Page 72 of Christmas with Three Cowboys

But Jake and the cartel threaten to ruin everything.

I can’t have that.

Iwon’thave it. I deserve better, and these people are determined to give me better because I’ve already proven myself.

My phone pings with a message to come outside quick, so I bundle up against the cold as Colton and Ethan get ready to light the fireworks.

“Five, four…” Darla counts the seconds to midnight on her watch.

We’re out in the backyard, a safe distance away from the house. The snow twinkles underneath the full moon, the sky unraveling as the blackest backdrop overhead. It’s so beautiful in this seemingly endless quiet, as if the rest of the world has gone away with the darkness of the night.

“Three,” Darla keeps counting, while Colton sets the first tower of fireworks on fire, lighting multiple fuses, one after the other.

“Wow, y’all worked hard on these, huh?” I laugh as Ethan and Mitch light the other two towers, built after the same model.

“Two, one! HAPPY NEW YEAR!” Darla shouts.

We’re cheering and clinking glasses. Hugging one another. Laughing and wishing each other well, better than the year we just left behind. I revel in the love and the affection they sofreely give me, but I make sure to toss my champagne over one shoulder when nobody’s looking.

“And here we go!” Colton exclaims as he motions for us to step back.

We follow his lead and move closer to the house. Just in time, too, as the first round of projectiles pops with a red flash before they all shoot upward into the night sky. I’m breathless, my eyes wide with wonder as I watch the fireworks bolt and explode in a dazzling display of colorful lights. Cascades of yellow sparks. Bursts of red and green and blue. Fiery swirls of orange and white. Poppers going off in the snow, too.

POP! POP! BANG!

For a moment, I’m reminded of earlier and Mitch’s rifle firing. But I quickly put the thought away as my men flank me and hold me close.

Sammy and Darla stick to our side, arms tied around one another. I can’t stop myself from smiling as I look at them. In this particular second, as we’ve just crossed into the new year, I see the brightness in their eyes, the hope for better days ahead, and the love they’ve yet to profess for each other.

“You’re going to be okay,” Mitch tells me. “I’ve said it before, and I’m going to say it until you see for yourself, babe.”

“I’m with you,” I reply. “And I believe you.”

“At least for tonight, let everything go,” he says. “It’s a new year. In a few hours, the sun’s going to rise. There are better days ahead.”

A new day does come.

Then another.

And a third.

Slowly but surely, Long Pine and its surrounding areas come back to life. It still snows heavily here and there, yet we haven’t dealt with another blizzard. It doesn’t look like the temperatures are going back up anytime soon, though, so we’re constantly prepared for a new icy front to come through.

The guys spend their working hours split between the ranch and the whole issue with Jake and the cartel. I rarely see them during the day—they’re always out, either patrolling the fence or driving around the district, liaising with the sheriff and the DEA to try and get a line on the goons who came to the ranch on New Year’s Eve. I’m still reeling from that awful moment.

My nights have gotten harder.

I wake up in a cold sweat, and while the physical comfort of the men does put me back to sleep, it doesn’t resolve the underlying issue. More than once, I dreamed of having a knife to my throat. I shudder from the memory of it as I go out on the back porch to drop a few pieces of cooked chicken for the barn cats. They’re roaming somewhere around, but the smell will draw them soon enough.

“Oh, fuck,” I gasp as soon as I step out.

The cold air hits me like a hammer, and the thousands of thoughts I’ve been trying to avoid come back with a vengeance.I don’t know what happened, but I lose control of everything quickly. The plate falls on the porch with a devastating crash, pieces of chicken scattered everywhere.

My knees follow, and I hunch over, struggling to breathe.

“My baby,” I whisper, terrified of what each of these panic attacks might do to my pregnancy.

I’m crying and wheezing, trying to take deep breaths.

---