Page 78 of Knife Volume 2

They only walked maybe a hundred yards to an overlook, and she just stood and took it in — water dropping sixty feet into the pool below, the sound of it filling the gorge, framed by the brilliant reds and yellows of autumn. He led her down a trail to the base, and the noise and scale of it were more, standing below and looking up while the roar of the crashing water reverberated against the canyon walls and echoed back.

They climbed back out and headed north along the creek, the trail running close to the water for a few tenths of a mile before a steel bridge with a metal grate for a walkway appeared. Halfway across, she looked down and through it at the water moving fast and white below, but kept walking because he seemed more in a hurry than usual.

“How far are we hiking?” she asked.

“Eight miles there, a little longer back since we’ll come back a different way.”

The trail looped back south along the opposite bank, and from this side the falls looked entirely different — same water, same drop, but the angle changed everything. She stepped to within ten feet of the edge and then backed away from it. Her wolf would’ve accepted it if she’d had a rope, but without one, the wolf was in ‘oh, hell no’ mode.

Still, she got nice pictures even fifteen feet from the edge.

“There should really be a fence here,” she noted.

“My wolf agrees, but from what I gather online, this portion of the trail is considered backcountry in a wilderness area, so manmade things are only put into place for conservation efforts. A few bridges to protect streambeds, but that’s it.”

The trail turned west and followed the rim from there, and their conversation over the next several miles was mostly about the trail and the view while pointing out the most brilliant colors. It wasn’t a boring trail; there were several fun scrambles over rocks, long ridge walks where the trees opened up and the plateau spread out in every direction, and a few interesting stream crossings.

They stopped for the views they deemed worthy of the time, and kept moving through the rest because he seemed to be on a timetable. Still, the hours they hiked, the fast pace, talking about nothing in particular, was turning into a perfect day.

She had no idea of their destination until they stepped onto familiar rocks that ended in a narrow point with scraggly trees she easily recognized. Raven’s Point. She just stood and looked at it from the top before walking toward the edge with the October colors at full peak against a sky so blue it looked like something a painter had mixed for emphasis. Orange, red, and gold in sharp relief in the foreground while they blended into each other in the distance.

She walked down the series of ledges and rocks until she stood on the point with him beside her, and the whole valley spread below them in a tapestry of color with the other side of the canyon rising in the distance, the full depth of the gorge they’d been walking above visible all at once.

“You brought me back to Raven’s Point,” she said, unable to put what that meant for her into words.

“I did.”

He pulled his backpack off, unzipped the main compartment, then an inner compartment, and pulled a small black box out.

Her heart stopped when it all came into focus. The man who believed the journey is as important as the destination had been focused on the destination since before he’d driven them out of his gate an hour before sunrise.

He didn’t drop to one knee, but she’d never have wanted him to. He merely turned to her and talked with his voice low and steady, if a bit rough.

“I’ve spent most of my life thinking I’d never have this, a woman strong enough to stand in my world and take everything I am — the club, the sadist, the parts of me that will never be soft. You walked away from your pack for me. You accepted my vest. You’ve let me push you far past what any other woman ever has, and instead of crumbling, you thrive while I take you apart in my ropes. You’ve given me everything, and I want to give you my everything in return.”

He opened the small black box, and the ring took her breath away: a bold, two-carat marquise diamond that sat east-west in the center — long and elegant, catching the October light like it held its own private flame. It was set low on a yellow-gold band, flanked by a delicate channel of smaller brilliant diamonds that wrapped all the way around. The band itself was thin but strong, feminine without being delicate.

It was stunning. It was bold and unexpected, with a fiery heart that flashed brilliantly when it caught the light, just like the man offering it to her.

It was them.

“I’m not good at pretty words,” he continued, “but I know I don’t want to go through life without you. I want you as my ol’lady and my wife. I want to grow old with you. I want you to be mine in every way. Our way, of course, but also legally, publicly, and permanently.”

He looked straight into her eyes, thumb brushing over her knuckles. “Tuesday Marie Robinson… will you marry me?”

She’d known it was coming when he pulled the box out, but hearing the words still sent a shock through her. She’d had no idea the man in the butcher shop that first morning would one day ask her to fucking marry him. Everything that’d happened in the eight months they’d known each other flashed by in a second. It felt like years, not months, and there wasn’t a doubt in her mind when she held out her hand and nodded, because she didn’t trust her voice.

Another thrill shot through her when he slid the ring onto her finger. It actually fit, and she wondered how he’d pulled that off, but the thought dissolved the moment he bent her backward and brought his lips to hers.

The kiss wasn’t gentle, it was raw, deep, and utterly claiming. His mouth took hers like he was sealing a vow, one arm locked around her waist, the other hand fisted in her hair as he arched her backward at the edge of the world. A low growl vibrated in his chest as he kissed her harder, tongue stroking deep, possessive, like he was pouring every unsaid word into her.

The wind whipped around them, red and gold leaves swirled around them in a blaze of autumn color, but none of it existed anymore. There was only his mouth on hers, the solid strength of his body holding her, and the overwhelming certainty that she was his and he was hers.

When he finally pulled away to rest his forehead against hers, both of them breathing hard, he whispered against her lips, “Wife. I like the sound of that.”

She laughed through her threatening tears. “Fiancé, for now, but yes. I kind of like the sound of husband.”

She wrapped her arms tight around his neck and kissed him again, taking charge for a few seconds before he grabbed it back.