Page 141 of Fixing to Be Mine

“You really brought him home,” he says, eyes shining in that way that always steals my breath.

“It was time,” I confirm. I swallow past the lump in my throat. “You always said you’d adopt him when the house was ready. And the bottom floor’s finished. Outside is painted. Upstairs is started. What’s a few months?”

He doesn’t say anything at first. Just stands slowly and crosses the distance between us.

“Darlin’,” he says. “This is me digging deep roots for a future with a porch swing and a dog at our feet.”

“I figured you could use someone else following you around,” I joke, trying to keep it light.

But he doesn’t laugh. Not right away.

He reaches for my face and kisses me slow, then faster, like he can’t help himself.

“Thank you. I love you,” he whispers against my mouth.

“Love you so much,” I say as Boots wiggles between us.

Colt bends and ruffles his ears again, his voice low. “Welcome to the family.”

The morning starts slow,but it’s warm and lazy, like honey on toast. Boots is curled up in the corner of the porch, lifting his head every time I move. I’m barefoot in one of Colt’s old shirts again, sipping my coffee as I watch the sun climb its way over the horizon.

Colt rounds the house a few minutes later, already in jeans and boots, a horse trailing behind him. It’s Fruit Loops, and he’s saddled.

I raise a brow. “What’s this?”

He grins. “Go get dressed. Thought we’d go for a morning ride, and we could check out the south ridge as the sun rises. Haven’t been up there since spring.”

I glance down at my mug, then back at him. “This is very cowboyish of you.”

“Darlin’, go get dressed before I swing you over my shoulder and show you the cowboy way.”

I burst into laughter.

He smiles. “Go on now. Time’s a-tickin’.”

I rush inside, throwing on some jeans, my borrowed boots, and a T-shirt.

Ten minutes later, he helps me into the saddle and sits behind me, grabbing the reins. My back is pressed against his chest, and I don’t know why, but sharing a horse is sexy as hell.

The soft creak of leather and the rhythmic thud of Fruit Loops’s hooves fill the quiet. I lean back into Colt’s warmth, letting the breeze play with my hair as he trails kisses along my neck. The land is greener than I expected, but I see the early signs of fall. The trees are starting to yellow. The Texas sky overhead is big and open, which makes me feel small in the best way. Colt guides us along the fence line, past the dry creek, and up a trail I didn’t realize existed.

The path curves uphill, winding through a patch of trees. Colt’s quiet, but I can feel something buzzing beneath his silence—like he’s building toward something. When we crest the ridge, I see why he brought me here. There’s an overlook and a view that opens up like a held breath. Below us, the land rolls out in soft hills and golden fields, dotted with trees. The house is visible in the distance, its fresh white siding bright in the sun. From here, everything looks small and peaceful, like we’re sitting on top of our own little world.

Colt dismounts first, then reaches for me. I slide off the saddle and land lightly in the dirt, brushing my hands on my thighs.

“It’s beautiful,” I say, turning in a slow circle.

He ties the reins to a nearby post. “You’re beautiful.”

I glance at him and smile. I love it when he tells me that because I know he means it.

Colt walks toward me. When he stops, we’re face-to-face, and there’s something different in his expression. There is a weight behind his eyes I haven’t seen before.

“I’ve been thinking about this for a while,” he says. “About what it means to build something with someone. Not just a house. A life.”

I swallow, my pulse suddenly louder in my ears.

He reaches into the pocket of his jeans and pulls out a small box, then drops to one knee in the dirt.

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