He gusts out a heavy breath, his bright blue eyes catching the early morning sun, all flecked with black and gold. “Goddamn, I love you, Bell.”
I smile up at him, warmth building in my heart, in my limbs. “I love you too.”
This is it. This is forever. I relish the moment. How he exhales in relief when I tell him I love him. How his eyes soften. How he owns every part of me with just a smile. How he lowers himself down my body like he still remembers every curve, every scar.
“Can already tell…” Hank cracks a roguish grin as I drag my feet down his hips, sliding his boxers down. “This is gonna be the best damn tradition yet.”
I shiver beneath his touch. “What? Naked cowboys on Christmas mornings?”
“Exactly, sugar.” He lowers, bites gently at my nipple.
Slowly, slowly, he slides into me.
The breath rushes from my lungs in one wondrous sensation as love radiates through my entire body. Hank releases a groan from deep in his chest. Together, we’re a mess of rocking hips. Bodies damp with sweat, frantic. Whispered Ilove yous. Eventually, we collapse in the tangled sheets. We’re laughing, panting, as we reach for each other, his hand gripping my hip at the same time I wrap my legs around his.
“Bluebell,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to the side of my head.
That simple name, that tone choke me up. There are no words to tell him what he’s done.
Given everything back to me and more.
“I could have ridden my own horse, you know.”
“But this is better.” Hank’s breath is warm on my neck as he leans in, pressing his front to my back. “Together.”
“Yeah,” I murmur with a smile, glancing down at his strong hand resting possessively on my thigh. “It is.”
The pies are in the oven, and Hank and I are thoroughly bundled up for our Christmas morning horseback ride. Well, afternoon, thanks to our late start.
Moonshot, Hank’s Tennessee walking horse, snorts as he leads her into a slow trot. We’ve brought provisions: a full thermos of coffee and hunks of Papa Blue’s banana bread tucked into the saddlebag.
We’re almost there. The winter chill feels like love. Electric. Shivering.
Ahead of us, Zelda gives three short yips, her universal signal forhurry it up!and blasts off across the snow-covered field.
“She thinks it’s a race.”
“She always thinks it’s a race.” Amusement in his voice, Hank snaps the reins.
Moonshot takes off into the breed’s infamous running-walk.
We rush the remaining miles between the Christmas tree farm and the ranch. When we reach miles of white fencing, we take a left and crest the steep hill. At the top, the land evens out.
My breath catches when I see it. The house where Hank and I spent six years together. It’s a small farmhouse with blue shutters and a wide front porch.
Happiness floods my soul so viciously I feel like I’ll be swept away.
I swallow down the emotions that have taken over since I came to Silverwood. So big and beautiful over these last few days, I almost don’t know what to do with them all.
Except I do.
I hold them. I let them in. Like sunlight through the cracks of an old farmhouse.
“What do you think, Bluebell?” Hank rasps, thumb stroking over the soft skin on the top of my hand.
It’s not hard to decide what I want to do.
How could it be, when Hank is the easiest, the truest love I’ve ever had? This cowboy who’s stitched my heart back together. Who encouraged me to feel everything even if I didn’t want to.
