Page 50 of Fixing to be Mine (Valentine Texas #5)

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

COLT

S tormy’s still asleep when I wake up.

The light hasn’t fully broken through the curtains yet, but the room is tinted in silvery blue that only shows up right before sunrise.

I let the weight of her beside me sink in like something holy.

Her hair is a dark, tangled mess across my chest, and one of her arms is wrapped around my ribs.

Her breathing is even, and her pretty lips are parted just slightly.

I don’t want to move, but I carefully slide out from under her arm and watch as she shifts, curling into the warm spot I left behind. She’s here. In our bed. Stormy is no longer running.

Proof dreams do come true.

I move quietly through the house, barefoot on wood floors that creak in familiar places. The morning is cool.

In the kitchen, I grind the beans she likes and fill the pot. I know how she takes her coffee now—dark roast only. I pull our two mugs from the cabinet and smile at the chipped one.

The drip of the coffee maker and the rustle of birds starting up outside the window keep my attention. I crack the door open to let in some air and welcome the promise of another day ahead with my girl.

I lean against the counter and stare out the window. The pasture’s quiet. Fence line still holding. No wind yet. I’ll need to feed the horses soon.

The only thing that pulls me away are her soft, unhurried footsteps.

I turn just as she walks into the kitchen. She’s wearing my old T-shirt and nothing else. Her hair is still a mess from sleep.

She sees the mug waiting on the counter and gives me a look. “I can’t believe you always wake up this early without an alarm.”

“Some things are just ingrained in you.” I chuckle. “But I’m always excited to start a new day with you.”

She crosses the kitchen and steps up on her tiptoes to kiss me.

“Good morning,” she whispers.

We’re not in a rush to be anything but here. Her hand brushes the side of my face before she pulls back.

“Good morning, my love.”

I fill her mug full, and she grabs it, cradling it in both hands.

As she watches me pour mine, she blows lightly on the surface of her coffee. Her eyes sweep the kitchen like she’s checking to make sure it’s all still real.

Today is different. It’s the first morning that feels like ours.

I glance at the clock, not because we have anywhere to be, but because my body’s still used to measuring mornings by when she was leaving. Not anymore.

Stormy leans against the counter, one hip cocked, the hem of my old T-shirt grazing her bare thigh.

“I don’t want to waste this,” she says.

I raise an eyebrow. “Coffee?”

She gives me a small smile. “No. This feeling. This … clarity.”

She’s quiet for a second. When she does speak again, her voice is more certain than I expected. I take a slow sip of coffee.

She looks up at me, and there’s something vulnerable in her expression. “I want to build something that’s mine here in Valentine. Lay some real roots.”

“Love that idea. I support any of your dreams.” I set my mug down and close the space between us. “What do you want to do?”

She tilts her head. “Paint.”

“Really? Are you an artist?”

She laughs, and the sound settles something in me. “No. But maybe one day, I will be. Valentine could use an art gallery,” she says, voice soft but sure.

“Yes, ma’am. Can always use some fine arts around here,” I say. “Takes some logistics and cash.”

“I have plenty of money.”

“Don’t want you for your dollars, darlin’. I’ve got plenty of money from my rental properties and from flipping houses through my twenties.”

She tilts her head. “Like, how much money?”

“A couple million.”

She looks surprised but also impressed.

“I invested some too,” I explain, grabbing her hand. “So, we don’t need your money.”

“It’s a cherry on top then,” she says with a laugh. “I plan to give a lot away. Maybe start a nonprofit that restores homes for those who need extra help.”

“You’d do that?” I ask.

She smiles wide. “I found myself surrounded by half-finished walls, Colt. I rebuilt my life here, and I have more than enough funds to make a huge difference. More than either of us could ever spend. Billions. We have the ability to positively change lives and living situations by remodeling homes, so why not?”

I place my hands on her cheeks and kiss her like tomorrow might never come. “You’re incredible. I’m so damn lucky to have someone so generous and caring by my side.”

“I’m the lucky one,” she whispers.

I take her hand and lead her past the living room, down the short hallway, toward the front half of the house.

We stop at the door of what used to be the main storage room for extra wood and supplies. She raises an eyebrow, waiting.

I push it open.

The space is brighter than it used to be. Inside is a hand-carved wooden desk, a nice chair, and a lamp. I had my brothers move the furniture in while we were gone. There is even a fluffy rug beneath our feet.

Stormy steps inside slowly, her fingertips grazing the edge of the window trim. “You did this?”

I nod. “Figured you might need a place to plan your dreams. We could also make it a partial art studio. Set an easel by the window. If you were serious about learning to paint.”

She turns back to face me, eyes wide, like she’s still in shock. “You did this for me?”

I shrug, suddenly a little self-conscious. “Of course.”

She throws her arms around my neck. I catch her instinctively, lifting her just enough off the ground that her toes skim the floor.

“This is perfect. Thank you,” she whispers into my shoulder. “You have no idea how much this means to me.”

I’ve never been thanked for anything that felt this simple. But her voice? It makes me want to build her a hundred more rooms.

This isn’t just a space for her to call her own. It’s the beginning.

We linger in the office for a few minutes after she pulls away, neither of us saying much. We stand in that sunlit room, knowing it will hold pieces of the life we’re building.

Eventually, I nod toward the porch. “You want to sit out for a bit?”

She smiles. “Always.”

We make our way to the front door, her hand tucked lightly in mine. The morning breeze is mellow. We step outside, and the boards creak beneath our feet.

