“I’m more than sure. I feel something with you. And I keep feeling it, even now. Like we’re connected.” She put her palms to her cheeks, which were turning an adorable shade of pink. “Ugh, I’m no good at this. I always say too much. Or not enough.”
“That makes two of us.” He reached for her hands and gently pulled them from her face, gratified when she wrapped her fingers around his. “I feel it, too. I want to be around you, Jade. As much as possible.”
“Me, too.”
They both fell silent. She was looking at their clasped hands, so Aidan looked, too. It was strange how things as fragile as skin and bone and muscle could feel so alive with connection. Just sitting her with her, his whole body seemed to wake up with new energy and hope.
“What do we do now?” Her voice was tentative, and he remembered that her confidence was mostly reserved for work.
“Want to take a walk? I don’t have much to offer here beyond ashes and a borrowed trailer, but I still have a nice view.”
“And sheep.”
He laughed. “And sheep. Want to visit them?”
“I’d like that.”
He stood and pulled her up along with him, and kept pulling so she stepped right into his arms. He sighed as she slipped her strong arms around his waist. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders and inhaled the scent of her hair. Funny how he still associated her with the smell of smoke, but now she smelled different. Floral. He took another breath and realized it was lavender. How perfect for her, to use a calming scent like that. She’d settled all his old pain, so he could finally feel like himself again. He kissed the top of her head. Her hair, bound in a ponytail, was silky under his lips. “I could stand like this for a long time,” he murmured.
She tipped her head back to look up at him. “Then stand here,” she said.
Her warm smile was an invitation he couldn’t resist. He brought his mouth to hers, relishing the way she kissed him back, the way all the broken pieces of his soul bonded together with her touch. Her lips were soft and forgiving, and he lingered there, brushing kisses lightly over her mouth, feeling her precious breath, her heat and her light.
Her brown eyes held layers of kindness and compassion, and she blinked with dark, full lashes when their gazes met. “I love you,” she said quietly. “I’m sure it’s too soon to tell you that but—”
“I love you,” Aidan cut her off before she could dilute the beauty of those three words. “I’ve known it for a while now. So I don’t think it’s too soon.” His smile hurt, it was so big. Relief and hope thrumming through his body, waking up every last part of him that that had died along with his son that night.
Her smile was pure sunlight and clear air and life. “I’m glad.” She hugged him tightly. “So glad.”
They stood together in silence, except it wasn’t silent. A bird called, somewhere farther down the ranch. Another answered. Maya had been right. First the bugs emerged, then the birds returned. Life returned. Aidan closed his eyes as a wave of gratitude almost knocked the wind out of him.
Jade, ever restless, stirred in his arms. “We’ve got love,’ she murmured. “Now what do we do?”
“Let’s take that walk.” He stepped back and offered his hand, and they wandered down the driveway toward the barn with Chip at their heels.
“It’s a beautiful ranch,” she said, gazing out over the hills that rolled out toward the Pacific. The afternoon light cast a golden hue over the charred earth.
“It is,” Aidan said. “I’ll never forget it.”
“We’ll always honor him,” Jade said quietly. “Wherever we are. I promise.”
Aidan squeezed her hand gently, willing back the tears that rose behind his eyes. “I’d like that,” he said. “I was so scared to move on from this place. It felt like if I left here, I was abandoning Colby. Failing him one more time. But now I know that I’ll carry my son in my heart, wherever I go.”
“Shelter Creek is a good place to heal.” Jade looked up at him hopefully. “If that’s what you want.”
“I’ll go look at that ranch for sale tomorrow,” he assured her. “I could use some healing.”
“I think we all could.” Jade glanced up at him with a quirk of humor in her smile. “Race you to the barn?”
“You think you can beat me there?” He let go of her hand and took off running, his heavy work boots pounding in the gravel.
“Not fair!” It didn’t take her long to race right past him calling, “You forget, I’ve had to keep up with three brothers my whole life!”
Chip tore after her joyfully, barking and jumping in doggy bliss.
Aidan charged after them both, pelting down the hill like a kid, feeling the hard years lifting off his shoulders and floating away into the clear blue sky. It had been so long since he’d felt like this. Whole. Happy. Alive.
EPILOGUE
One Year Later...
JADE PULLED UP to Aidan’s ranch house and grabbed the bag of sandwiches off the passenger seat of her car. As she approached the front door, Chip rose from his favorite sleeping spot on the porch that ran the length of the building and bounded down the steps to greet her. “Hey, buddy.” Jade rubbed the dog’s head and accepted a kiss on the hand. “Where’s that owner of yours?”
The front door opened and Aidan stepped out, arms open to greet her. “How’s the newest fire captain in Shelter Creek?”
Jade ran up the steps and threw her arms around his waist. “Can you believe I passed the test?”
“I can absolutely believe it.” Aidan held her close and kissed the top of her head. “I’ve seen you in action, remember?”
