Page 25 of Frosty in Flannel
“About?”
“About forever.”
My pulse kicked up. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” His expression was serious. Vulnerable. “I know we haven’t been together long. But I also know I don’t want to spend another day without you.”
He reached over to the nightstand and pulled out a small box.
My breath caught. “Beckett…”
“I’m not good with words,” he continued, opening the box to reveal a simple silver band with a small diamond. His hands shook slightly. “But I want you to know—you changed my life, Libby. You made me believe I could be something other than broken. And I want to spend the rest of my life showing you what that means to me.”
For once his face was an open book, his eyes saying everything there was to say. Tears spilled down my cheeks.
“Will you marry me?” he asked.
“Yes.” The word came out choked. “Yes, of course yes.”
He slid the ring onto my finger, then kissed me like his life depended on it.
“I love you,” he said, voice rough. “So damn much.”
“I love you too.”
I smiled up at him, feeling the weight of the ring on my finger, the warmth of his body over mine.
I’d come here to heal a horse.
But I’d found so much more.
I’d found home.
EPILOGUE
Beckett
She was going to kill me.
Not literally, but the look Libby shot me when I asked for the third time if she needed anything was bordering on homicidal.
“Beckett,” she said with exaggerated patience, one hand resting on her very swollen belly. “I’m pregnant, not dying. I can get my own water.”
“I know, but—”
“But nothing.” She heaved herself up from the couch with a grunt that made my hands twitch to help her. “I’ve been sitting too long. I need to move around. My back is already killing me.”
I watched her waddle—and it was definitely a waddle now, eight and a half months pregnant—into the kitchen, every protective instinct I had screaming at me to follow her. Make sure she didn’t slip. Make sure she didn’t lift anything heavy. Make sure she didn’t—
“I can feel you hovering from here,” she called.
Shit.
“I’m not hovering.”
“You’re absolutely hovering.” She reappeared in the doorway, glass of water in hand, eyebrow raised. “You’ve been hovering for three weeks. Ever since the doctor said the baby could come any time now.”
“That’s not hovering. That’s being prepared.”
