Page 120 of Wild As Her

The big, crooked oak in the middle of the pasture. Twisting, defiant, beautiful. Half hers. Half his. Just like always.

I slow my mare without thinking, my chest suddenly tight.

Jack pulls up beside me, watching me carefully.

“This tree,” I murmur, “has always felt like ours.”

His brows lift. “It is ours.”

My fingers tighten the reins. “When we were kids, after everything… we’d meet here. Sit up in the branches like we owned the world. Like we were safe.”

“You were always safe with me," he says softly.

I look over at him.

His voice is quiet. Sure. Full of things he doesn’t always say.“You still are,” he adds.

And just like that, I’m falling all over again.

I blink hard, staring at the tree. “I think part of me always thought that if we ever figured it out, it would be here. With this land. That tree. You.”

He reaches across and takes my hand in his, right there across our saddles.

“I think everything in my life led me back here,” he says. “To you.”

Tears sting my eyes, stupid, inconvenient feelings, and I laugh to cover it up. “God, you’re so cheesy.”

He grins. “You love it.”

“I really do.”God help me, I love everything about him. His quiet steadiness. His stupid perfect smirk. His stubborn protectiveness. His deep, fierce love.

This is what it feels like to be chosen. To be safe and to be home.

We ride a little further, then loop back to the tree. Jack pulls a blanket from his saddlebag, because, of course, he brought one, and we sit beneath the branches like we used to, but we are older now. Wiser. A little more broken in. Just like that tree. It kept growing, and it was always here.Like it was waiting for us to get it together.

He pours the rest of the coffee into the mugs, hands mine over, and says, “So… when we combine the ranches, we’re building our house here, right?”

My heart flips so hard I swear I feel it in my toes. For a moment, I just stare at him, the way the early light hits his face, soft and golden, like the universe is underlining this very second. And all I can think is, he means it. He really means it.

Not just a someday promise. Not a maybe. Not a when-it’s-convenient. He’s building me a home. Not just any home,ourhome. In the place where my dreams first took root. The place where his arms feel like the only shelter I’ll ever need.

My breath catches.“You’re serious?”

He nods and looks out over the field. "Where do you want your big farmhouse kitchen?"

I picture it. The kitchen. The wide porch. Bread baking while he chops wood. Holidays with friends. Mornings in bed. Dogs at our feet. A future so vivid I could almost reach out and touch it.

I look at Jack, this man who used to drive me absolutely insane, and now loves me like it's the easiest thing in the world.

And I realize, I'm not dreaming. I'm already home.

I glance up at the tree again, sunlight filtering through the leaves, casting shadows over the grass. "I don't mind where it is as long as you're in it with me."

He smiles as he stares out as if he's imagining it.

“Our house by our tree,” I whisper.

“Yup,” he says, nudging my boot with his. Casual. Like, he doesn’t just say things that wedge themselves under my ribs and stay there.

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