Page 139 of Stolen for Keeps
NOAH
The drive back to The Sundown felt like something out of a fever dream.
We’d just cleared the courthouse steps, Dom still smoothing down the front of his suit and muttering about how Montana judges had a flair for theater. And Maya was right there beside me, her hand clasped tightly in mine.
The hearing had gone sideways and back again.
Mrs. Appleby had shown up as a character witness, describing Maya as the kind of woman who didn’t just bake pastries but gave people reason to come in from the cold. And yet the judge had looked at her like she was part of a well-rehearsed act.
Even when Dom held up the marriage license, the county attorney squinted, clearly convinced we’d just handed him a forged hall pass.
“Marriage alone isn’t a guarantee of stability,” the judge had said in a measured tone. “But the commitment shown here today carries weight. Bail is granted.”
We didn’t cheer. We just stood there, stunned. And when I finally wrapped an arm around Maya’s shoulders and led heroutside, I swear I didn’t start breathing again until we reached the truck.
Now, with her tucked against my side, all I could think was that she was my wife.
Her name was on the certificate. There was no ring on her finger yet, but her heartbeat was under my hand as she curled closer to me, worn out but still fighting.
Dom was at the wheel this time.
“You okay, Mrs. Lucas?” I murmured, my thumb brushing across the top of her knuckles.
She looked up and gave me a tired smile that still managed to knock something loose in my chest. “You’re askingmethat?”
I shrugged. “If you ever regret this, you can always file for the big D.”
She swatted my arm. “You take that back, husband. That word is banned.”
Then, just to make her point crystal clear, she kissed me. I shifted, giving her one hell of a kiss back.
Dom cleared his throat from the driver’s seat. “Oh, for God’s sake, get a room,” he muttered. “Preferably one without me in it.”
Maya laughed against my mouth. “Sorry, Counselor.”
Dom muttered something about being underpaid and emotionally scarred as he squinted at the road sign for Buffaloberry Hill. “I swear, if I’d known I’d be third-wheeling a honeymoon, I would’ve stayed back and written the appeal from the porch with Reko.”
“Liar,” I said, grinning into Maya’s hair. “You love this.”
“I lovewinning,” he said. “The rest of this? Free trauma. Oh, and for the record, we got lucky just now.”
“I thought you didn’t believe in luck, Dominic Powell,” I shot back.
He paused. And even from behind, I could see the gears turning.
“Well,” he drawled, “let’s just say the universe flipped a coin. Could’ve gone either way. But it was late, the judge wanted his dinner, and someone probably told him that Harlow tried smuggling Maya over the county line. Judges hate intercounty messes. It gets political real fast.”
He had a point. Still, I wanted to believe the judge had seen the truth in Maya and me.
“He ruled in favor of love, Dom,” I said. I couldn’t stop myself.
He groaned. “Seriously, you two. I think you need a more sentimental lawyer.”
Soon, we passed a familiar stretch of road, the trees bowing inward like old guardians. And when we rolled past the battered sign—Welcome to Buffaloberry Hill—I let out a breath.
It wasn’t over. Not by a long shot. But she was back. In this town. In my truck. In my arms.
That counted for something.