He stepped back and gently tipped her chin up to kiss her. By the time he was done, Jade’s legs felt a little shaky. “Come on,” he said. “I’ve got something to show you.” He led her around the side of the house to the big flagstone patio that served as his backyard. Making the area around his house inflammable was the first thing he’d done when he moved to his new ranch. From here they had a view across the valley, with the whole of Shelter Creek nestled below. It was only a ten-minute drive into town, but up here they were in their own world.
Aidan gestured to a table Jade had never seen before. A fancy wooden table with matching chairs that he’d set in just the right spot to take in the glorious view. The table was set with two place settings, and even a bouquet of flowers.
“This is your new patio furniture?” Jade sat down in one of the comfortable padded chairs. “It’s luxurious. I love it.”
“It got here just in time to celebrate.” He poured her a glass of water from the pitcher on the table. “What did your dad say about you passing the test?”
Jade still hadn’t processed her dad’s reaction. “He just said congratulations. And that he was very proud of me. That was it. No critiquing my score, or asking me what goal I’ll achieve next. Nothing.”
“He’s trying. He really is.” Aidan smiled at her and she saw the pride in his blue eyes. “I’m glad you gave him another chance.”
“You’re just saying that because he likes you. He’s always talking about what a good man you are, and how well you run your ranch, as if he knows anything about that. I could swear, lately, that he has a man crush on you.”
“He just knows how much I love his daughter.”
Jade stared at him in surprise. “Did you tell him that?”
“Not in so many words. But I asked his permission to marry you.”
“Permission?” Jade stood up, she was so indignant. “You don’t have to ask him...” Then Aidan’s words sank in. “You want to marry me?”
He came around the table to take her hand. He led her a few steps closer to his beautiful view and went down on one knee.
Jade’s heart leaped in her chest and she put her palms to her cheeks, barely able to comprehend what was happening.
Aidan lo
oked up at her with his icy-blue eyes and a nervous smile on his face that reminded her that underneath his tough exterior was the most warm and sensitive person. “Jade Carson, I love you more than I can even explain. You rescued me, you rescued my heart, you turned my entire life around. You’re the only person on this planet who can make me laugh in the middle of a wildfire. You’re the person I want to go through life with. Even the hardest parts of life. Will you marry me?”
She’d never thought of herself as the marrying kind, but the past year of loving Aidan had shown her a different side of herself. A side that wanted to give him everything, and to make sure he knew happiness every day. “Of course I’ll marry you.” She knelt, too, and threw her arms around him, hugging him tight. “I love you. And I’m so glad to have this life with you.” Those were words they said often, to remind each other of all that they had, and the night it all could have ended in a wildfire.
Aidan folded her into his arms and held her close. “I’m so grateful for our life, too.” He kissed her hair and Jade relished the gentle gesture. “Thanks again for the rescue.”
“Right back at cha,” she whispered.
* * *
Be sure to look for the next book in Claire McEwen’s Heroes of Shelter Creek series, available soon!
Keep reading for an excerpt from Hill Country Secret by Kit Hawthorne.
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Hill Country Secret
by Kit Hawthorne
CHAPTER ONE
A LOUD CRASH jolted Lauren Longwood awake. The October sunshine, so warm and bright when she’d settled into the porch swing earlier in the afternoon, had faded to an eerie twilight. A hard, straight wind cut through her thin T-shirt and rumbled over the metal roof.
She sat up and pulled the quilt around her shoulders, upsetting the gray barn cat nestled in its folds. Cushions tumbled to the floor, along with a worn copy of Ghost Stories of the Texas Hill Country.
She’d fallen asleep reading the sad tale of Alejandro Ramirez: husband, ranchero and soldier in the Texas Revolution. Now that was a man. Fearless, faithful, unstoppable. Not even death at the hands of Santa Anna’s army could keep him from protecting the woman he loved.
“Durango!”
The wind swallowed her voice. She tried again, louder. This time the sleek black-and-white border collie came racing up the walkway. He cleared the porch steps with an easy bound and nuzzled Lauren with his pointy snout.
A clenched fist of tension inside her relaxed a tiny bit as she rubbed Durango behind the ears. Dogs made everything better, and these days she was humbly grateful for any shred of comfort.
She’d been hurting long enough to grow used to the pain. Cling to it, even, like a ratty old blanket. She could function well enough, go through the motions of work and meals and personal hygiene, but not much more.
Durango followed her into the house. The LED displays on the electronics and kitchen appliances were blank. Wind must have taken out some power lines. So much for streaming something light and frothy on TV.
She fell to the sofa with a groan, still cocooned in the quilt. She’d been glad, sort of, to have the entire ranch to herself this weekend—as glad as she was about anything these days. Dalia was a good friend, but even her easy company was a burden at present. Lauren needed to get her head on straight, and La Escarpa had quiet and solitude to spare, with nothing to remind her of Evan.
But she didn’t need reminders. Evan filled her thoughts no matter where she went or what she did. She felt beat up inside, and all she really wanted was sleep.
She was on the verge of dropping off again when something creaked.
She opened her eyes. The old wooden cradle that stood before the fireplace was rocking.