She sinks into the swing first, and I drop beside her and stretch one arm along the backrest. She leans into me automatically.

The air smells like fresh-cut grass, and in the distance, I can hear the horses.

I’m about to speak when my phone buzzes in my pocket.

Stormy looks up at me, eyebrows raised.

It’s a text from my mom.

Mom

Heard you two are back in town. Dinner’s at six. No excuses. You two are the talk of Valentine right now.

I exhale a slow laugh and hold the phone out so she can see.

She reads it and snorts. “They don’t waste time, do they?”

“Nope. And if the whole town’s already talking, it means someone spotted us within ten minutes of landing.”

She shakes her head, amused. “Do they know what happened?”

“Hard to say.” I pocket the phone again. “But you know how it goes around here. One whisper turns into a full sermon before breakfast.”

Stormy’s expression shifts. “Are you okay with it? Them knowing?”

I nod without hesitation. “Let ’em talk. The people who matter already know what kind of woman you are. And the rest? They’ll figure it out when they see the way I look at you.”

She nestles closer, her head resting lightly on my shoulder.

“I love moments with you on the porch,” she says.

“Me too.”

By the time we pull into my parents’ driveway, the sun has dipped behind the hills, leaving just enough light to paint the sky in dusky gold and lavender.

The front porch is glowing, strung with the same twinkle lights Mama hangs up every time she hosts something bigger than our monthly family dinner.

Which means this is a welcome-home party.

I glance over at Stormy as I shift the truck into park. Her hands are folded in her lap, fingers interlaced, shoulders straight, but I can tell she’s nervous.

“You don’t have to say anything you don’t want to,” I tell her. “They’ll ask, but they’ll also understand if you’re uncomfortable.”

She grins. “I know. I’m not nervous about what they’ll think about my past.”

“No?”

She gives me a soft smile. “Just want them to like the real me.”

“They love you. Trust me.”

The front door swings open. Emmett comes bopping down the steps, grinning, as obnoxious as ever.

“Well, well, if it isn’t Manhattan’s finest,” he says, opening Stormy’s door before I can get there. “Back from taming the big city?”

Stormy steps out with a playful roll of her eyes. “Hardly.”

I round the front of the truck and catch Emmett winking at her.

“Good to see ya came to your senses and came home. Family missed ya.”

“’Scuse me.” I clap a hand on his shoulder and move past him. “Come on, darlin’.”

Stormy takes my hand as Emmett chats with her about New York.

“Maybe I should go sing in my underwear while wearing a cowboy hat. I’d be rich.”

“You can’t sing,” I tell him as Stormy laughs.

“With what I’d be showin’, no one would care. Who knows? Maybe London will teach me.”

The second we hit the porch, Mama’s there. She doesn’t hesitate, just opens her arms and pulls Stormy into a hug like she’s known her all her life.

“You look tired, honey,” she says, brushing Stormy’s hair back, like she used to do with Kinsley when she came home from college. “But good. Real good.”

Stormy nods, lips parting like she might thank her, but Mama just waves it off before the words come.

“Now all of you go in. Don’t want the food to get cold.”

Mama didn’t want too much attention on the moment.

Inside, the kitchen smells like roasted chicken, biscuits, and something sweet. The house is loud—voices layered over music, silverware clinking, Harrison laughing too hard in the living room with Vera and Sterling.

“Come on, y’all,” Dad says and lets out a whistle.

My brothers and sisters and their partners rush into the dining room.

Every seat’s full, except for the ones waiting for us. Stormy sits first, and I move beside her. Our hands clasp under the table. I give her a smile, and goose bumps trail across my skin. I want to get lost with her.

“Stormy, baby, welcome home,” Mama says, using her real name. Cheers and laughter follow, and everyone is just as happy as me that she’s here. That she’s staying. “You’re a Valentine now.”

Stormy smiles, but I don’t miss the way she blinks a few extra times, like she’s holding back something bigger than a thank-you. Gratitude. Relief. Maybe even peace.

Dinner’s a blur of overlapping stories and half-finished jokes while being full of stolen glances. My older brothers argue about preseason football. My sisters trade gossip. Dad throws in the occasional one-liner that makes Mama swat him on the arm.

No one asks about New York. No one brings up headlines or drama. They talk to her like she’s one of us because she is.

Vera leans over at one point and whispers, “When are you proposing?”

I give her a smile. “Soon.”

After dessert, people drift into the living room or outside onto the porch. The house stays full, warm, and buzzing. But for a second, Stormy and I are alone in the kitchen, standing by the sink with dirty plates in soapy water.

“Sorry about the dishes,” I say, nodding toward the sink. “You know the rule. Unfortunately, no passes.”

She leans against the counter, facing me. I move forward, pressing my lips against hers, and we get lost in the moment.

“You taste good,” I whisper. “Like ice cream and cherry pie.”

She looks up at me, her voice just a breath above a whisper. “I didn’t think I’d ever have this.”

“But you do,” I say. “And to think, we’re just gettin’ started, darlin’.”

She steals another kiss, and it takes every ounce of strength I have to pull away.

“Let’s hurry so we can get the fuck outta here. I want real dessert.”

“God, yes,” she says, biting her bottom lip.

I lean forward and pluck it into my mouth, slightly sucking on it. She sighs against me, and then we pick up our pace. I wash, and Stormy rinses, then places the plates in the dishwasher.

Since she stormed into my life, I realize we’re not figuring out if we belong to each other anymore.

We already do.

And, hell, we’re building something damn near unbreakable.