Page 89 of Forever To Me

Yeah.

Now I know.

And I wish like hell I didn’t. Not personally, and not from her story.

I stare out the windshield, my thoughts spiraling into places I don’t want to go. I look at her then, really look at her, and something cracks inside me.

“Now tell me what happened to you,” she whispers softly.

She watches me, quiet.

“I lost everything,” I tell her, my voice lower. “And I rebuilt all of this,” I exhale, shaking my head.

Violet’s expression softens.

I glance around at the house, the land stretching behind it, the stillness of it all.

“But I want this quiet life more than I want what I lost.”

She doesn’t say anything right away.

Then I say softly, carefully, “I think I want this too.”

And for the first time in years, I don’t feel like I’m the only one running from the past.

Maybe, just maybe, I don’t have to run anymore. Maybe I could let her in.

The sky is painted in soft hues of gold and lavender, the Wyoming sun starting its slow descent behind the mountains. There’s a stillness out here that I’ve never found anywhere else. A quiet that settles in my chest, grounding me.

And tonight, it feels different.

Not just peaceful.

Full.

The barn doors are wide open, a gentle breeze carrying the scent of fresh hay and warm earth. The horses shift in their stalls, ears twitching as Mack skips past, Rip Heeler and Pickles darting happily at her heels.

I lean against the fence, arms crossed, just watching. This is the kind of life I built for her. A place she could have her animals and be happy. Live a life that I dreamed of having for her.

Maggie smiles at me from her favorite spot on the porch, sipping her iced tea like she’s watching a Hallmark movie play out in real-time.

“Never thought I’d see the day Walker would have a full house,” she muses, eyes twinkling.

I shoot her a less than amused look. “Nursing home.”

She hums in amusement, completely ignoring me. “I think Rip sure likes it here. Care to explain that?"

"Nope," I smirk.

I glance back at Pickles and Rip, now rolling in the grass, completely at ease.

Yeah. He does like it here.

And so does his owner. Red’s taken over my kitchen, making the most amazing dinners. I won’t ever tell Momma Mary at the bar, but she cooks even better than her, and Momma Mary has been cooking for over thirty years. Call it whatever it is; I love it. Tonight, she’s making some sort of pasta I can smell all the way out here. My mouth is already watering.

Violet calls out the back door, “Dinner’s almost ready!”

Mack groans from where she’s petting the dogs. “Five more minutes?”

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