Page 42 of The Lilac River (Silver Peaks #1)

Fields of Gold - Sting

Lily

D riving up to the ranch, butterflies erupted in my stomach like someone had flung open the gates.

There were nerves, yes but also a soft thread of excitement winding around my heart.

This place had once felt like a second home.

I’d spent so many nights on this road, curled against Nash in the cab of his old truck, watching the stars stretch across the sky like a promise.

And now, coming back, it felt like the road was remembering me too.

The ranch spread out ahead in wide, familiar strokes, golden fields rolling into the distance, fencing weathered by time and snow, and the barn roof glinting in the low sun like an old friend waving me down.

The scent of hay, sun-warmed wood, and a little dust crept in through the open window, curling around me like a hug from the past. The wheels crunched over the same gravel, past the same ancient oak tree where Nash had once carved our initials, now probably long grown over or deliberately scratched away.

I couldn't blame him if he'd taken a knife to it after I left.

When I hit the curved driveway, up to the main house, my fingers trembled slightly on the steering wheel. I’d been here since I’d come back to town but tonight felt different. Tonight was a new beginning. Tonight, the winds of change would blow away the pain.

The house came into view, the late afternoon sun catching the windows, turning them to blazing gold.

Almost blinding in their intensity. Just like the memories that slammed into me with each second I drew closer.

Stolen kisses. Whispered plans. Nash’s hands marking me in ways that I still felt ten years later.

I parked and sat for a moment, grounding myself. Reminding myself that I had nothing to fear now our secrets had been replaced with promises. With a fortifying breath I stepped out of my car and made my way up to the porch, gravel crunching beneath my sandals.

I smoothed down the pale pink dress and reached for the bell, heart hammering.

I didn’t make it.

The door burst open and a tiny blur in Marvel pajamas launched herself at my legs.

“Miss. Gray, you’re here!” Bertie squealed, wrapping around me like a starfish. “I went to the zoo today with Elodie and her mommy and daddy and her baby! The baby’s still in Elodie’s mom’s tummy though. Her dad asked the lady at the ticket desk if they had to pay for the baby and she laughed!”

She threw her head back and let out a belly laugh so big and unselfconscious it filled the porch and me with it. I laughed, too, the kind that came from deep inside, the kind I hadn’t let out in far too long. I crouched, running my fingers gently through her hair.

“Sounds like you had an amazing day.”

She nodded enthusiastically. “The lions were lazy, but the flamencos were pink and stinky!”

That’s when I heard it.

“She’s a little excited,” came a voice so familiar it made every nerve in my body spark. I looked up, heart catching.

Nash.

The air seemed to vanish from my lungs, replaced by something electric and dangerous. My body recognized him before my mind could even process, a visceral awareness that made my skin prickle and my mouth go dry.

There he stood, framed in the doorway like something out of a dream I’d tried too long to forget.

His hair was still damp, curling a little at the ends.

A crisp blue button-down, sleeves rolled to the elbow, stretched across those sun-browned forearms, and his jeans.

..well, they did things that jeans had no business doing.

And that scent; clean soap, leather, pine, hit me square in the memory.

“H-hey,” I managed, completely blindsided by the rush of him. “You okay?”

He stepped forward and rested his hand gently on Bertie’s head, eyes locked on me. And then he smiled, a slow, private thing that undid me. That smile told me he remembered it all: every kiss, every night in the lavender field, every heartbreak. And that he still wanted more.

“I’m great,” he said, voice smooth and warm like honey over warm whisky.

“How are you?” His tongue swept lazily across his lower lip, and I swear I forgot how to breathe.

That small gesture shouldn't have been so devastating, so intimate that it felt like foreplay right there on his front porch.

I watched, mesmerized, as his mouth curved into a knowing smile, and I couldn't help wondering if he knew exactly what he was doing to me.

I forgot how to breathe for a second. “Yeah, I’m good. You?”

“You just asked me that.”

I laughed awkwardly, heat creeping up my neck. “Right. Sorry.”

Nash chuckled, the sound rumbling from deep in his chest. A sound I used to fall asleep to, his body curled around mine like a shield against the world. He stepped aside, the movement revealing the familiar hallway beyond.

“Come on in.”

My heart pulled tight in my chest.

With Bertie still wrapped around my legs, getting through the door was a challenge.

