Page 39 of Stealing the Runaway Bride

I found the shape hiding inside the wood.

And I found mine.

I look down at Juliette, her eyes closed, her head resting on my shoulder. She’s breathing softly now, the tension of the day finally bleeding out of her. I think about the easement we found. I think about the look on her father's face when he realizes he’s lost his greatest asset to a cowboy with a scarred jaw and a half-built cabin.

I feel a grim sort of satisfaction. Let them come. Let the Black Aspen suits try to take the water. They don't know what it's like to fight for something you love. They don’t understand what a man will endure when walking away is no longer an option.

I’m going to raise this cabin with her, board by board, until it becomes the home we choose together. I’m going to make sure the world knows that the woman who walked away from a banking heir and a billionaire’s empire chose a man who works with his hands and loves with his whole soul.

My hand moves over her hip, my thumb tracing the curve of her bone. She’s mine.

I think of the water upstream. The water restriction is real. The western tanks are dropping faster than we can refill them. I can feel the thirst of the land beneath my boots. It’s like the land is waiting, just like I was. Waiting for someone to fight for it.

Andy’s worried about the cattle. Benjamin’s worried about how long the emergency hauling can hold. But I’m worried about the future. I’m worried about the life I’m going to build for Juliette.

I’ll haul water to every trough until the court enforces the easement. Black Aspen doesn’t get to outlast us.

I shift her slightly, pulling her closer, my chin resting on the top of her head. The magnolia scent is fainter now, mixed with the smell of our sex and the cooling night air. It’s the best thing I’ve ever smelled.

In the distance, I see the lights of a truck moving along the perimeter road. Probably one of the Black Aspen scouts. They’ve been circling this place for months, waiting for us to weaken. They think the water is our lifeblood. They think if they cut it off, we’ll fold.

They’re wrong.

The Kramers don't fold. We dig in. We fight. And when we find something worth keeping, we never let go.

I think of the workshop I handed to Juliette, the key and deed finally in her hands. I told myself for two years that I restored it for the memory of the woman who taught me how to be a man. The truth is that working kept me upright after the altar, and somewhere in it I stopped building a monument and started building a room somebody could live in. Now it belongs to her, and the cabin will become ours.

I’m not going to be the man left at the altar. I’m going to be the man standing at the end of the aisle, watching the woman I love walk toward me in a dress she designed herself, in a home we built together.

I’ve lived in the shadow of my own failure for too long. I’ve let an empty chapel and a woman who didn’t love me define the man I became.

No more.

Juliette is here. The workshop is hers. The cabin is waiting for us.

The past doesn’t get another piece of me.

Juliette shifts in my arms, a soft sigh escaping her lips. She’s asleep. The day has finally caught up to her. The fear, the flight, the discovery of her father’s betrayal—it’s all been too much. But here, in the quiet of the back pasture, she’s safe.

I’ll stay awake. I’ll watch the shadows. I’ll listen to the wind in the dry grass and the sound of her heart beating against mine.

I’ve claimed Juliette, but loving her doesn’t erase anything else I’m responsible for. It gives me one more reason to stand my ground.

Black Aspen can hide behind its new filing until the easement reaches a judge. They can play their legal games and send their threatening letters. But they don't have the land. And they sure as hell don't have her.

I look at the moon rising over the ridge. It’s a pale sliver of a thing, but it’s enough to see the silhouette of the ranch. Pine Ridge. My home.

I’m going to protect it. I’m going to protect her.

And when the sun comes up tomorrow, the war starts in earnest. But tonight, there’s only this. The smell of pine, the heat of our bodies, and the promise of a life that is finally, mercifully, beginning.

I pull the small whittled bird from my pocket and set it on the floorboards beside us. It’s finished. The wings are spread, caught in a moment of flight.

Just like her.

But she’s not flying away anymore. She’s landed. Right here, in the arms of a man who will never let her go.

I close my eyes and let the darkness take me, my hand resting protectively over her heart.