Page 27 of Rush Turner (Seals on Fraiser Mountain #6)

Jessa

S pring settled on the farm like a promise we hadn’t dared to make a year ago.

The fences gleamed new and sturdy — Rush and the guys had worked three weekends straight, growling about goats the entire time. Tornado still tested every latch daily, but at least now he had competition: the children’s new puppy, Duke, a Labrador with more energy than sense.

This morning, Duke was herding the goats while Tornado chased him back — and little ones cheered both of them on like it was the Super Bowl.

Aunt Marie sipped sweet tea on the porch, muttering about needing a vacation from her own backyard.

And me? I stood in the garden in bare feet and a sundress, dirt under my nails, watching Rush argue with joseph about how to hold a puppy leash properly.

He spotted me watching — because of course he did — and the grin that spread across his face made my chest ache in the best way.

He handed the leash back to Joseph and strode over, ignoring Duke tangling himself in Rush’s boots. He smelled like sweat and sun and a man who’d worked too hard for something nobody was going to take from him now.

“Garden looks good, darlin’,” he said, eyeing my tomatoes like he was planning to grill them for dinner.

“Thank you. Maybe I’ll even get one before the goats do.”

He chuckled, leaned in, and before I could dodge him — not that I wanted to — he pressed a warm, dusty kiss to my mouth that made my toes curl in the grass.

I smacked his chest. “Rush Turner, there are children watching!”

He glanced back at the kids, who were all interested in Duke and Tornado chasing each other in circles.

“Their busy.” Rush’s grin went wicked. “Speaking of busy…”

I narrowed my eyes. “Don’t you start. I have dinner to make and fences to check and—”

He cut me off by pulling a small box out of his back pocket. No preamble. No speech. Just Rush: blunt, certain, unshakeable.

“Marry me, Jessa Monroe. Today, tomorrow, next Tuesday — don’t care when. Just say yes so I can stop pretending I don’t already own your stubborn heart.”

My breath caught. My laugh tangled with a tear I pretended wasn’t there.

“Yes, Rush Turner. I’ll marry you.”

He slid the ring on my finger like he’d been carrying it forever — and knowing him, he probably had.

Behind us, the little ones yelled, “Are you two kissing again?!”

Rush didn’t look away from me. “Every damn chance I get!”

Joanie and Janie ran over and hugged us, crying. Then Aunt Marie came over crying.

Rush pulled me back into his arms. I laughed, tangled my fingers in his dusty hair, and kissed him back — goats, kids, puppy, and all.

Because this was our life now: loud, wild, imperfect.

And exactly right.