Page 3 of Mistletoe Cowboy
You shouldn’t have to
What have I done?
But there’s no other way. I need to save the family ranch, and whether I want to admit it, I need Silas Hawthorne to do so. Besides, heisfamily.
The sun dips low in the west. I sit in the swing until goosebumps cover my arms and broody twilight fades into black.
A distant owl hoots from some unseen perch, ready for its nightly hunt. The stars glimmer down on me, the moon encircled by a lacy halo of cold, making me tiny, inconsequential.
Then, white headlights crest the hill, cutting through the gloaming. My heart throbs against my ribs as they draw closer.
He came.
Chapter
Two
SILAS
Eight years, and nothing’s changed—except everything.
I step out of my truck to Buzz’s barking. Old dog, can’t believe he’s still kicking. He rushes forward, ready to herd me into line. I meet him kneeling, taking warm licks to the face. Like this place is timeless. Like time weighs a little less heavy … for a couple of heartbeats.
The cold air burns my lungs. I half expect to see my adopted dad, William McCauley, mending fences in the distance or to hear Sage’s light laughter floating from the barn.
Instead, a lonely quiet settles in the marrow of my bones.
The wind cuts through my jacket like a knife, sharp enough to remind me why I left this place for Montana. But the ache that follows—hollow, bone-deep—reminds me why I came back.
The white beams of my headlights cut long shadows across the cottonwood where the swing I built for her still hangs. My throat tightens, memories washing over me—the sunlight in her amber hair, the green of her snapping eyes, the dusting of cinnamon freckles across her nose and the tops of her rosy cheeks.
The taste of her, a forbidden flavor I shouldn’t know, flashes through me—her body melting against mine, the one moment I’ve never stopped reliving.
The sight of that swing twists something inside me. Something wrong I can’t make right.
Every mile between us was supposed to burn that feeling out of me. Eight years, and it still flares like it never left.
But I couldn’t ignore her texts. Couldn’t ignoreher.
The air hangs heavy with pine as I step forward, drawn to the spot where she sits. Frozen mud crunches beneath my boots as my eyes trace her silhouette in the moonlight. She wears it like an icy crown, her breath lacing the air.
Snow drifts through the beams of the headlights, each flake catching light like ash. My pulse hammers louder than the engine still ticking behind me.
I hesitate, frost biting my skin as her eyes find mine. For one heartbeat, she’s sixteen again. The sight guts me.
“You came,” she says, steely, guarded. Her voice used to hold laughter. Now, it sounds like barbed wire wrapped in honey.
I draw closer, throat tight, unable to speak. The atmosphere grows thick with all we should say and don’t. I clench my jaw, eyes dangerously stinging as regret and shame flood me. And something else I can’t deny, though I’d give anything to no longer bear this burden—love.
“Your text sounded like you didn’t have anyone else to ask,” I manage, thick-voiced, drawing near.
I want to grab the ropes, push her until laughter fills the air. Pull her into my arms, lose myself in her mouth. The warmth of her lips hangs between us like a memory that won’t die. Maybe I don’t want it to.
She lifts her chin, defiant as ever. “You staying, then?”
I shrug. “At least, for a while.”
Her mouth twists, like she’s fighting a smile. Maybe I imagine it. My heart thuds so loud I’m sure she hears it.
