18

“ARE YOU SURE you want to do this?” Shae stood next to Ian at the table in Dex’s family’s kitchen.

The sunlight from the arched windows of the Crawford estate gleamed across the wooden floors, and the scent of last night’s chili was still embedded in the adobe walls. Noelly had come down for the weekend and now sat reading her tablet on one of the leather chairs. Later today, Ian planned a ride out to Crawford Creek, just to show Shae around.

One last time before she left for Minneapolis.

“Montana’s not my home anymore,” she said. “So don’t hold back on my account. It’s just . . . you need to be sure this is what you want. It’s a big deal to sell your ranch. You built it for a family . . .”

Ian picked up his pen, her words finding the tender places. That family might never happen.

Might.

But he had a plan. A sort of plan. A loose idea—because he was leaving the big stuff to God.

Like his heart. His future.

“Ben King needs a home for his family, and the ranch is the perfect solution. He’s right next to the PEAK ranch, to his father, and . . . well, his big music industry guests will get a taste of Montana ranching. Most importantly, I can use the money to help the people of Dawson start over.”

“What are you going to do with the insurance money from the yacht?”

Ian heard a thumping and glanced over to where Dex crutched his way into the room. In the past two weeks since returning to the Crawford ranch from Miami, Dex had put on weight and confidence and in another couple weeks would be fitted for a prosthesis.

Until then, he’d made the local news, and business at the Hondo had exploded. The chef had added a survival, deep-sea surf and turf menu option that played up Dex’s firsthand account of surviving in the sea. Dex had even been contacted by a few publishers interested in his story.

Ian had turned down the same offers. “I’m going to buy the PEAK team a new chopper. And put enough in reserve to keep them going for a very long time.”

Dex worked his way over to the leather sofa and held up his hand to stop Noelly when she got up to help him.

Noelly sat back down. “I still think you should move to Texas, Ian.”

Ian bent over the contract, scrawling his name. “Nope.”

He put the pen down. Looked over at Noelly, who gazed at him, her pretty face holding a thread of sadness.

But she nodded. “I get it. You belong in Montana.”

No. He belonged with Sierra.

But he didn’t correct her. Instead, he took Shae’s hand. “Don’t worry. He won’t find you in Minneapolis.”

He.

Shae drew in a breath.

And yes, probably she was remembering their long conversation, the unraveling of her story as he paced Dex’s hospital room, listening. He tried not to flinch when she got to the part, early on, where she’d decided to run away with Dante.

Run away from him.

But she’d come back, and yeah, he wouldn’t freak out, try to control her life.

Because God had changed him. Ever since he crumpled to his knees, fell to his face in the small hospital chapel. He felt it welling up through him, infusing his cells, his bones, his breath.

He’d call it peace.

Ty had been right about Jesus being the one who calmed the seas. For the first time in years, over the past two weeks, Ian didn’t waken to the sense of drowning. Of life spiraling out of control.

He wasn’t in charge.

And yes, he was hoping God could do the impossible . . . get his girl back.

Which meant he was going back to Mercy Falls. Only this time, not as Ian Shaw, billionaire. But maybe just a man.

Ian got up, put his hands on Shae’s shoulders. “When I get back, the first thing I’m going to do is talk to Ella Blair. She’s a lawyer, has no connections to Blackburn, and she’ll help us figure this out. We’re going to bring him to justice, I promise. You go back to Minneapolis, and don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”

Really, he would.

Probably.

Starting, hopefully, with winning back the heart of the woman he loved.

Please, God. Help me do this right.

“Now, let’s go suit up. Have you ever ridden a dirt bike?”

“A new chopper? Brand new?” Sierra stood out on the tarmac, outside the PEAK barn, watching as Kacey piloted their brand-new yellow and white Bell 412ep, fourteen-passenger, workhorse helicopter in for a landing. The cool November air whisked up around them, and she stepped back as the rotors scattered dust and pine needles. Dusk settled upon the mountains, the evening sun spilling rose-gold into the valley.

