Page 85 of Swift and Saddled

“Every word,” he said. I felt his lips in my hair.

I pulled back and looked up at Wes. Before I could stop myself, I blurted out, “I love you,” and as soon as the words left my mouth, I felt shock color my features.

Wes’s dimples grew and his green eyes glittered. “I wanted to say that first,” he said.

“You didn’t have to say it.” I shrugged. “You showed me.”

He kissed me then, slowly and deliberately—like we had all the time in the world. And in so many ways, we did. Because this was the start of my life. This was what I was on the precipice of when I came to Wyoming.

We pressed our foreheads together, and Wes said, “I love you, Ada. I’ll keep showing you, but I needed to tell you too.” I kissed him again. “And if you ever feel like you need to run again,” he said, “can I request that you at least stay inside the county line?”

I laughed. From the first time our eyes met at the bar, I felt like Wes could see me in a way that no one else could, and that question proved it. He knew I was scared, and he loved me anyway.

He saw me for exactly who I was, and he loved me because of it, not in spite of it.

And as far as lifetimes went, basking in the warmth of the sun seemed like a pretty damn good way to spend one.

Epilogue

Eight Months Later

Wes

I waited for Ada in the Jackson airport. I was bouncing on the balls of my feet, twiddling my thumbs, and constantly adjusting my hat. It had been about two months since I’d seen her—the longest we’d gone since she left Rebel Blue for Tucson in July.

Since then, she’d also completed projects in Utah and New Mexico. All of them were hospitality projects—inns, B&Bs, that sort of thing. She’d found her niche, and she was damn good at it. I’d gone to see her a few times at each place, which meant I’d been leaving Wyoming more than I ever had in my life.

In Utah, we’d even had a long weekend to explore a few national parks—Bryce Canyon was my favorite.

The places we went were beautiful, but Wyoming was always going to be my home, and Ada knew that. She also knew that when she was ready, Meadowlark and I would be here waiting to welcome her home for good.

Ada came back to Rebel Blue for the few weeks she always had in between jobs. I’d started renovating a cabin onthe far side of my piece of Rebel Blue with her in mind. I still switched back and forth between there and the Big House. When my dad asked me why, I told him it was because the new house didn’t feel like home without Ada there.

God, I missed her.

We did what I said we were going to do. We made it work. But goddamn, it wasn’t easy. When Ada was gone, there was a hole shaped like her in my life and my soul.

But I filled it with memories of her and us. I filled it with pride in her chasing her dreams and doing what she wanted. I filled it with a love that felt both perfectly ordinary and extraordinary at the same time.

I’d been waiting for Ada my whole life. I had three decades of wondering why I couldn’t or didn’t want to fall in love under my belt. Thirty years of waiting was a lot, but I’d do it all over again to have her at the end of it.

And I did. Have her.

We were a forever sort of thing.

That was the thought that ran through my head when I saw an unmistakable mane of shiny black hair and my favorite roses running toward me. Before I could brace myself, she’d dropped her bag, jumped into my arms, and wrapped her legs around my waist. I stumbled a little bit but recovered quickly.

We didn’t kiss. Not yet.

I held her tight and buried my face in her neck and she did the same. We stayed there for a second, breathing each other in. Every time we saw each other, it was like we had this moment of remembering that the other was real.

“I missed you,” she whispered.

“Welcome home, sweetheart.”

She pulled back and her brown eyes met mine. We stared at each other the way we always did. She’d come from New Mexico and must’ve been spending a lot of time outside because her freckles were back.

Her eyes searched mine for a second before she planted a firm kiss on my mouth. There was something about her making the first move that just fucking did it for me. It took me back to that night in the bar when she’d fisted my shirt and crashed her mouth into mine.

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