It's been four weeks since the bookmobile broke down and Tex invited me to stay the weekend. Four weeks of waking up in his arms, of learning the rhythms of mountain life, of falling asleep to the sound of wind through pine trees and Whiskey's contented sighs from her bed.
The van's fixed now, and the book route is back on schedule. I still deliver paperbacks and DVDs to the far corners of thecounty, winding through mountain roads to reach the library’s most remote patrons.
The only difference now?
I always come home to Tex.
I love coming home to him. I can usually see him through the kitchen window, making dinner with the same careful attention he brings to everything else. Whiskey always bounds off the porch to greet me, her tail wagging so hard her whole body wiggles, and I drop to my knees to accept her enthusiastic kisses.
Sometimes Tex rides with me, claiming that the roads are too rough or the boxes are too heavy for me to go alone. He’s added aBooks in the Wildsegment for his channel, where he ties survival skills to titles I bring on my route. Last week, he made a firestarter using dryer lint and tied it toThe Hunger Games, his deadpan delivery making me laugh so hard I nearly choked on my coffee.
Today, he stayed behind while I wrapped up a few quick deliveries to the immediate area. When I pull into the drive, gravel crunching under my tires, there's a note pinned to the cabin door in his bold handwriting.
Meet me and Whiskey on the back trail. --T
I follow the trail behind the cabin, winding through trees dappled in late-summer sunlight that filters through the leaves in shifting patterns of gold and green. The air is still warm but already starting to whisper of fall, carrying the scent of changing leaves and ripening berries.
After a few minutes, I spot him. Tex is waiting at the overlook where we sometimes come to watch the sunset, hands in his pockets, that lopsided smile tugging at his lips like he can't help himself. He's wearing the blue flannel I love, the one that brings out his eyes, and his hair is slightly mussed like he's been running his hands through it.
"You brought me all the way out here just to look handsome and smoldery?" I tease, stepping up beside him and breathing in the familiar scent ofhome.
"Partially," he says, his voice carrying that note of carefully controlled excitement that I've learned to recognize. He looks around. “Where’s my accomplice?"
Whiskey trots forward, tail wagging like mad, her head held high. There’s something tied to her collar. A scrap of soft flannel that stands out against the worn leather.
I blink, my heart suddenly beating so hard I can hear it in my ears. “What’s that?”
I stare at Tex, who's watching me with an expression that's equal parts nervous and certain.
A mischievous smile dances on his lips. “Hmmm?”
I smack him playfully. “Don’t mess with me, Tex.”
He chuckles before kneeling to pet Whiskey. He unties the scrap of flannel from her collar, and a velvet box falls into his hand.
My hands fly to my mouth. “Oh!”
He drops to one knee—just like that, in the middle of the woods, his flannel sleeves rolled up over those strong forearms, boots dusted with the earth of the mountain we both love, eyes shining with something fierce and tender and completely honest.
"You were sent to me," he says, his voice rough with conviction. "No doubt in my mind. And I don't need fancy words to tell you how I feel, but I'll say this… If you'll let me, I want to spend the rest of my life loving you. Keeping you safe. Making you laugh. And reading every damn romance novel you toss at me, no matter how many shirtless cowboys are on the cover."
I laugh through a choked sob, the sound bright and breathless in the mountain air. "Tex..."
"Marry me, Nora."
The words hang in the air between us, simple and perfect and more than I could have ever dreamed for.
I throw my arms around him, nearly knocking us both over in my enthusiasm. "Yes," I whisper against his ear. "Yes, yes, yes, yes."
Whiskey barks once, like she's sealing the deal, and her tail wags so hard she nearly falls over.
And when Tex kisses me, with the whole mountain stretched out behind us and the promise of forever pressed between our hearts, I know one thing for sure:
I may have come here to deliver stories.
But the mountain gave me my own.
