Page 25 of Cowboy Bear's Hope

“Thank you,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “I guess I never realized how much those words would mean until someone actually said them out loud.”

I ducked my head, embarrassed by the tears that had suddenly pooled in my eyes, threatening to spill over.

I blinked quickly, trying to push them back, but it was no use. The raw emotion of the moment was too much, and for once, I let it wash over me.

It felt like a release—a crack in the wall I’d built around myself for so long.

Dante didn’t say anything, but his presence filled the room like a quiet assurance.

He didn’t need to speak. His steady gaze told me everything. I wasn’t alone, not in this moment, and maybe, just maybe, not anymore.

“Would it—I mean, would you mind very much?” I murmured and nodded at him.

“Come here,” he whispered.

I simply couldn’t help myself. So, I crawled onto his lap and flung my arms around his neck, holding him as tears wracked my body.

“Easy, I got you, Honey.”

Fuck. He called me Honey.

“Dante?”

“Yeah?”

I leaned back, catching his gaze with mine.

“Would it be alright if I kissed you?” I whispered, but I didn’t allow him to respond.

I just pressed my lips to his and hoped for the best.

Please don’t push me away.

Chapter Eight-Dante

Ever since I’d arrived at the Motley Crewd Ranch, I’d been building.

Not just this cabin, but a whole new life—or at least trying to.

Max gave me the two-story log cabin, like he did every one of the Crew, complete with a wraparound porch, big, picturesque windows, and enough charm to make it Instagram-worthy, someday.

When I first moved in, though, it looked more like a haunted house than a dream home.

The porch sagged like it had given up on life. The windows were so dirty they could’ve doubled as blackout curtains. And don’t even get me started on the inside. Let’s just say the raccoons seemed to think they owned the place.

I’d let my Bear roam the grounds, marking up the trees and getting my scent to rid the area of unwanted critters. They knew better than to stick around once the big dogs, or Bears, moved in.

Then I rolled up my sleeves and got to work.

Every spare dime and free minute went into fixing it up, piece by piece.

By the time I was done, it wasn’t just a cabin—it was my cabin.

A home. A place where I could picture bringing a mate, raising a family, and maybe even teaching my kids to wield a hammer without smashing their thumbs.

And then came Avery.

She arrived in my life like a lightning bolt in the middle of a clear day, all fire and fury. Far as first meetings went, ours wasn’t exactly romantic—unless your idea of romance involved a woman wielding a baseball bat and me walking straight into it.

---