Bernadette curled up in front of the fireplace, focusing on the same sentence in her book for what felt like the fiftieth time. She’d vowed to get back to reading for pleasure, especially since she had a pretty significant void in her mind that she was eager to fill with anything that wasn’t Connall.

Leaving him behind had been way harder than she’d expected. Even while counseling herself that he was scum, that he was a liar, that he was a user, that nothing had been real…she didn’t believe a word of it. Not really. Not deep down.

And now here she was. Alone in Montana, again. Rereading the same line of Emma because she’d told herself that Jane Austen would help things. But really, it didn’t help anything, because all she could do was imagine the words being read aloud in Connall’s impossibly perfect accent. The nights were darker now—and colder—than when Connall had been at her side. And goddammit if she didn’t think about him constantly.

She’d ventured into town a handful of times since coming back to Montana, post-Switzerland. And each time she found more emails from Connall. The man just wouldn’t give up. She read every one, of course. They were like the most decadent candy, a type of treat she’d only allow herself under extreme duress.

And Montana felt more like duress than anything else these days.

This is where you want to be. This is what you love.

It was true. She couldn’t imagine living anywhere else or doing anything else. But ever since Connall? He’d ruined her. She only wanted him, now. And he was the one thing she couldn’t have, the only piece that refused to integrate into the overall puzzle of her life.

She groaned, refocusing on the page in front of her. “Come on, Bern. Focus.”

As if commanding herself to forget about Connall would do the trick.

Truthfully, she’d much rather be poring over his emails, but she allowed herself one read through of each email before deleting them. It only seemed right. She couldn’t spend time wallowing over a man she couldn’t have. The bulk of his emails were his side—explaining himself, the will, the circumstances of his brothers’ marriages. It was like a Beaumont history lesson, one she’d never asked for but was desperately glad to receive.

And then other emails were written like dreamy memoirs, recounting specific memories they’d shared. Some made her blush, like the email describing the moment he knew he loved her, which occurred just after his shuddering orgasm with her wrapped around him on the kitchen counter.

The man had a way with words.

So did Jane Austen, but hers weren’t the words she was desperate to read.

She’d vowed to not write back, at least not for a long, long time. But she was so antsy for him, so eager to read more of his heartfelt emails, that she’d talked herself into another trip to the village for the next day.

Rations are getting low. They weren’t—she’d just gone into town a few days prior. And besides, you need to check your voicemail. She wasn’t expecting any calls, and her father wouldn’t hear back about the grant for at least a month. And rice. You forgot rice last time. She never ate rice. For when your colleagues come.

She just wanted Connall.

Bernadette made it through one whole page before calling it a night and slipping into her bed. She stared at the ceiling for a long time, unable to capture sleepiness, refusing to let her hand wander between her legs as it wanted. She’d masturbated four times in three weeks, and each time she’d reached a powerful, breathtaking climax entirely on thoughts of Connall alone.

That wasn’t allowed under her roof. So there was no more masturbating, because obviously she’d think of Connall.

It seemed like some combination of time, avoidance, and punishment would help her forget about Connall and move on. She wasn’t sure of the exact formula yet, but it had to work. Out here, there was no other choice.

Just let go and forget about him.

The next morning Bernadette awoke late, dawn already in full bloom by the time she rolled out of bed. She groaned and sighed as she suited up to check equipment; shivered out on the bridges alone, peering at snowy fields; and stared at the tea kettle for so long while it heated up that she imagined hearing a car outside.

She stiffened, listening more intently. No, that was a car outside. She moved to the far end of the treehouse, face wrought with concern as she peered out the window beside the main entrance. Headlights crested the snow-covered path while the SUV engine revved through the accumulation. She didn’t recognize that vehicle; maybe it was a colleague in a rental. After all, who else knew how to get here?

It’s not Connall, so don’t even get your hopes up.

Still, she watched without breathing as the car parked askew off to the side. The headlights flicked off. All was still for a few moments.

And then the door pushed open. A long leg stepped out. Blond hair. Broad shoulders covered with a trim black winter coat.

She gasped, covering her mouth with both hands. “No you did not!”

She gripped the sides of the window as Connall leaned into the car, reaching for something else.

“It’s flowers,” she said out loud. This was like a live action rom-com…at least, she hoped. Unless he was here to destroy the treehouse and set the sanctuary on fire.

Connall stepped backward, slinging a bag over his body. She deflated. Not flowers. But then he leaned back in, and when he stood up, his coat bulged at the front.

“Hmmm.” She watched him approach, and when he started to climb the stairs to the door, she froze. Oh God. He was actually here. What should she do now?

Part of her wanted to welcome him in with open arms and just say fuck it—they’d move forward and forget everything else and just make it work, somehow. And the other part of her was desperate to rise above being played for the fool, no matter the cost.

Connall banged on the door, and her heart climbed to her throat. She stared at the knob for a full ten seconds before she leapt to open it. The door creaked as it opened, and she looked at Connall as though it was the first time all over again.

He filled her doorway, his strong, boxy frame as sturdy and alluring as ever. His hair was longer, spilling over his forehead now, which framed his sky-blue eyes even more. He wore a hesitant smile, like maybe he wasn’t sure if she’d let him in or not.

“Connall,” was all she could say.

“May I come in?”

The sound of his accent made her knees weak. She tried not to melt. “Yes. Please.” She stepped aside, and he came in, stamping his feet on her welcome mat. She watched intently, still unsure if this was a dream or not.

Connall adjusted his coat, and she realized the time to speak had come and gone.

“This is a surprise.” Her own voice sounded foreign and weak. What on earth was she supposed to do with Connall in her personal space?