“How did this happen?”

“Anonymous donor,” Chet said, winking. “He also set up a fund we can draw on for future repairs and equipment.”

“He?”

Chet put his finger to his mouth. “But I think maybe your little excursion had something to do with our turn of fortune.”

Little excursion? Chet made it sound like a Gilligan’s Island three-hour tour. Except, given how it turned out, maybe it was.

“Was it Dex? Hayes?”

Ian?

Except how could it be Ian, because he had neatly written all of them out of his life? The sting of his absence these past six weeks had become a deep, searing ache.

He’d really meant it when he told Shae that he didn’t want to see her. And that truth slammed home when Ben King told her he’d purchased the Shaw ranch.

Kacey and Ben were planning a Christmas wedding in the great room.

Her dreams of marrying Ian in that very room had faded long ago. Still, the news raked it all up.

The chopper landed on the pad and shut down, and Kacey climbed out of the cockpit. She pulled off her helmet. “She’s so beautiful I want to weep,” Kacey said.

Ty came around from the copilot side, wearing his jumpsuit. He tucked his helmet under his arm. “Yeah, we’re going to save lives in this thing.”

Strangely, not long after he’d returned from Florida, Ty had started refresher courses at the airport in the simulator.

She wished Jess was here to see it, but she’d flown to North Carolina last weekend.

Whatever had passed between her and Pete, Jess wasn’t saying. And Pete had jumped in his truck, hightailed it out of town, and went back to his training somewhere in the Midwest so fast, he left a little windburn in his wake.

Sierra walked over to the chopper, looked inside.

The manufacturer had configured it for three injured passengers, with a double bunk litter on one side, a regular litter on the other, and it still had room for supplies and techs. “Wow. No more leaving people behind on the mountain.”

Gage had come up, was checking out the airframe. “I did some reading up on this beauty. She can act as a fire tanker as well. That will help with some of those flare-ups in the park.”

Whoever had purchased this for them clearly knew their needs.

It made her think again of Ian, but . . .

No, she knew in her heart that he wasn’t coming back.

An SUV pulled into the yard. Sam Brooks stepped out of the vehicle and walked over to the group.

“Check out our new ride,” Gage said.

“Nice,” Sam said. He ducked his head inside the interior, gave it a once-over. “Talk about an upgrade.” He leaned out. “Sierra, I need to talk to you. It’s about your house.”

“My house? But . . . it’s gone.”

“You don’t own it anymore?”

“The bank owns it, technically, but it’s still in my name . . .”

“Yeah, well, there’s a fire burning there.”

“A fire?”

He lifted a shoulder. Glanced at Chet.

“Call the fire department,” she said.

“I think you need to go check it out.”

She couldn’t read his odd expression. “Fine. A bunch of kids causing trouble, probably. Shoot. Okay.” She turned to Ty. “There are cookies on the counter, ready to be baked. I leave you in charge.”

Ty’s eyes widened. “I can’t—”

“Oh, please. Anyone can bake cookies.”

“Not like you do. What if I burn them?”

“Then you’ll have crispy cookies.”

He frowned.

“Listen,” she said as she headed to her car. “Put them in the oven for ten minutes. Don’t screw it up. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

The sooner she sold that property, put that part of her life behind her, the better. No more memories of baking cookies with Willow or sitting on the front porch with Ian. No reason to drive by it every day, longing filling her throat.

The last thread between her and Ian, finally broken.

She turned off the highway onto Main Street, then down to 5th Avenue.

Strange, she didn’t see any smoke in the air. Perhaps the deepening shadows obscured it.

She turned onto her street, spotted the empty lot halfway down. From her vantage point, it looked barren, no fire . . .

She tapped her brakes, slowing at the flicker of light on the front lawn. The sun had fallen enough for darkness to shadow her yard, and as she drove up, her breath caught.

Hundreds of tiny candles lined up, end to end, along the remains of her front walk. Or rather, where she’d planned her front walk to be. She’d never quite gotten around to digging it out or laying down the cobblestone. In her dreams, it led up to wide front stairs, a wraparound porch, a double door.

