Page 37 of Oops, I Fell For The Ranch Hand Next Door

“I love you.” She says it against my mouth, between kisses. “I love you so much it scares me.”

“Don’t be scared.” I band my arms around her. “Be mine. Be exactly who you are right now. That’s all I need.”

We hold each other while the storm rages outside and we’re safe together in the life we’re building.

We snuggle together and listen to the rain as she drifts into sleep. I hold her in the darkness. The dove sits on the dresser now, wings spread wide.

But Jessie’s not flying anywhere. She’s staying. Deciding to keep this life. Deciding to stay with me.

Rain continues through the night. I hold her while she sleeps, one hand stroking through her hair, and let myself plan. Friday we’ll go to the Horseshoe. Introduce her to my town, let them witness what I’ve known since the meadow: that she’s mine. And I’m keeping her.

Thunder rolls. Lightning flashes. And in our bed, wrapped in my arms, Jessie Webb sleeps soundly for the first time in fifteen years.

That’s what showing up means. That’s what love is.

I let myself absorb the certainty I’d been building toward since I found her in those bluebonnets: that she was staying.

Chapter thirteen

Epilogue - Jessie - One Year Later

The egg basket isn’t heavy, but my left hand feels wrong without it.

I stand at the fence line watching dawn paint the meadow in shades of honey and rose. The absence registers like phantom weight, muscle memory from a routine I’ve performed every morning for a year. Except this morning Eli took it from my grip before I’d made it three steps from the cabin, his palm closing over my fingers with the possessiveness of someone who’s won the right to redistribute my burdens.

“I’ve got the eggs today,” he’d said, voice still rough with sleep. “You just exist.”

So I’m existing. Standing in bluebonnets that brush my knees with every shift of the wind, wearing his flannel over jeans I bought in Rowdyrose last month, boots from Rev’s hardware store that have finally molded to my feet. The nervous system that used to scream emergency at every moment of stillness has gone quiet. I still feel deeply. I still notice the temperature shift when clouds pass overhead, still track the way morning light appears to turn wildflowers translucent. However, the baseline anxiety that colored my existence has dissolved into peace.

The meadow stretches before me in a brilliant blaze of color. They’re the same wildflowers that were blooming when Eli found me standing here a year ago, looking like I’d forgotten I was allowed to take up space. Indian paintbrush shines orange-red between the bluebonnets, and scattered through the color are patches of yellow coreopsis that weren’t here last spring. The flowers have their own rhythm, their own cycle of bloom and dormancy. Disappearing for a season doesn’t mean you’re gone forever.

Behind me, Ruckus screams his morning declaration of territorial dominance. The sound makes me smile instead of flinch. We have an understanding now. He tolerates my presence in exchange for kitchen scraps, and I’ve stopped taking his aggression personally. Some creatures just need to make noise to feel secure.

I turn at the sound of boots on gravel. Eli emerges from the coop carrying the basket I should be holding. The sight of him backlit by the climbing sun tightens my pussy with want. His dark hair is disheveled from sleep, flannel rolled to his elbows, jeans sitting low on his hips. He moves through the world with the same unhurried confidence he had the day he found me, except now that confidence includes me. Encompasses me. Makes space for my being without requiring me to earn it.

His eyes find mine across twenty yards of meadow. Hunger moves across his face in the same intensity he’s been directing at me for a year without it ever diminishing. If anything, it’s deepened into a need that lives in his bones.

“You’re supposed to be collecting eggs,” I call across the distance, letting him hear the smile in my voice.

“I collected them.” He closes the space between us with that particular stride I’ve memorized. He’s efficient, grounded, eating up distance without rushing. “You’re supposed to be existing without producing anything except your own happiness.” He stops close enough that I have to tilt my head back to maintain eye contact. “How’s that going?”

“Strange.” The admission costs me less than it would have all those months ago. “I keep wanting to be useful.”

“You are useful.” His free hand comes up to cup my jaw, thumb stroking along my skin in the motion that’s become a familiar language. “You exist. That’s the most useful thing you do.”

The words settle inside me like another truth I’m still learning to accept.

He kisses me slowly and thoroughly, the kind of kiss that says we have all the time in the world and he’s going to use it. When we break apart, I’m breathless and aching and more grounded than I’ve been in years.

“Come on.” He takes my hand, twining our fingers together. “Louanne’s making breakfast, and she specifically told me to bring you back before the biscuits get cold.”

We walk toward the lodge through morning air that smells like wildflowers and the green scent of growing things. His arm brushes mine with every step. The basket swings from his other hand. I’m absorbing the difference between now and a year ago when I drove down a winding road with forty-seven missed calls and no idea how to be without an emergency around every corner.

I would’ve carried the basket alone then. Would’ve apologized for needing help. Would’ve measured my worth by how much I could endure without breaking.

Now I let him carry the eggs because he asked to. I’ll accept breakfast without calculating what I owe. And I’ll walk through wildflowers at dawn just because they’re beautiful and I’m allowed to witness beauty without earning it first.

The lodge is warm when we enter. Louanne stands at the stove. When she turns to greet us, her face splits into the maternal smile that still makes my throat tighten a little. “There you are. I was about to send a search party.”