“Yes, well, I’d hoped it would be.” He laughed, jerking his head to move some of the hair from his eyes. “I would have been quite upset if you’d somehow found out about my sinister plan to come bring you good news.”

She cracked a grin but squashed it. Oh no. She wasn’t going to fall for those charms. Because if she did, she was doomed. “What good news? The fact that you survived this trip out to the sanctuary without getting lost?”

“Yes, primarily.” He dug in a coat pocket and then produced a folded piece of paper. “But this was the second, less important point of celebration. I wanted you to see for yourself.” He pressed the paper into her hands and their fingertips brushed. Electricity shot through her. Bad sign. Warning. Stay away from this guy.

But as she unfolded the paper and began to absorb what she was looking at, all of her internal guards began to dissolve.

“This is just a copy,” he went on. “I’ve made sure the original is unblemished—it’s in the car.” He laughed nervously. “But, there you are. I figured this might help with your work. If you agree, it’s yours.”

Bernadette blinked, embarrassed to find tears swimming in her eyes. The document was a deed for the two hundred new acres she’d been gunning for with the grant. She was listed as the owner. Signed and dated by the Army Corps of Engineers. There was just one signature missing—her own.

The sanctuary could officially grow.

She dragged her gaze up to Connall. He watched her nervously, as if he wasn’t sure if this was good news or not.

“Why did you do this?”

He pushed some of his hair to the side so that it swept over his forehead. He was so handsome she wanted to crumple into his arms and never move again. “Because I love you and I want you to succeed.”

His words hung in the air for a long time, and she swallowed a thick knot of emotion.

“I’m very grateful,” she said, her voice a controlled whisper so it didn’t betray the emotion sparking inside of her. “But this doesn’t change how I feel about you.”

“Bernadette, I made a mistake.” His clear voice cut through the still air of the treehouse, sending shivers through her. “I want you back.”

“You never loved me,” she said softly. It was a statement, but she meant it more as a question. She looked up at him, searching his face for confirmation. “You were just using me to save the company. I can’t be a pawn in your game.”

“You could never be a pawn, because there is no game.” He sighed, raking a hand through his hair. “The deadline passed earlier this week. I waited for it to expire before I came out here, because I want you to believe, finally, that I’m serious. I’m here because I love you. What I feel for you…it never was and never will be about my business.”

Bernadette turned, carrying the copy of the deed to the kitchen table. His words thrummed through her as she smoothed it out, looking at the blank signature spot.

“So, what? I get this land only if I agree to be with you?” She spun to look at him, but he hadn’t moved from his spot at the door.

“No.” His face had fallen, and she was suddenly angry with herself for being so jaded, for taking this out on him. “It’s yours either way. Completely unconnected to whatever you feel for me.”

Her heart pounded against her ribs as she studied the deed. It’s okay to love him. It’s okay to let him in.

A whimpering broke the silence, and she whipped around, arching a brow. “What’s that?”

Connall unzipped his coat a bit, peering inside. “Nothing. Everything’s fine.”

She stepped closer. “You have something in your coat.”

“I absolutely do not,” he said.

“Connall.” She got so close she caught a whiff of his cologne. As if that wasn’t the nail in the coffin. “Show me what’s in your jacket.”

The grin that crossed his face broke her heart. “Only if you ask nicely, love.”

Her cheeks flushed. Okay, so she’d missed being called love. “Will you please show me what’s in your jacket?”

“Say ‘pretty please,’” he goaded.

“Pretty please.”

“What sort of confections on top?” He narrowed his eyes.

She groaned. “With cherries and sprinkles and whatever sort of crazy other stuff you guys put on ice cream in England.”

“Well done.” He unzipped his coat far enough that a puppy head poked out. Bright blue, nearly white eyes gazed up at her, and she made a small noise of shock, covering her mouth.

“Connall!” Tears clogged her throat. Puppies were the worst. They got to her like nothing else. “Is he yours?”

“Actually, yes. This is Harry, which is short for Harold the Wolf Beaumont.”

She wiped away a tear that had fallen, prompted by the wolf part of his name. “You didn’t tell me about him in your emails.”

“Oh, so you’ve been reading them?” He sounded relieved. “Yes, this was my way of coping with your absence. I bought a wolf look-alike. A wolf-alike, I call him.”

“He is so sweet.” She dragged her finger over the divot on the top of his head. “He’s gonna be a big boy.”

“Like his father,” Connall said.

She glanced up at him, biting back the grin. “You can’t just show up at my distant wilderness hut with a deed and a puppy expect everything to be fine.”

Connall sighed exaggeratedly. “Are you serious? That was my game plan.”

God, it was hard to roll over when she’d been so set on staying strong against him.

“Well, that, and this: I want to be with you Bernadette. But I know this is your home. So I can come to you. If you’ll still have me, that is. I’m prepared to come to where you are. There are so many things about your lifestyle that I wanted to change…but I understand that I can’t change them, or you. But I can change myself, and my choices.”

She blinked up at him, her bottom lip trembling. “Yeah?”

“Yes.” He rubbed the sides of her arms, his warmth seeping into her, sealing all her doubts. Just the touch of him was enough. He was enough. Connall was right for her, despite it all.

“I want to come live here with you and Harry,” he said softly, dragging a thumb over her cheek. “I can make my own treehouse; I’ll bring a satellite so I can keep in touch with work. And I’d like for you to introduce me to the pack. I won’t come running after you while you’re working. I just want you to do what you love, and I want to be near you while you do it.”

Tears sprang to her eyes and she buried her face in Harry’s head as Connall’s strong arms enveloped her.

“Those are the most romantic words I’ve ever heard,” she mumbled through sobs. Because they were. With Connall here, he filled the void that nobody and nothing else could.

Her home was complete.