A cozy home perfect for a . . . well, her, and yes, stupidly, Ian. Because he would never have lived here, in her tiny old home, with her.

More candles outlined her imaginary porch. And on that front porch . . .

She pulled to a stop in front of the house.

No.

What?

She got out and shut the door.

Just stared at the man standing on the rubble of her home holding roses.

“What are you doing here?”

Ian said nothing, just stood there.

“Ian?”

He wore a flannel shirt, a pair of clean jeans, and cowboy boots. He’d shaved and gotten a haircut. The cuts on his face had healed, the sunburn faded. The waning sunlight picked up the copper highlights of his hair, the glisten in his eyes.

He swallowed, cleared his throat. “Hi.”

She glanced down at the candles flickering in glass containers. “Did you set this up?”

“I said I’d build you a palace, and yeah, my first one got taken out, but I have this idea of a house . . . for us. One that we build together. Something cute, like a bungalow, with a wide porch and a backyard where . . . where our kids could play.”

Our . . . kids? She couldn’t move. “What is going on?”

He walked forward, his eyes catching her, holding on. “Sierra, I should have chased you down at the hospital. I know that—and actually, after I came to my senses, I did, but you’d left—”

“You’ve been gone for over a month, Ian! Not a word, and you sold the ranch. I thought . . .” She pressed a hand to her chest, leaned over to grab her knees. “I can’t breathe.”

He dropped the flowers, closed the distance between them, caught her arms. “Are you okay?”

She shook away from him. “No, I’m not okay! What—do you think you can just show up here and—”

“Apologize and beg you to forgive me? Uh, yeah. I’m hoping exactly that.”

She again pressed her hand to her chest.

“You’re scaring me.”

“You’re scaring me!” She stared at him. “I’m so confused. I thought . . . Ian, you didn’t want to see me.”

The memory shone in his eyes, on the wretched expression on his face, and her heart gave, just a little.

Especially when he whispered, “I was wrong.”

“I lied to you, again.” And there it was, out in the open.

She expected him to walk away. Despite the flowers and the candles and—

“I forgive you, Sierra. Again. And again and again—because I love you.”

She just blinked at him.

And then, she stared at him nonplussed when he lowered himself to one knee. “And I’m hoping you’ll forgive me too. Again and again and again, because I think that’s what love is. Forgiveness. And choosing . . . right? Choosing faith. Choosing love.” He took her hand. “Choosing each other?”

She stared down at him. “Ian, are you crying?”

His jaw tightened, but he nodded. “It’s a little terrifying begging the woman you love to marry you.”

Oh. “Marry?”

“Oh, please, Sierra. Yes. I’m so . . . so crazy about you. Marry me, so we can start living our lives. Really living, the way we were supposed to.”

And now she might cry too.

He lowered his voice. “I love you, so much, it feels a little like jumping out of a plane, or over Crawford Creek, or overboard into a sea I can’t quite swim in. But I’m willing to do that because . . . I trust you. And I’m trying to trust God, no matter what troubled waters we hit. Can you do that with me?”

Trust God?

She swallowed, glanced at the outline of her house, her future, flickering in the flames of the candles. “I burned this place to the ground.”

“We’ll rebuild. From the ground up, just us.” He got up then, touched his forehead to hers. “Until the government releases my assets, I’m a little broke, so I have nothing to offer but my own two hands.”

His own two hands. She caught them, turned them over. Ran her thumb along the healing scars on his palms. Such capable, strong, amazing hands.

She looked up at him. He was a beautiful man, and not just on the outside, but in all the places it mattered—his crazy determination, his desire to protect the people he loved. His desperation to hold on to his promises.

“That’s enough for me, Crusoe. I’ll marry you.”

Then, as the firelight flickered around them, she curled her hand around his neck and kissed him. And when he kissed her back, she tasted everything she knew about Ian—wild, determined, safe, loyal, and most of all . . .

Hers.