Page 59 of Christmas in Bridger Falls

My eyes drift open before the sun. I see the distant glow from the embers of the fire that’s burned down and feel the weight of the handmade quilt over us. The smell of pine drifts through the cabin from the tree we decorated together.

A smile spreads across my face, and I close my eyes.

A few moments later, I slip out from beneath the quilt, quietly pad across the hardwood floor, and pull on Ty’s soft flannel that was on the back of a chair. It smells like him, and I breathe it in.

He’s sprawled across his side of the bed, one arm thrown over his head, hair sticking up in every direction. He looks peaceful and relaxed. Like a man with no worries now, who has people to love and care for him. I love that he seems lighter now.

Yesterday when his family came here, I couldn’t believe it. I wanted to yell at them. Except, it was Ty’s Mom. And I don’t know them. But I do know Ty. He belongs here as long as he wants to be here, and I hope he’s here for forever with me.

It’s Christmas morning, and it used to be my favorite when I was little, before my mom died. Truth be told, it’s the first Christmas I’ve enjoyed in a long time.

I still can’t believe it feels this way. I wasn’t sure it ever could again. I owe Rick and Becky big time. They knew I needed this. Just like I knew Ty needed his family to know they had to earn back a place in his life if they want to be in it.

Christmas used to be my mom’s favorite holiday. She loved it. She got up every Christmas morning before us to sit with her coffee and watch the snow or just sit admiring the Christmas tree in our living room. She would love and be proud of how we’ve pulled together and made the ranch our own.

I preheat the oven for the cinnamon rolls we made up yesterday and get the coffee going. Now I know why this was a tradition for Ty’s mom. Within minutes, the cabin smells like fresh coffee and pine. Two of the best smells on earth. Add fresh cinnamon rolls baking, and you have heaven.

This is what our home smelled like when my mom was still alive. And seeing my brothers and friends all create the same traditions is so special.

This place feels like home. More like home than my apartment in L.A. does. Because I’ve been truly happy and relaxed here.

I reset the fire and pull the cinnamon rolls from the oven to cool. I can’t wait to frost the icing on top and watch it melt into every swirl. That’s my favorite part.

I pour another mug of coffee and refresh mine before carrying them to the bedroom.

Ty hasn’t moved. He worked hard yesterday, long past dark, with my brothers. I can tell he’s loved every minute of it. He looks so happy here at the ranch.

I set both mugs on the bedside table and curled in beside him.

The corner of his mouth lifts, and he says sleepily, “Mornin’, baby.”

My heart melts. Baby. I love it when he calls me that.

“Mornin’, handsome. I made you coffee.”

He lifts my hand to his lips and kisses my knuckles. “I kind of like catching you staring.”

“I wasn’t staring,” I deflect.