Trouble for the Ranger Bonus Scene

Gus watches from the armchair, wearing a red sweater with blinking LED lights and the facial expression of a man who’s seen too much.

“Don’t judge me,” I tell him.

He sneezes like: I judge EVERYTHING.

I scoop him up and kiss the top of his stupid little head. “Help me wake your mom?”

He grunts and wriggles out of my arms—fine, I’ll do it myself—and waddles down the hall, nails tapping like a tiny soldier reporting for duty.

I follow the pug into the bedroom just in time to see him hop on the trunk at the foot of the bed …
then launch himself like a furry cannonball.

THUMP.

He lands square on Arielle’s hip.

She moans grumpily. “What, GUS!”

He barks once—JOY IS NECESSARY—then burrows into the blankets like a gremlin reclaiming his den.

Arielle pushes her hair from her face, blinking up at me.

God, she’s beautiful.

Sleepy, messy, mouth kiss-swollen.

My undoing.

“Morning, Princess,” I murmur, leaning down to kiss her forehead.

Her eyes drift around the cabin visible from the doorway, lights sparkling, tree glowing, garland wrapped around the beams.

“You … did this again?” she whispers, hand pressing to her chest. “A girl could get used to this.”

“Yeah,” I answer, scratching my beard. “Figured you deserved magic. And maybe a distraction from our unborn kicker practicing for the NFL.”

She laughs, soft and warm, and the sound hits me harder than any bullet ever has.

“I love it,” she breathes. “Davin … it’s perfect.”

Gus barks like it was his idea.

I sit on the bed beside her, sliding a hand along her thigh over the blankets.

“Got breakfast warming. Presents under the tree. And later… when you’re up for it…”
I let my voice drop, slow and rough.

“I’ve got something else with your name on it.”

She gives me that look—eyes low, lips parted—the one that ruins my damn sanity.

“Hmm,” she whispers, “Are you really going to make me wait?”

“Princess,” I say, brushing my thumb over her mouth, “Figure this’ll help get you in the mood.”

She laughs, face going pink.

Gus huffs loudly from between us like: disgusting.

I flick the pug a glare.

“One day,” I tell him, “I will reclaim my wife without your supervision.”

He squints back like: doubtful.

Arielle kisses my jaw. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you love it.”

She bites her bottom lip. “I really do.”

“Good,” I murmur, leaning in until our foreheads touch. “Because this—me, you, the gremlin, Christmas mornings exactly like this—this is it for me. Forever.”

She sits up, cups my face with both hands. “Me, too.”

Gus stands, plants a paw on my sternum like he’s marrying us himself, and lets out a bark of approval … or warning. Hard to tell.

“Guess he’s ready for presents,” I mutter.

“No,” Arielle says, grinning, “he’s ready for bacon.”

Ah.

Of course.

We walk out together, her snuggled under my arm, Gus trotting proudly ahead in his glowing sweater. When Arielle sees the mountain cabin shining like something out of a snow globe, she presses both hands over her mouth.

“Davin…”

“Yeah?”

“This is … the happiest I’ve ever been.”

I pull her close, kiss her slow and deep, careful of her belly, careful of everything but wanting her.

“Merry Christmas, Princess.”

She melts into me.

“Best Christmas ever.”

Behind us, Gus launches himself beneath the tree, smashing his face into a wrapped present, and tries to eat the bow.

Arielle laughs.

And hell, maybe I do too.

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