“Bertie,” Nash said, firm but kind, “let Miss. Gray come inside.”

She grinned up at me and released me with a little bounce. “Sorry, Miss. Gray!”

As I stepped into the house, the warmth hit me like a wave; home-cooked dinner, citrus cleaner, and something sweet wafting in from the kitchen. The walls were still the same honey-toned wood, but there was laughter in the air now, new memories steeping into old ones.

Wilder appeared beside Nash, a glint in his eye.

“Well, well,” he said, winking. “It’s like a scene from one of those Hallmark movies. The one where the girl comes back and the guy’s got a kid but he still lo?—”

“Okay, Wild,” Nash said sharply, clearly not amused.

Wilder raised his hands in surrender. “Aren’t you supposed to be carving the chicken?” Nash asked.

“I gave it to Gunner,” he said, unfazed. “He’s better at it.”

“And he is,” Nash agreed. “Last time you carved the chicken it looked like you used a chainsaw.”

“And yet you ask me again,” Wilder retorted, smirking at me. “Lily, help me out here, any logic in that?”

I laughed despite myself. “None at all.”

He grinned. “Didn’t think so. Oh, and before I forget, talked to Petey about a car for you. Think there’s one coming up. Some lady’s upgrading.”

Nash’s head snapped around. “What car?”

Wilder gave me a pointed look. “Have you seen what she’s driving?”

“Hey!” I said indignantly. “That’s my car!”

“Yeah, but what’s it got to do with you ?” Nash growled at his brother.

Wilder didn’t flinch. “Offered to help. Someone’s gotta take care of her.”

“You could ride one of Uncle Gunner’s horses, Miss. Gray!” Bertie piped up from the corner. “Or Daddy could drive you!”

The room shifted. Charged. Nash’s eyes met mine and something unspoken passed between us, something hot and protective and terribly real.

“I’m perfectly capable of taking care of her,” Nash said, voice low, almost a caress.

Bertie bounced on her heels. “Does that mean you like Miss. Gray, Daddy?”

“You bet he does,” Wilder muttered.

“Back to the kitchen, Wild,” Nash ordered, not missing a beat. “And you,” he added to Bertie, “go pour the drinks.”

Bertie saluted and took off down the hall.

“She made St. Clements especially for you,” Wilder called over his shoulder. “Don’t worry we’re not letting her near the gin yet.”

I turned back to Nash. “Your family’s still a little crazy.”

He grinned. “Yeah. But they’re mine. And now... you’re here.”

And just like that, the joy twisted into fear.

I looked away, heart pounding. Was this real? Was this wise?

“What’s wrong?” Nash asked softly, stepping closer.

"Are we rushing this?" I whispered, the words scraping my throat raw. "Should we be doing this? After I hurt you... after I left for ten years?" My throat tightened painfully, making it hard to speak. "You have Bertie and?—"

"Hey," he soothed, pulling me gently against him, one large hand cradling the back of my head. The steady thump of his heart beneath my ear was the most reassuring sound I'd ever heard. "It's okay. Everything's gonna be okay."

His warmth surrounded me, his scent filling my lungs with each breath. The solid wall of his chest against my cheek felt like coming home after the longest, coldest winter. I couldn't remember the last time I'd let someone hold me like this, like they had the right to, like I was precious.

He kissed the top of my head, his lips lingering against my hair, and I closed my eyes, letting his strength seep into me.

In his arms, the knot of fear I'd been carrying for a decade finally started to unwind.

Not disappear, it was too deeply entrenched for that but loose enough that I could breathe around it.

"I don't want to mess this up," I whispered against his shirt, my fingers clutching the soft fabric. "I don't want to lose you again."

The pain of the first loss had nearly broken me. I wasn't sure I'd survive a second.

He cupped my face with those big, calloused hands, tilting it up toward his. His thumbs brushed across my cheekbones, leaving trails of fire in their wake. I leaned into his touch like a flower toward sunlight, starved for the connection I'd denied myself for so long.

"No, baby," he said fiercely, his eyes burning into mine. "My dad ruined us. And he's not getting another damn chance."

The conviction in his voice made something fragile inside me begin to heal, a wound so old I'd forgotten it was still bleeding.

His hands found mine and moved them over my heart, holding them there. I could feel my pulse racing beneath our joined fingers, the rhythm speeding up under his touch.

