Page 38 of Oops, I Fell For The Ranch Hand Next Door

“Blame Eli.” I slide onto the bench at the family table. “He stole my basket.”

“Because you were standing in that meadow looking like you’d forgotten the rest of the world exists.” He sets the basket on the counter and drops onto the bench beside me, his thigh pressing against mine. “Someone had to remind you about breakfast.”

Louanne brings plates filled with biscuits and gravy, eggs scrambled with cheese and herbs from Sloane’s greenhouse, bacon that fills the kitchen with a delicious aroma. I eat while Eli’s hand finds my knee under the table, his palm settling with possessive weight that anchors me through his touch.

“So.” Louanne refills my coffee without asking, adding cream the way I like it. “Big day.”

The words hang in the air, loaded with meaning I’m not quite grasping. I glance at Eli, but his expression is carefully neutral. Too neutral.

“What’s happening today?” I direct the question to Louanne.

“Nothing.” She’s grinning now, eyes dancing with mischief. “Just a regular Friday. Except Eli’s been whistling since dawn, which means plans are in motion.”

“I don’t whistle.” His tone is flat, but his thumb traces circles on my knee through my jeans.

“You whistled this morning.” Louanne points her spatula at him like a weapon. “Scared Ruckus so bad he actually shut up for thirty seconds.”

I turn to study his profile. The muscle in his jaw jumps, his tell when he’s restraining himself from speaking. His thumb continues its circuit on my knee, and the pressure makes my pulse kick.

“Eli.” I cover his hand with mine. “What’s going on?”

“You’ll see.” He meets my eyes. What I find there makes my lungs stutter. I see want and certainty, a promise pressing at the edges of this moment.

We finish breakfast while Louanne hums and pretends not to watch us. Cash appears long enough to grab coffee and clap Eli’s shoulder with the particular gesture men use when words would be too much. Sloane emerges from her office, takes one look at Eli’s face, and her expression softens into knowing.

Everyone knows. The realization warms instead of threatens, like I’m part of a circle that’s holding me instead of trapping me.

Eli stands, pulling me with him. “Come on.”

His truck is parked in front of our cabin. He opens my door with the old-fashioned courtesy that used to make me uncomfortable and now just makes me feel treasured. I climb in. He rounds to the driver’s side and starts the engine, and we’re pulling away from the lodge before I’ve thought to ask where we’re going again.

The road curves through Hill Country in the lazy sweeps I’ve memorized over a year of driving into Rowdyrose for supplies. Wildflowers carpet the hills in the same riot of color that was blooming when I first arrived, except now I know their names and which ones bloom in spring versus fall. I know that the meadows look different in every season, but the land remains constant underneath.

His hand finds mine on the center console. Our fingers lace together with the instinct of people who’ve learned each other’s rhythms. His thumb brushes over the back of my hand as we ride.

“You’re nervous,” I observe without judgment.

“I’m excited.” He glances at me, and the look in his eyes makes my stomach flip. “Big difference.”

The truck slows. He’s turning onto the meadow access road, the same one I drove down a year ago when I saw the sign for the meadow during bloom season and decided to stop. The same path that led me to the meadow where everything changed.

My pulse jumps. “Eli—”

“Just trust me.” He parks in the gravel lot where my Honda sat a year ago. “Please.”

I nod. He comes around to open my door, and his hand settles at the small of my back as he guides me onto the worn path through cedar trees. The scent hits sharp and clean, mixed with something outdoorsy and sun-warmed limestone. These are the same smells that greeted me when I was running from a life that had broken me.

The path curves, then opens. Finally, the meadow rolls out before us in waves of purple-blue that blur together in the distance, Indian paintbrush blazing between them, the same impossible beauty that stopped my lungs a year ago.

Except now I’m not alone. Now Eli’s hand is on my back, his body solid beside me, and I’m standing in my own peace.

“This is where I found you.” His voice is low, rough around the edges. “Standing right here looking like you’d forgotten everything you were allowed to be.”

My throat tightens. I nod because speaking has become impossible.

“I knew that day.” He turns me to face him, both hands coming up to frame my face. “I knew you were going to change everything. I knew I was going to love you and that I’d spend the rest of my life convincing you that you deserve to be loved exactly as you are.”

Happy tears burn behind my eyes. I blink hard. They escape anyway, tracking down my cheeks. He catches them with his thumbs.