Page 121 of Knotting the Cowboys

"Engine's been temperamental lately. Kept meaning to get River to look at it—he's good with mechanical stuff too—but there hasn't been time." He guides the truck onto the shoulder, gravel crunching under the tires. "Course it would die now, when we're halfway home with no cell service."

The truck shudders to a stop, engine giving one last wheeze before going silent. The sudden quiet is deafening after hours of music and crowd noise. We sit there for a moment, processing this development, before Austin drops his head back against the seat with a groan.

"Perfect. Just perfect." He fumbles for his phone, confirming what we both suspected. "No signal. We're in the dead zone between town and ranch."

I check my own phone, finding the same frustrating absence of bars. Around us, the Montana night presses close, beautiful and isolated and suddenly very inconvenient. The fairground lights are a distant glow behind us, the ranch still miles ahead, and we're alone on a dark road in formal wear with no way to call for help.

"So," I say, trying to lighten the mood, "this hidden talent of yours for picking the perfect moment to break down—is that genetic or learned?"

He turns his head to look at me, and despite everything—the dead truck, the isolation, the late hour—he smiles.

"Definitely learned. Takes years of practice to achieve this level of terrible timing."

And somehow, sitting here in a broken truck on the side of the road at two in the morning, still sweaty from dancing and high on victory over the Mayor, I can't think of anywhere else I'd rather be.

Wild Loving Nesting Part Two

~WILLA~

The truck door creaks when I push it open, and the October air hits my overheated skin like a blessing—sharp and clean and nothing like the recycled warmth we've been breathing.

My legs shake when they hit the gravel, whether from hours of dancing or the adrenaline crash I can't tell, but I need this.

Need the space, the air, the momentary distance from Austin's magnetic presence to gather the scattered pieces of myself.

"I'll check under the hood," Austin says, already moving around to the front of the truck. The hazard lights click on, casting intermittent amber glows across the empty road. "Might be something simple."

I lean back against the truck's side, the metal cold through my ruined silk dress, and that's when I see them.

The stars.

Out here, miles from town with no streetlights or neon to compete, they spread across the sky in a display that steals what's left of my breath. The Milky Way cuts through thedarkness like spilled diamonds, so bright and numerous my eyes can't process them all at once.

"Jesus," I whisper, tilting my head back until my neck protests.

When did I last really look at the stars? Not just notice them in passing but actually look, the way Grandpa taught me?

The hood pops with a metallic groan, and Austin's silhouette appears against the engine's dark cavity, flashlight beam dancing across mysterious mechanical parts. But I can't look away from the sky, from this tapestry of light that makes me feel simultaneously infinite and infinitesimal.

"Cassiopeia," I murmur, voice rougher than usual from the night's exertions and the ever-present rasp that smoke damage left behind. My finger traces the distinctive W shape in the sky. "The vain queen. And there—" I shift, pointing northeast, "—Perseus, coming to save Andromeda from the sea monster."

"You know the constellations?" Austin's voice carries surprise, though he doesn't look up from whatever he's examining.

"Grandpa taught me." The words come easier in the darkness, with his attention focused elsewhere. "We'd lie on blankets in the back pasture, and he'd tell me their stories. Greek myths, Native American legends, even made up his own sometimes when I got bored with the traditional ones."

I track Orion's belt, remembering Grandpa's patient finger pointing out each star. "I wanted to be an astronomer when I was seven. Then a NASA engineer at nine. By eleven, I'd decided on astrophysicist because it sounded the most impressive."

Austin chuckles, the sound muffled by the hood.

"What happened to those dreams?"

"Reality." The word tastes bitter as burnt coffee. "Hard to study the stars when your parents think anything beyond basic education is wasted on an Omega."

The flashlight beam stills, and I know I have his attention now even though he keeps working. The silence stretches, filled only by the tick of cooling metal and the distant cry of some night bird.

"I used to wish they'd take me on night picnics," I continue, surprising myself with the confession. "You know, those romantic ones you see in movies? Blanket under the stars, little battery-powered lanterns, maybe some hot chocolate in a thermos. But they weren't into those kinds of hobbies. Too frivolous. Too...soft."

"Did you ever go with William?" Austin's question is gentle, carefully neutral.

---