Page 154 of Saddle and Scent
We stayed like that for a while, not bothering to speak, the only sound our hearts pounding in sync. When I finally caught my breath, I let out a shaky chuckle, pressing a kiss into her hair.
She propped herself up, eyes bright and wild.
“You look like you just got struck by lightning.”
“Feels about right,” I managed, still trying to believe it was real. “If you ever decide to run again, you better warn me first.”
She just grinned, wicked as a fox.
“I don’t run. Not anymore.”
And I believed her, because we’d finally burned through all the distance, all the years, all the bullshit that used to keep us from this.
The only thing left was pleasure, chaos, and the certainty that I’d never let her go again.
31
A NIGHT OF EXPLORATION
~JUNIPER~
The moon was nothing but a smear of lemon ice on the horizon when we pulled up to the lakeside.
I was the first to step out of the truck, my bare feet crunching on the pavers we’d set last week. They weren’t perfect—nothing was, out here—but there was a crooked beauty to the patchwork of smooth stones leading down to the water. I wiggled my toes against the cold grit, weirdly proud.
Wes followed, doing a little hop-skip off the tailgate and immediately howling, “Aaaand that’s a ten on the Frostbite Scale, folks. Balls retracted. Never having children now.”
Behind him, Beckett was already out of the passenger side with his usual quiet efficiency, hauling a big cooler and a patchwork blanket under one arm like he was about to host a family reunion for three dozen guests instead of just us. Callum grunted as he killed the headlights, waited a beat, then joined us—he was slow getting out, moving like every joint ached, but his eyes were locked on the stone path and I knew he was just waiting to see if I’d approve of the night’s setup.
I let them all file past, trailing behind for the full effect. I wanted them to see what we’d made here. I wanted to see it, too—wanted to remember this stretch of evening before we did what we came to do and ended up a sweaty, sticky pile of regret and afterglow.
The path curved through a ring of aspens, which tonight were decked out in battery fairy lights and dotted with my not-entirely-shabby attempts at floral arrangements. Last year’s wildflower seeds had exploded into blue and purple and orange, a little overgrown, but I liked it that way. It felt alive, instead of staged. Some of the flowers were stuck in chipped mason jars from the ranch’s basement, some twisted around branches, and one particularly bold bunch (thanks, Beckett) was jammed right into a hollow log with a “Happy Fucking Anniversary” card poking out of it.
Wes whistled. “Hot damn, Junebug. You didn’t say you were putting Martha Stewart out of business.”
I snorted. “You’d better be impressed. I stabbed myself on, like, forty thistles for this.”
“Worth it,” Beckett said, all sincerity, and set down his picnic stuff at the edge of the little clearing. He stepped back to admire the fairy light effect. “This looks like a whole wedding proposal.”
Wes shot him a look. “Don’t you dare, Ford. I am not doing the ring-in-the-cupcake routine.”
Beckett’s ears went pink, which was somehow cuter than his usual cinnamon bun vibe. “No rings tonight. Just dessert.”
Callum was still standing in the path, surveying the swing chair that dominated the far end of the clearing. He’d built it himself—maybe not as obvious as the one from the Town Center, but a thousand times sturdier. It was suspended between two trees with some heavy-duty hardware, wide enough for three if you didn’t mind sitting close.
He prodded the seat with a hand and pronounced, “Should hold.”
Wes flashed me a sly grin. “So, Junebug. Gonna test the tensile strength with us?”
I considered giving them all a big, dramatic hair flip, but my hair was still too damp from my “just in case I get ruined” shower. I’d spent a little too long prepping, maybe, but I wanted everything perfect. Not just the sanctuary, but the night—the way it would smell, sound, look, taste, and god, if we’re being honest, the way it would feel to have three pairs of eyes on me and no distance left between any of us.
“I’ll go last,” I said, gesturing with both hands like a showgirl on TV. “But only after you guys make sure it’s safe for women and children.”
Wes bounded over and flopped into the chair with zero hesitation, then immediately started swaying it like a kid on a playground. “Bell, this is luxury. For real. You should charge by the hour.”
Beckett joined him, setting the cooler down so the drinks and food were within arm’s reach. He patted the empty space to his left. “You’re up, Callum.”
The big guy hesitated for half a second, then settled next to them, making the whole swing drop a solid three inches. It held, of course—nothing Callum ever made was going to break on his watch—but his shoulders still relaxed once the cables didn’t snap and send them all tumbling into the bluebells.
