Page 30 of Wicked Cowboy
I brush a curl off her face and think about all the mornings I’ve woken to the sound of the creek and never noticed how itsounded like laughter when it hit the rocks right. She stirs a little, catches my wrist, doesn’t open her eyes.
“You’re staring,” she mumbles.
“Making sure you’re real,” I answer.
She opens her eyes and smiles. “Morning.”
“Good morning, sweet girl.”
We stay like that a while, no rush to prove anything. Downstairs, a floorboard creaks. Grandma, most likely, starting coffee and waiting for the gossip about Frankie and me.
Eventually, Frankie pushes herself up, sheets pooled around her exposing her gorgeous body to me.
We end up downstairs an hour later, dressed, still smiling at each other. Grandma’s at the stove humming, Luke’s at the table pretending to read the paper upside down. The smell of bacon and coffee fills the kitchen.
“Morning,” I say.
Frankie’s cheeks flush pink, but she stands tall, brave as ever. “Good morning.”
Grandma finally turns, eyes twinkling. “Coffee’s fresh. Congratulations on figuring it out.”
“Finally,” I mutter, which earns me an elbow from Frankie and a grin from Luke.
When breakfast’s done, I walk Frankie out to the porch. The grass sparkles under a fresh coat of dew. The sky’s the kind of blue painters try to emulate.
She stands at the rail, looking toward the pastures. “You ever get used to it? Waking up to all this?”
“Never,” I admit. “That’s the best part.”
She turns to me, searching my face for something. “You really think I could fit here?”
“Frankie, you already do.”
She leans her head on my shoulder. We stand there in the doorway, the world stretching wide and easy in front of us, andfor the first time I don’t see fences or lines or ways out. Just the next season coming.
The leaves are almost gone, the first bite of winter hiding in the wind. Soon Luke will be hauling pines for the Christmas market, and the ranch will fill up with new laughter, new light.
But for now, it’s perfect.
Grabbing her by the waist, I turn Frankie to face me. “I love you, sweet girl.”
Tears gather in her eyes. “Oh, Rhett, I love you too, so much.”
From inside the house, Grandma calls for Luke to stop singing. The day unfolds the way they all should—slow, bright, alive.
And for the first time in a very long time, I let myself believe in happily ever afters.
Epilogue - Frankie
I thought I loved Brush Creek Ranch in the fall, but winter is even better.
The hills are dusted in powdered sugar snow, every fence rail glitters like it’s been dipped in frost, and the smell of pine clings to everything. Inside the ranch house, chaos reigns. The kitchen table is buried under invitation samples, tinsel, and three different sets of place cards Martha can’t decide between.
Rhett’s pretending to read a feed catalog but has mostly been watching me try to pick ribbon colors.
“Do we really need different shades of red?” he asks.
“Yes,” I say sweetly. “We’re getting married in a barn, Rhett. The ribbon is the glamour.”