"We're in charge of our future now," he said, his voice dropping to a husky whisper that seemed to wrap around my spine. "And we'll make it work. I know it. You know it. No more goodbyes. Just grocery lists, dumb arguments, and your laughter echoing through my life for the rest of my days."

The simple beauty of the life he described, so ordinary, so perfect, made my breath catch. Not grand promises or sweeping declarations, but the steady, day-to-day intimacy I'd craved without realizing it.

Tears burned at the back of my eyes, but this time they weren't from fear, they were from hope. A dangerous, wonderful hope that maybe, just maybe, we could build something from the ashes of what we'd once had.

Slowly, I nodded, not trusting my voice.

"Good." Nash smiled, brushing a thumb across my cheek, catching a tear I hadn't felt fall. The rough pad of his thumb against my skin sent a shiver down my spine. "Now, let's get those drinks before Bertie has a conniption."

After dinner, while Nash read Bertie her bedtime story, I stayed behind in the kitchen, wiping down spotless counters with Gunner and Wilder.

I was stalling.

“You ever gonna tell us what really happened?” Gunner asked finally. “Nash said it’s your story to tell.”

I stopped; cloth clenched in my hands. “Yeah,” I said. “I owe you both that.”

They didn’t interrupt. They just waited.

I took a breath. “Your dad found out about mine. My father... he was in prison. For murder.”

Silence.

“He told me he’d ruin my mom if I didn’t walk away. Said Nash would hate me if he knew. That it would kill any chance he had at the NFL. He said it was for the good of the family.”

Gunner’s jaw clenched. “Manipulative bastard.”

“I thought I was doing the right thing,” I whispered. “But I didn’t just lose Nash. I lost both of you too.”

“You weren’t just Nash’s girl,” Wilder said, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “You were our sister, and our father only does stuff that is good for him.”

“Wild is right, nothing about what he made you do was for anyone’s benefit but his.”

“I know that now, but I want you both to know that I missed you,” I choked. “Every birthday. Every stupid holiday. I wondered what you were doing. Who you were becoming. I hated not being there.”

“Well,” Gunner said, throat thick. “You’re here now.”

“And you’re stuck with us,” Wilder added, giving my arm a bump.

I wiped my face with the edge of my sleeve, smiling wetly. “Good. I’m not going anywhere.”

Just then, Nash reappeared, a book tucked under one arm.

He scanned our red-rimmed eyes. “What’d I miss?”

“Just made Lily cry,” Gunner said with a grin. “Telling her all about the wild birthday parties she missed in ten years.”

Nash came to my side and slid his hand into mine like it was second nature. “I’ll make sure you never have to miss anything again.”

I believed him.

“Okay,” he said, kissing my temple. “Let’s sit and talk about our darling Daddy.”

“Ugh,” Gunner groaned, pulling out a chair at the table for me. “I may just bring up my dinner.”

“Is it good news, like he’s not really our dad or something?” Wilder asked.

“I could be good news,” Nash said. “I think we have a way to stop him.” He took the seat next to mine and draped an arm along the back of it.

Protective. “Dougie found a hole in the records. The lavender field—Mom’s field—it might not legally be his.

Which could be why it wasn’t mentioned in her will. ”

My breath caught. “But how’s that good news? If it isn’t his, then whose is it?”

“It was hers,” Gunner stated without question. “Had to be. She started it when she was nine. But that doesn’t explain why it’s not listed.”

“So, we need to find that deed,” Nash said. “To be able to fight the sale.”

“And how do we find it?” Wilder asked.

Nash shrugged and raised an eyebrow. “We break into his apartment.”

Wilder laughed. “You’re not being serious?”

“As a heart attack,” Nash deadpanned. “We’re going to break into his apartment, find the deed and save the farm.”

“And if it’s not there, what then?” Gunner leaned forward waiting for Nash’s response.

“Then we break into his Mayoral office. Or maybe Wilder will because…”

“He’s the youngest,” Gunner finished for him.

And just like that, I smiled again.

These men, this family, they were stubborn and wild and a little bit reckless. But they were mine. And together, we were going to take our lives back.

As I sat there in the warm kitchen, surrounded by the people I'd never stopped loving, I felt something I hadn't expected to feel again—purpose. Connection. Hope. Whatever came next, whatever their father threw at us, we would face it together.

And that made all the difference in the world.