Page 42 of Special Delivery Cowboy
I hung up and looked at Tinsley. "It's official. Twinkle's ours."
She smiled, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. "One thing settled, at least."
We finished breakfast in near silence. When the dishes were done—washed and dried and put away together one last time—there was nothing left to delay the inevitable.
"I should pack," Tinsley said quietly.
"Yeah. Me too."
We went upstairs together. She folded clothes carefully, placing them in her suitcase. I gathered Twinkle's supplies—formula, blankets, toys. The puppy seemed to sense something was happening, sticking close to both of us, whining softly.
"She knows," Tinsley said, scratching behind Twinkle's ears. "Smart girl."
I loaded everything into my truck while Tinsley did a final check of the cabin. Made sure we hadn't left anything behind, that the place looked the way we'd found it. When she came outside, bundled in her coat, eyes red-rimmed, something in my chest cracked clean through.
"Come here." I pulled her into my arms, holding her as tight as I dared. "I promise, this doesn't end today."
"I know." Her voice was muffled against my jacket. "But it still hurts."
"I know."
I just held her for a long moment. Memorized the feel of her in my arms, the smell of her hair, the way she fit against me like she was made for this.
Finally, she pulled back. "You should go. Your parents have been worried."
"Yeah." But I didn't move.
She reached up, cupped my face in both hands. "Call me tonight?"
"The second I'm done checking on everything. Promise."
"And this weekend—"
"I'll be in Bozeman Saturday morning. We can get breakfast, spend the day together. Whatever you want."
"I want you." She smiled through tears. "But I'll settle for breakfast."
I kissed her—long and deep and full of everything I couldn't figure out how to say. When I finally pulled away, we were both shaking.
"That's not changing just because there's distance between us," I said.
"Good." She stepped back, wrapping her arms around herself. "Now go before I lose it completely."
I opened the truck door. Twinkle hopped into her carrier on the passenger seat, settling in with a huff. I climbed behind the wheel, started the engine.
Looked at Tinsley standing in the snow—hair loose around her shoulders, the edge of her red sweater peeking out from under her coat, beautiful and heartbroken and mine.
"See you Saturday," I said.
"You better." She managed a real smile.
I put the truck in gear, forced myself to drive away slow. Watched her in the rearview mirror until the cabin disappeared around a bend in the road. My knuckles ached from gripping the wheel.
Twinkle whimpered from her carrier.
"I know, girl," I said, voice rough. "I miss her too."
But this wasn't goodbye. This was just the beginning.
