"I like working with horses, but I'm not a breeder. Trigg has a knack for looking at a horse and knowing without any genealogy paperwork if a horse has winning blood. I don't have that in me, and I'm not sure it's trainable." I sigh and shrug. "I like to ride horses leisurely. I worked with Titan and trained him to be my horse hand because I needed a companion, and I felt like I could relate to him. However, at the end of the day, true contentmentcame from working the fields with Baylor, watching the fruit of my labor pop up in rows. I wanted to be an engineer because I liked the satisfaction that came with creating something, and if I get my way, I'm hoping that Baylor will allow me to work with him and take his small-batch bourbon to the next level."
"So when you're done working the fields all day…" She takes a few short steps to stand at my front. "You'll come home"—she laces her fingers around my neck—"to me?"
"Heartbreaker, you are my home. I want to wake up with you next to me, not in my uncle's house, but in our house. I want to build a life with you, Laney Hart. I've wanted it since we were ten years old. I don't want to live without you?—"
My words die when her sweet mouth presses against mine. "I love you, London Hale." I barely have a moment to appreciate her soft lips on mine before she's pulling away, eyebrows raised. "Hey, that doesn't look old."
She releases me to grab the cowboy hat sitting on the stone hearth.
"This looks like it's at least from the past decade," she says, turning it over in her hands with the careful reverence of someone discovering buried treasure.
"That's because it is." The words scrape past the sudden tightness in my throat as memories, both painful and beautiful, pull to the forefront.
"Whose is it?" Her eyes find mine, curious and questioning.
"Mine."
"Did you forget it or something?" she asks, placing it on her head like it belongs there. Like it was always meant to be there. My chest constricts at the sight. She looks exactly like I'd imagined on all those lonely nights when missing her felt like drowning.
"No, I left it here six years ago when Baylor brought me here for the first time."
She adjusts the brim, tilting her head. "Why? It's a nice hat."
The words stick in my throat for a moment. "Because it's yours."
Her hands freeze. "I don't understand."
I drag a hand through my hair, trying to find the right words for something that's lived in my heart for years. "About a month after I got to town, Baylor dragged me to this flea market, said he needed muscle in case he bought anything heavy." The memory is more vivid now. "One of the vendors was selling hats, and the band on that one caught my eye."
She pulls the hat off, studying it with new intensity. "The tribal print," I continue, my voice barely above a whisper. "It matched the etching from my grandfather's knife perfectly."
I don't need to say more. She knew I carried that knife with me everywhere religiously…until I couldn't. "Flip it over," I say gently, knowing what she'll find but needing her to see it for herself.
She turns the hat, squinting in the cabin's golden dimness. "Look closely at the logo in the liner. What do you see?"
Her breath catches. "Our initials. LH."
"Another small detail that solidifies that we are meant to be," I say, stepping closer, drawn by the wonder in her voice. "But only one of us has them inked on their skin inside a heart, just like that logo."
Her lips part in surprise. "You already had the tattoo when you found this?"
"I wore that hat everywhere for months. It was like carrying a piece of you with me when I thought I'd lost you forever. Crazy as it sounds, it felt like fate. Like I was supposed to find it."
She traces the initials with her fingertip, and I watch her face soften with understanding. "So why is it here?"
I release a shaky breath. "Because I was trying to let you go. I thought if I left it here—left that piece of you where you belonged, maybe I could finally move on."
The confession hangs between us, raw and honest. I remember that day so clearly now: walking out that front door with empty hands and an even emptier heart, telling myself it was the right thing to do. Telling myself lies.
"But I couldn't," I whisper. "I could never let you go, Laney. Not really. That hat has been waiting here all this time, just like I've been waiting to find my way back to you."
Her eyes are soft as she places the hat back on her head, the sentiment behind it clearly striking a chord, but when she adjusts the rim and gives me her eyes, something shifts—a spark of determination mixed with desire that makes my pulse quicken. Her fingers find the thin strap of her athletic dress, and she lets it slip slowly off her shoulder. I can't breathe. Can't think. Can only watch as she reaches for the other strap.
"What are you doing?" The words come out rougher than I intended, my voice already betraying how she affects me.
“You’re giving me so much. This house is special… This dream is special... This hat... You… I want to give you something in return.”
Laney Hart has had a starring role in every one of my fantasies since I was old enough to start having them. But now she is every wish, every dream, every hope wrapped into one beautiful reality.
