen that look in my own reflection. Ownership. Responsibility.
“You’re showing your thoughts again,” I said as the crease between her brows deepened.
“I am not,” she lied, badly.
“Your face disagrees with you. Pretty sure the horses heard that one.”
She huffed out a laugh, but it didn’t chase the tension from her shoulders. “I was thinking about last week. About… what Browne said.”
“About you owning the ranch?” I asked. “Kind of a big one.”
She shook her head. “No. About your contract,” she said, her voice small and fragile.
There it was. For a week, we’d danced around the topic. I wasn’t sure she’d heard Browne at first, but as the days passed, the weight between us grew.
I set my mug down. “Ah. That.”
“Yeah, that?” she repeated.
