Page 49 of Make Me Yours
Sawyer carried me down the hall, his shoulder warm against my cheek, the steady rise and fall of his breathing grounding me in a way nothing else could. He set me gently on the mattress, brushing a strand of hair from my face. “You okay?” he asked quietly.
I nodded, though my voice caught when I tried to answer. “I’m fine. Better than fine.”
His fingers traced the side of my neck, his touch light, searching. The look in his eyes was different now—still the same quiet intensity, but layered with something unspoken. Reverence. Maybe even fear.
When he kissed me, it wasn’t hurried. It was slow, deliberate, like he was memorizing each breath. Every time he shifted, he paused to ask softly, “You okay?”
Every time, I whispered yes.
Sawyer moved like a man who’d been too long without gentleness, like he was afraid of breaking something fragile—maybe me, maybe himself. His thumb brushed my cheek, and I realized he was trembling just a little. It hit me then how much trust it took for him to let me see him this way, stripped of everything I never asked him about because we were both too eager to quench our desire.
The world outside faded, leaving only the warmth of his skin, the sound of our breathing, the quiet creak of the bed as we found our rhythm—not of urgency, but of belonging. Every movement, every whispered reassurance, melted another layer of distance between us.
At some point, I heard myself murmur it—the truth that had been in my heart for days. “I love you.” It slipped out so softly I wasn’t sure he’d even heard.
But then he stilled, resting his forehead against mine, breathing me in. “I know,” he whispered back. “I’ve fallen in love with you, too.”
We stayed that way for a while—no words, just the sound of our slow, contented breaths. When he finally pulled the blanket over us, he wrapped his arm around me and held me close, his chin resting on the top of my head.
For the first time since those pink lines changed everything, I didn’t feel scared; I just felt seen.
And as the firelight from the other room dimmed to a soft glow on the walls, I thought:
Maybe love wasn’t a sudden thing at all. Maybe it was this—the calm that came when you finally let go and let life in.
Chapter Twenty
A Good Kind of Change
Sawyer
If someone had told me a few months ago I’d be spending my Saturday morning unloading white folding chairs from the back of a flower shop van, I’d have laughed them straight off Lucky Ranch.
But there I was, boots in the damp grass, sleeves rolled, sweat creeping down my neck while the shiny newBloom & Vinevan sat in the drive, the logo gleaming in the sunlight. Lilly’s logo. Her dream, her work, her whole heart wrapped in vines and wildflowers.
Sometimes I’d catch her talking to the flowers while she worked—soft little murmurs that made me wonder if she thought they could hear her. Maybe they could. Every petal seemed to lean her way, like even the wild things wanted to please her.
And damned if I didn’t feel proud every time I saw it.
She’d spent the last few weeks practically blooming herself—pardon the pun. With the new van, extra help from thegirls she’d hired part-time, and the freedom to order what she wanted, the shop had turned into something out of one of those glossy small-town magazines. Lilly had even added a corner with handmade toys carved from local pine, jars of honey from a nearby apiary, and her wild arrangements—twigs, feathers, driftwood, even bits of antler sometimes.
Every one of them looked like Montana itself had leaned over and whispered a secret in her ear.
I’d been doing my part—fixing shelves, hauling in supplies, helping her design a proper display table. The work felt good. Different. Like all the restless energy I’d used to burn off on missions or long rides now had a place to go.
Across the yard, Lilly was pinning boutonnieres on the groomsmen. She wore a loose western dress, soft cream with little turquoise accents that caught the light when she moved. Her hair was half-up, half-down, and the wind kept trying to steal a few pieces.
She looked beautiful. Hell, she always did.
The dress hid the small curve that had started to show these past couple of weeks, but I knew it was there. Whenever she leaned close or laughed, my chest went tight, knowing that part of me was growing inside her. The thought still scared me half to death some days, but it also grounded me in a way I’d never known.
Jaqie’s wedding had the whole town buzzing. Millie was running the show—of course—and from the looks of it, she’d recruited half of Lovelace to help. The Thompsons’ yard had been turned into something out of a postcard: rows of chairs lined up beneath cottonwoods, strings of white lights waiting for dusk, and a soft archway dripping with lilies, sagebrush, and mountain laurel.
I’d just set the last chair when I heard a familiar voice behind me.
“Well, I’ll be damned.”
I turned to see Rhett Callahan, one of my millionaire buddies, leaning against the fence, a grin plastered on his face. He was dressed better than usual, which wasn’t saying much. “Never thought I’d see the day Sawyer traded his rifle for a folding chair.”
