Page 17 of Oops I Fell For The Rancher Next Door

"I'm in love with you, Shelby. Not because you need help. Because you brought me a turkey sandwich in the middle of a field and told me not to make it weird. Because you installed that porch board yourself with crooked nails and it holds better than anything I could've done. Because you laugh and it's the first sound on this mountain that ever made me want to stay inside and listen instead of heading out to find something to repair."

Tears roll down her face. She doesn't wipe them.

"I know your ex found your property. I know you're scared. And I know yesterday I should've stayed instead of walking out. But you told me to go, and I'm a man who listens when a woman says she needs space. Even when leaving is the last thing I want."

"Cade."

"I'm not done." My voice cracks on the word and I let it. "I don't need you to need me. I need you to want me. And I'd rather have that than fix another thing on this property as long as I live."

She comes through the door. Her hands find my chest, then slide up to my jaw. Palms on both sides of my face, pulling me down. Forehead against mine.

"I'm sorry." Her voice breaks. "I'm so sorry. I did the thing he used to do. Took the best part of you and turned it into a weapon. That's not who I want to be."

"You're not him."

"I was yesterday."

"Yesterday was fear. Today is this." My hands settle on her waist. Steady. Holding, not pulling. "We're not the worst thing we said on our worst day."

She exhales against my mouth. A sound that's half sob, half laugh, entirely Shelby.

"I love you." The words come out raw. Unpolished. "I love you and I should've said it weeks ago instead of letting you guess from turkey sandwiches and crooked nails. I love you, Cade Holloway, because you never once tried to be louder than my own voice. You just stood there being quiet until I could hear myself again."

I kiss her. Slow, deep, thorough. My hands on her face, thumbs wiping tears. Her fingers twisted in my flannel collar. The October wind cold against our skin and neither of us caring.

When we pull apart, her eyes are clear. Red, swollen, tear-streaked. But clear.

"Kevin can't take the cabin," she says. "My lawyer confirmed it. The money was mine."

"Good."

"If he could, I'd still stay. Because the cabin isn't why I'm here anymore."

My chest expands. Five years of holding my breath and this woman just cracked it loose with eleven words.

"You're staying."

"I'm staying." She grips my flannel tighter. "But I need you to understand something. I'm going to mess up again. I'm going to get scared and say things I don't mean. I'm going to push you away because that's what I learned to do when someone gets close."

"I know."

"And you'll come back?"

"Shelby." My thumb traces her jaw. "I came back today without tools. That's the most vulnerable I've been in my entire life."

She laughs. Watery, full, real. The sound rolls through my chest.

"Stay for dinner," she says.

"Stay for longer than that."

Her eyes hold mine. "Yeah. That too."

Inside, the cabin is warm. The fire is banked. Two plates on the counter. She cooked, even through the red eyes and the bad night. Because that's who she is. A woman who handles things, who makes dinner even when the world is falling apart, who fights her way through with crooked nails and yellow mustard and a stubborn refusal to quit.

She's not a fence. She's not a project.

She's home.