Mistletoe Cowboy Bonus Scene
SILAS
ONE DAY LATER
The storm’s finally spent.
Outside, the mountains lie blanketed in white, the pines bowed beneath their new coats. Smoke curls from the cabin’s chimney in lazy spirals, and the world feels soft again—like even the wind’s decided to rest.
Inside, I’m warm for the first time in years.
Sage stirs beside me, the early light painting gold in her hair. The soft hum she makes when she stretches nearly undoes me. I never thought I’d live to see her like this—peaceful, smiling, mine.
“Morning, Cowboy,” she murmurs, voice still raspy from sleep.
“Morning, Sassy,” I whisper back, brushing a kiss across her temple. “Merry Christmas.”
She smiles, eyes still closed. “Didn’t think I’d wake up to you under my tree.”
“Wasn’t under it,” I tease, “but I can be.”
That earns me a sleepy laugh, the kind I’ve chased for half my life. She sits up, wrapping herself in the quilt, cheeks rosy from the chill and from me. “What are you up to?”
“Had a little work to do while you were dreaming about sugarplums,” I say, slipping from bed and reaching for my flannel.
She eyes me suspiciously. “You? Up before coffee?”
“Miracles happen on Christmas.”
When she follows me to the living room, the scent of pine and cinnamon fills the air. I’ve swept the floor, stoked the fire, and—right above the hearth—hung a fresh sprig of mistletoe I cut from the tree line just before dawn.
Sage stops in her tracks. “You didn’t.”
“Oh, I did.” I lean against the wall, arms folded, waiting. “Figure we had some unfinished business from last night.”
Her lips part, that familiar spark lighting her eyes. “You’re impossible.”
“And you love me for it.”
She crosses the room, the hem of my flannel brushing her thighs, her hair tousled from sleep. When she stops beneath the mistletoe, she looks up at me through her lashes. “You gonna make me ask?”
I shake my head slowly, pulling her close. “Not this time.”
The kiss is soft, slow, everything we didn’t have time for before. Outside, snow slides from the roof with a soft thump. The world keeps spinning. But here, it’s just us—our home, our Christmas, our second chance.
When I finally pull back, I rest my forehead against hers. “Got one more surprise for you.”
Her breath catches. “If it’s another kiss, I’m okay with that.”
“It’s better.” I reach into my back pocket and pull out a small, gold band with a diamond solitaire, plain and honest. “Been carrying this with me for a long time, Sage.”
Her eyes fill instantly. “Silas—”
“I don’t have fancy words or a bow on top. Just this promise: I’ll spend every Christmas making sure you never doubt how loved you are.”
Tears spill freely now as she nods, laughing through them. “You sure you want forever with a stubborn girl who talks back?”
“Wouldn’t know what to do with one who didn’t.”
I slide the ring onto her finger. The fire crackles. She throws her arms around my neck, kissing me again, the mistletoe swaying above us.
Outside, the world glitters clean and new … like redemption, like grace, like love that finally came home.
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