Page 204

Cal tried to keep a straight face. “Well, I⁠—”

“Stay out of my shower for the next…” She tapped a finger to her cheek, pretending to think. “Oh… maybe twenty minutes.”

Cal laughed again as he followed her out, the cold night air raising goosebumps across his steaming skin. He couldn’t stop appreciating every sway and jiggle of her beautiful curves.

“Just twenty minutes?” he teased.

Sage stopped, expression thoughtful for a beat, then ran her hands slowly over her breasts and hips with a theatrical moan. “Oh, Daddy…” she whispered breathlessly, “you’re right. Better make it forty.”

The little minx winked at him and laughed, swaying her hips way more than necessary as she headed toward the barn.

Son of a…

“Well… Daddy zero, Sage three,” he sighed dramatically, a huge, content smile spreading across his face as he followed.

“You got that right, Daddy,” she called back, slipping into the barn ahead of him.

Cal just grinned, heart full and lighter than it had been in decades.

The cabin slept.

In the great room, the fire had settled into a low, pulsing heart of orange embers behind the blackened screen. The last log gave a soft, contented collapse, sending a whisper of sparks dancing upward before they vanished. Brutus lay sprawled across the rug like a vast, living continent of fur, his massive chest rising and falling in slow, rumbling breaths. One ear flicked once at some distant sound only he could hear, then settled again with a heavy sigh.

Outside the tall windows, snow had begun to fall once more — slow, thick, and patient. Fat flakes drifted down in lazy spirals, catching the moonlight like scattered stars before they blanketed the world in hushed silver. The wind had gone quiet, leaving only the soft, constant sigh of snow meeting snow.

Down the long hallway on the second floor, the master bedroom glowed with gentle life. The wall of glass facing the mountains framed a midnight kingdom of white peaks and endless sky. Inside, the fireplace cast a warm, flickering amber across the impossibly large bed — built for a man who had once believed he would always sleep alone.

Soft firelight spilled over two figures tangled in white sheets.

Cal lay on his back, broad chest rising and falling in deep, peaceful rhythm. Sage was curled against him like she belonged there, one thick thigh thrown possessively over his, her small hand splayed flat over his heart as if anchoring it safely in place. Her dark hair, still damp at the ends, fanned across his shoulder in a soft tangle of purple-streaked silk. His enormous arm wrapped around her, palm cupping the generous curve of her hip with quiet reverence. The delicate rose-stem ring on her finger caught stray threads of fireglow, glinting softly with every slow breath she took.

Two souls. So similar in their scars. So beautifully different in the light they brought each other.

Outside, the snow kept falling — silent, steady, protective — tucking the cabin and everyone inside it beneath a fresh, untouched blanket of white. Inside, the fire murmured, Brutus dreamed, and Cal and Sage breathed together in perfect, quiet harmony.

For tonight, at least, the world was exactly as it should be. Outside, the wolves sang once, far off in the valley. Then nothing — just snow, and breath, and the steady beat of a heart that finally had a place to rest.

32

SAGE

The bar was loud and alive, a warm, rowdy pulse of laughter, clinking glasses, and the low strum of a jukebox someone had fed quarters into hours ago.

Sage stood in the dim alcove beside the small stage, guitar strap heavy across her shoulder, left hand curled white-knuckled around the neck of her emerald-and-black beauty. The stage lights spilled warm gold across the worn wooden floorboards in front of her boots, catching on the polished chrome hardware. Her fingers moved unconsciously over the smooth curves of the instrument like they were trying to soothe her nerves.

Am I really going to do this?

The smells hit her in waves: old whiskey and fryer grease, the sharp green bite of pine sap from the crooked wreath nailed above the bar, and the clean metallic sting of snow tracked in every time the door swung open. Cold air kept slipping through, kissing the back of her neck and raising goosebumps under her shirt.

Her heart was doing cartwheels behind her ribs — not quite panic, but definitely close.

Breathe, Sage. You’ve done shows before.

Yeah.

Empty Phoenix dive bars on random Tuesdays with ten people in the audience — three of them the bartender’s family, one unconscious in the corner. Not this. Not a packed bar in Bear’s hometown, half-full of people who’d known him since he was a kid, with her family — God, that word still felt brand-new and fragile in her mouth — clustered at a long table forty feet away.

Her eyes found them. Mary Sue sat ramrod straight in her favorite red sweater, both hands wrapped around a glass of wine she hadn’t touched in twenty minutes. Annie leaned in close, saying something that made Mary Sue’s mouth twitch into a rare smile. Isabelle was curled in her chair like a glittery cat, legs tucked under her, clearly determined to enjoy the night on principle. Michael leaned in next to Isabel almost as if she was protecting him from the loud boisterous atmosphere.