Page 129 of Dream Weaver

“No, I’m not Claire. But maybe I like to live dangerously. I’m a firefighter, right?”

She didn’t look convinced. “Greg always says, firefighters don’t live dangerously. They live with calculated risks, and they calculate those really, really well.”

“Well, then. Consider the risks calculated.”

She stood there, gazing up into my eyes. Her lips wobbled with words that never came, so I covered them gently and said, “I’ll make you a deal.”

She tilted her head.

“I’ll teach you if you keep teaching me,” I proposed.

The moon glinted off her hair when she shook her head. “What could I possibly teach you?”

“Teach me about you. About blacksmithing. Maybe even ranching. And you let yourself trust.”

“Kind of a lopsided deal, don’t you think?”

I shook my head. “I think we both stand to win big.”

Her eyes sparkled, so I went on.

“Of course, I’m not a very good blacksmith, and with fire season coming up… Well, I’ll be gone a lot.”

She gulped, then wrapped her arms around me like I was about to ship out.

“That will be hard.” Her voice was muffled. “But as long as you come back…”

I held her tightly. “I will always come back.” Then I glanced over her shoulder and chuckled. “Mike might kill me if I don’t.”

Abby’s laugh was music to my ears. “He means well.” Then she touched my shoulder and froze. “Oh God. You’re bleeding…”

I shrugged. “Nothing serious.”

“But your shirt—” Her eyes welled as she fingered the fabric. “Peter’s shirt…”

I looked at the torn sleeve, then took her hand. “I think he would find it a worthwhile sacrifice.”

“But… But…”

I shook my head. “No buts. I’m sure he would approve.”

She looked up at me, still unsure. “You think so?”

I leaned in to kiss her. A kiss of comfort, hope, and relief. One I broke only long enough to whisper, “He would definitely approve.”

Chapter Thirty

ABBY

Cooper was a champion kisser, and I never wanted that moment to end. It wasn’t every day a girl got a second — or third — chance at her dream man. But car engines sounded, and headlights cut through the night. Cooper and I whirled. With the dark clouds breaking up, the moon bathed the landscape in enough light to make out a convoy of four cars.

Cooper and I hurried toward the main house, intercepting the others there — everyone but Ingo and Mike, who kept watch over Harlon.

Two of the vehicles screeched to a halt by them, and a troop of armed men piled out. Armed to the teeth, in fact, just like the men who flooded out of the remaining two cars when they pulled up to the house.

Every dog on the ranch broke into frenzied barks. I stood beside my sisters and Claire on the porch, along with a snarling Roscoe.

“Great. Now what?” Pippa griped.

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