Page 35 of Her Grumpy Cowboy
I take a deep breath and turn to Mary and Christopher.“Thank you for keeping the porch light on.For saving all of us more than once.For letting us come home when we remembered how.And for reminding me that this is home when I was ready to stay.”
My gaze finds Angel’s, and the adoration in her eyes brings a lump to my throat.
Mary’s eyes shine, her mittened hand pressed over her mouth for a beat before she lowers it.“Oh, Grady boy,” she says softly, moving her hands over her heart.“You always were one of ours.Nothing could ever change that.”
Christopher doesn’t say much—he never needs to.He just reaches over, lays a weathered hand on my shoulder, and gives a firm nod.“You figured it out,” he says, quiet and proud.“That’s all we ever wanted for you boys.”
My jaw tightens as I fight the tears I’ve never allowed to fall.
Mary wipes the corner of her eye, sniffs once, then lifts her chin toward the crowd.“Well, that’s enough mush for one night,” she declares, pretending to scold.“Somebody hand me a mug before I start crying into the cocoa.”
Laughter ripples through the gathering, the tension breaking into warmth and applause.
Later, with stars sharp overhead and gold fire flickering over the snow, we slip away from the noise.The cold nips at our faces.The bonfire crackles in the distance.
Angel looks up at me.“I love you.”She says it softly, but it lands solid and permanent.
My breath fogs between us.“I love you too, Angel.I’m not going anywhere.Not from you.Not from this town.”
“Good,” she whispers.“Because I’m staying right here.With you.”
I wrap her up and pull her close until the cold can’t get between us.People laugh and sing Christmas carols.Tom spins Kitty in the snow.Callie kisses Nate’s cheek while Danny waves his mittened fists like a tiny conductor.Wyatt lingers near the fire, a quiet shadow watching the light.
And me?I stand there with Angel’s heartbeat under my palm.Mine answers, and the world clicks into place.
* * *
Back at the caretaker cabin, I take my time because that’s what today deserves.I hang Angel’s coat.Kick off my boots.Walk her backward with my hands on her hips and my mouth skimming her throat until the bed hits the backs of her knees and she sits.
“Up.Hands over your head.Let me undress you.”
Her breath stutters.
I do it slowly.When I peel the last layer away and she shivers, I pause to drink my fill.“Beautiful,” I murmur.“All of you.All mine.”
I strip and her gaze drags down my body slowly, like she’s tasting with her eyes.
Climbing onto the bed, I bracket her hips with my knees, dipping to kiss the curve of her mouth, then deeper.Her hands go to my shoulders.I capture her wrists and lift them, setting them on the headboard.
“Hold,” I command softly.“If you need to touch, ask.”
Her eyes grow heavy.“Yes.”
I work her open with my mouth and hands in a rhythm that belongs only to us—slow and sure, building her up until she’s shaking and whisperingpleaselike a litany.I slide two fingers inside her and curl them.She arches, gasps my name, and falls apart.I praise her through it, palm steady on her belly, mouth at her ear.
“Sit up,” I tell her roughly.I settle with my back to the headboard and pat my thighs.“Come here.”
She swings a leg over and sighs when my hands settle on her hips.I fit myself at her entrance and pause, gauging, reading her eyes.
“Take me,” I say, my voice rough with lust.“At your pace.I’m not moving until you ask me to.”
She sinks onto me, slow yet greedy.
“Take your time,” I breathe.“You’re perfect.God, look at you.That’s it… down… good girl… hold there… breathe.”
“Move,” she whispers.“Please.”
I give her just enough, hips rocking, hands guiding, then let her find the rhythm that’s ours.The world is small and exact: the rasp of our breath, the snug heat of her body, the way her eyes pin mine like she wants to relish every second until we come undone.
