Charming as Puck(92)

Her face—so pale. She was like a ghost.

Almost as pale as Nick was when he crashed through the clinic, actually. The major difference being that he looked like he was going to tear somebody apart.

And as soon as I realized that person wasn’t me for missing a hockey game, every last doubt and worry I’ve had the last few weeks evaporated into thin air.

He didn’t even stop to think I’d just flaked on the game. He came charging in ready to save me from whatever had kept me away, without regard to danger.

Because that’s how Nick operates for people he loves.

Head first. Without thinking of the consequences. Without assuming the worst. Even when he has to deal with the fallout.

I squeeze his hand as we lapse into an easy silence.

He squeezes mine back and I rest my head on his shoulder, suddenly acutely aware of how tired I am—emergency surgery tends to do that—until he turns us into a long driveway in the Heartwood Valley district.

“Nick?”

“I moved Sugarbear to her new home,” he tells me.

We follow a bend in the drive, and the headlights illuminate a three-story Victorian mansion with powder blue clapboard siding and the ornate white trim. My heart gives a pull of longing at the sight of the turret, and then happiness for the cow settles into my bones.

Anyone who owns a house this adorably charming will be good for her.

“I always wanted one of those,” I say wistfully, pointing up. “I could read in there curled up with my dogs for hours.”

“Yeah?”

I link my fingers with his and scoot closer to him. He smells like an overcooked sauna, but he’s so solid and warm and here and he loves me, and he could smell like fermented moldy bratwurst and I wouldn’t care.

Probably.

“Hours,” I repeat. “Right in the window, with big fluffy cushions and hot chocolate…”

“Good. Because you’re welcome anytime.”

My mouth opens, but my tongue won’t form words. Did he just— “It’s on ten acres,” he says, his voice going husky, like he’s not entirely certain of himself. “The neighbors down that way have chickens. Neighbors down the other way have two horses. There’s plenty of room for Sugarbear and a companion cow-dog. It’s thirty minutes from the arena and twenty to your clinic. Even during rush hour. And there’s at least an acre fenced in for your dogs to run around in.”

I still can’t find words, but tears are stinging my eyes. “You—you—”

“You can’t be mad. I did it for our cow-dog.”

“You own this house?”

“Signed the paperwork yesterday.”

I goggle at him. “You bought a house.”

“People do it all the time,” he assures me.

I’m reminded why people like to slug him sometimes.

But more, I’m reminded why I like to kiss him.

“C’mon,” he says, tugging my hand and sliding out of the Cherokee before I can get a good angle on attacking him for another full-body kiss in his front seat. “I’ve been waiting to show you this for two weeks, but I wasn’t sure it was going to go through until I got it all finalized yesterday.”

I let him pull me over the console, and he lifts me out of the car. His entire mood seems to lift as he walks faster and faster the closer we get to the wood-paneled front door lined with stained glass on either side under the wraparound porch. The house isn’t new, but the lock is, and his key easily slides in.

“There’s a three-car garage around back,” he tells me. “So I can get a tractor for mowing the grass and you can’t say anything about it cluttering up the yard.”

“It’s your house,” I remind him.

“Only until you take over the closet,” he counters. “So, only until tomorrow.”

He flips the lights, and a modest chandelier sparkles in the wide foyer. Interior stained-glass windows featuring birds catch the light on both side walls, and while the house smells like fresh paint and the walls all gleam a soft ivory in contrast to the dark wood trim, the oak floor squeaks.

“Want the tour?” he asks.

“No.”

Worry lines crease his forehead. “You—”

“Tomorrow,” I add quickly, turning to wrap my arms around him. “Right now, all I want to see is the bedroom.”

I go up on my tiptoes to kiss him, but instead of meeting me halfway, he pulls back. His arms tighten around me though.

“Marry me,” he says.

I suck in a breath. “Nick, you don’t have to—”

“I want to. I want you. Fuck, Kami, I don’t deserve you, but I want you. Every minute of every hour of every day. I’m done waiting for the right moment to tell you. I love you. I fucking adore you. I want to spend my life with you. I want to—Christ, Kami. I wanted you to be pregnant. I want to have babies with you. And dogs and cats and chickens and cows and goats with you. And—”

This time, he’s not getting away, because I leap into his arms and silence him with a kiss. My eyes are leaking. My nose is burning. I’m cry-kissing him, and he’s cradling me so gently, like I’m a fragile china doll.

“I love you,” he says between kisses.

I don’t realize he’s moving until he turns onto the landing on the second floor.