Linebacker’s Second Chance(99)

There’s a shadow that crosses in front of the stables—a dog-shaped shadow... followed by a vehicle shaped shadow. And the vehicle—a tractor?—is driven by a man with a titled cowboy hat and carries something firm, large, and heavy in its truck bed.





“Not a tractor. What in the hell are those things called? It looks more like a tank.” A Geyser? No. A Gander? No, Cadence, you’re an idiot. What the hell? “That’s a Gator! And what in the ever-loving hell does he have in the back part of that thing? It’s a... fuck, it’s big. Christ on a bike. What on earth...”





Rowan must see my silhouette at the window because he starts waving one arm wild and high, and even from this distance, I can hear the rumble of the Gator and Eliza’s barking mixing into a wild, joyous cacophony. As he rounds the corner near the patio, my eyes go wide and my pulse starts to race. I can feel the same grin on Rowan’s face, even though I can’t quite see his features from here.





“Well, I’ll be damned. I thought I wasn’t getting a Christmas tree this year. That crazy bastard went and cut one down.”





For me. For us. For this last little bit of time together. I try to shake the emotion rising inside of me, the hope that’s always gotten me into such sad, awful shit. But I don’t--right now, on this Christmas Eve, my hope and joy are unshakable. This man knew I was planning on waking up sad planning on making my final escape in just a few days time, but still, he brought me this. Just like we were together for years, like he knew just what to do to make me smile.





And on Christmas Eve. Hot damn.





Rowan comes wheeling around the corner, mud and snow splattering from the wheels, Eliza nipping at the snow and shaking herself wildly as she gallops toward the house with an inexpressible glee that somehow mirrors my own. Unable to stay still any longer, I throw on my jeans and boots under my nightshirt and run down the stairs as fast as I can, grabbing the jacket that Rowan gave me for riding. It’s one of his old ones, and the fabric smells like him. When I burst outside onto the patio, the cold air hits my face, and I can even smell the Christmas tree, mixed with the piney, earthy, uniquely Rowan scent of the coat I’ve wrapped around me.





“I got you a tree, city princess!” His Texas accent is working overtime, and he hops down off the truck, nimble as a schoolboy. “Bet you never had to check a tree for critters, young lady, but we gotta get this one cleaned off unless we want some eggs hatching or squirrels building nests in our rafters.”





“Oh my God,” I moan as I traipse toward him, nearly getting stuck down in the snow with each step. “I don’t want to check a tree for any kind of critters. That is definitely not my style.”





“Well the road into town is still good and blocked. We’ll have to make do with a critter-heavy tree, and whatever I can find around the house to cook.” He grins at me and runs over, catching me in his arms and twirling me around. When he sets me down, he kisses me hard, his tongue running over my bottom lip and sending shivers through my body that have nothing to do with the cold.





“Thank you,” I breathe when he pulls away. “Thank you for the tree. This is the first time I haven’t been with my family on Christmas. I told my mom and dad I needed to get away, and I didn’t realize how much it would mean to have something like this... something like home.” My voice cracks on the last word, and hot tears prick at my eyes, turning cold as they meet the early morning air. Rowan kisses me again and, not for the first time, he silences my sadness with his kiss.





In that kiss, I feel his answer for me, his wish for me—that he’s my family right here and now, even if I leave tomorrow or the next day or the day after that. And that even though my sadness is silenced and forgotten in this moment, he holds it in his heart and understands it in the deepest way. He accepts that part of me, and he carries it with him. And it doesn’t matter if it’s too intense, or if it’s too soon. Our love may be fleeting—it has to be—but this day is expansive, holding the whole of our relationship in its grasp, and honoring it even if its life must wane as the new year approaches. Tears stream down my cheeks unhindered as the thoughts flow through my mind, one after the other, my understanding of Rowan reaching its peak.





He was ready to fall in love, absolutely and completely. In his mind, I was the woman he was waiting for, the woman who would heal what Joanna left behind.





I touch the stubble on his face like I have a hundred times since I came here. Even though he shaves every evening before bed, there’s stubble that forms each morning, giving him a gritty look that no other billionaire I know of has. The stubble pricks against my fingers, reminiscent of his unbridled masculinity and the force with which he lives his life.