Suddenly Lauren was wide-awake. She could feel the stiff spine of the ghost story book in her hand, and she remembered Alejandro’s story vividly. Just before leaving to fight for Texas independence, he’d told his pregnant wife, Romelia, that he’d be back in time to place a spray of yellow esperanza blossoms in the cradle beside their child.
But Alejandro had been killed by a Mexican musket ball at the Siege of Béxar and buried in a hasty grave far from home. He’d never seen his only son, or returned to the young bride he’d left behind just months after their wedding.
Years later, during a bad drought, wildfires raged through the pastures of the rancho. As Romelia and the vaqueros fought to save the buildings and livestock, she’d seen a shadowy form moving through the smoke, fighting the fire—her husband’s form. The house and outbuildings were saved, and not a single life was lost, human or animal.
And ever after, it was said, whenever danger threatened, Alejandro returned to save his family and their rancho.
This rancho. La Escarpa.
Cold prickles ran up Lauren’s spine. Could this be the very cradle Alejandro had built with his own hands before leaving home to defend his country?
Durango lifted his head, fixed his ice-blue eyes on the cradle and growled.
In a flash, Lauren freed herself from the quilt and bolted out the door.
An esperanza bush stood near the porch steps. Its branches tossed in the wind, scattering leaves and yellow petals as Lauren ran past. She hurried down the walkway, through the gate and onto the long winding driveway. Durango kept pace, stretched out low and sleek at her side. She could feel the crunch of gravel beneath the soles of her boots, but couldn’t hear her own footsteps over the wind’s hollow roar.
The adrenaline rush lasted about a quarter mile before leaving her to crash and burn. She slowed to a walk, forcing herself to keep moving, keep putting one shaky limb in front of the other. She felt like she was going to throw up.
She laced her fingers behind her head and looked back toward the house. Had the cradle really rocked? She’d been half-asleep; maybe she’d dreamed the whole thing.
Of course she had.
In any event, ghost or no ghost, she couldn’t keep running forever. She had to go back sometime.
Vincent Van-Go was parked close to the machine shed, his silver paint looking dim in the twilight. She’d sleep there tonight instead of in Dalia’s guest room. Surely no self-respecting ghost of a nineteenth-century ranchero would bother to haunt a Ford Transit cargo van.
“Well, Durango, I guess we might as well go check the stock. Come on, boy.”
Durango’s ears perked, but he wasn’t listening to Lauren. He was staring away from her, away from the house, with that weird fixed look in his eyes. Then he took off like a shot, without so much as a bark.
Lauren called him, but she knew it was hopeless. Within seconds he’d disappeared around a bend in the drive.
Great. Now I’ve lost Dalia’s dog.
There was no point in chasing him. He had to be making thirty miles an hour. Lauren was a good runner, but not that good.
Well, he’d come back when he came back. No doubt he’d be fine, with his border-collie intellect and his mad sprinting skills.
On the way to the barnyard, she passed a long, low building, overgrown with brush. Jagged shards of glass edged the broken windows, and she thought she saw something moving inside. A varmint, or a ghost? At this point, she was too tired to care.
The barnyard complex offered some protection from the cold. The various outbuildings and enclosures formed an organic cluster that harmonized with the lay of the land. Over in the paddock north of the house, the horses had taken refuge in a little hollow backed by a natural windbreak of dense cedar trees. She couldn’t see the cattle, but they’d surely found shelter, as well, somewhere in their pasture. The chickens had wisely gone into their coop; they looked fluffed
and surprised, but healthy. She checked their water and gave them some feed. Dulcinea, the Jersey cow, was on a once-a-day milking schedule and wouldn’t need any attention until morning, but she was so sweet and pretty with her big black eyes and long eyelashes that Lauren stood a long time scratching the shaggy mop of golden-brown hair on the top of her head.
Last of all, she headed to the enclosure that held the Angora goats.
The Angoras brought in good money for La Escarpa. Their long, silky mohair coats were sheared twice a year and sold to be spun into yarn. Already the cream-colored wool was growing in thick and curly since their fall shearing.
Lauren stopped in her tracks. Just outside the goat pen there was an ancient mesquite, with heavy, sprawling limbs as thick as the trunks of mature trees. One of these had split off at the fork, flattening the fence wire and snapping one of the posts.
Straddling the massive mesquite limb was a man.
And what a man he was.
Her first thought was that he was dressed like a mariachi, but plainer, in his short jacket, ankle boots and dark neckcloth tied in a soft bow. But the suit was a rich butternut color, not black, and the embroidery running along the jackets’ wrists and rounded lapels, and down the sides of the tight trousers, was made of plain floss, without any spangly bits. And he didn’t have a hat. In an intuitive flash, Lauren knew this must be the sort of clothing that had inspired mariachi costumes to begin with.
Which meant it must be old—really old.
But the outfit, striking as it was, was nothing to the man himself.
He was lifting the fallen branch from the fence wire. The broad plains of his thigh and shoulder muscles strained against the butternut-brown fabric. His head was bent deep, chin to chest, and his black hair streamed behind him like a banner.
He was absolutely magnificent.
Copyright © 2020 by Brandi Midkiff
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