“Bachelor pad,” Maggie said with a wink.

“Good windows, a little front porch. This is preliminary, so we can make changes.”

“It’s great. It’s . . . I never expected—You don’t have to—”

“We do. You need your own place, Dillon. I’m glad it’ll be here, I’m glad you want it to be, but you need your own. And when you start a family, when in the far, far distant future, you make me a grandmother, we’ll switch. Gram and I take the little house, you take this one. You want the ranch. I believe you. This is what Gram and I want, for all of us.”

He felt what he’d felt standing outside before breakfast. Completely happy. “Do I still get to come to breakfast?”

Marking this as the best Christmas ever, Dillon headed out with the intention of saddling Comet, riding fence. He’d head into town later, meet his friends for pizza, catch up.

He pulled out his phone as he walked, read the incoming text. Imogene.

Crap, crap, he’d forgotten to text her, and tried to think of a good response while the dogs worked hard to herd him back to the house.

Miss you 2. Sorry my mom called a family meeting & I just got out. What else? he wondered. He had to think of something else. Bet it’s warm in San Diego. If ur hanging at the pool, send me a picture. Don’t have too much fun w/o me.

He sent it, hoped it was enough. Seconds later, his phone signaled again. With a selfie of Imogene, all that California blond hair, those big brown eyes, and that . . . Jesus, that body in a really, really tiny bikini.

Don’t u wish u were here?

Man.

Sorry, did u say something? I think I passed out for a second. Guess u know who and what I’ll b thinking about all day. Talk soon gotta work.

He studied the photo again, let out a little groan. She’d put on that pouty look on purpose because she knew it killed him.

But when he tried to picture her there, right there with him, even with the amazing visual aid, he couldn’t.

The dogs went on alert seconds before he heard the sound of a car coming up the ranch road.

He stuffed the phone back in his pocket, tipped back his hat, and waited.

He recognized one of the cars Hugh kept at Sullivan’s Rest, the fancy SUV, and grinning, delighted, whistled the dogs back. To keep them occupied, he tossed the ball high and long in the opposite direction.

But when he turned back, it wasn’t Hugh or Lily getting out of the car.

She carried an armload of red lilies. The wind caught at her hair, raven black, and tossed it back from her face. He’d never really understood what they meant when they said stuff like classic beauty, or good bones.

But he knew it when he saw it. Especially when she pushed her sunglasses on top of her head and those blue eyes—like laser fire—met his. Then her lips curved—really, really, really pretty lips—and she started forward.

The dogs charged, crazed, barking.

“They don’t—”

Before he could add bite, she’d crouched down, angling the lilies away to try to pet both of them one-handed.

“I know who you are.” She laughed, rubbed bellies. “I’ve heard all about you. Gambit and Jubilee.”

She looked up at Dillon, still laughing. “I’m Cate.”

He knew, sure he knew, even though she didn’t look much like the funny weirdo she’d played in the movie he’d seen the month before. Or like the pictures all over the internet.

She looked, well, happy and, well, hot. Really hot.

“I’m Dillon.”

“My hero,” she said in a way that made his heart jitter around in his chest like his drunken roommate.

She straightened up, apparently not worried about how the dogs got mud all over her really sexy boots—the kind that went straight up to the thighs of long legs in tight jeans.

“It’s been awhile,” she continued because apparently he could no longer form a coherent sentence. “I haven’t been back until now.”

She pushed at her hair, looked around. “Oh, it’s so beautiful. I never actually saw it . . . then. How do you get anything done?”

“It’s . . . it’s all right there when you finish.”

“I’d half forgotten the views from my grandfather’s house, and how they pull. I spent a lot of yesterday just looking again. But today the house is full of people, and I just wanted to get out. And I wanted to come by and thank you all again, in person. I email with your mother now and then.”

“Yeah, she said.”

“I—Is she home?”

“What? Yeah. Sorry. Come on in.” He dug around for rational conversation on the way. “You lost the blue. In your hair,” he added when she gave him a blank look.

“Right. Back to normal.”

“I liked the movie. You don’t sound like you did in it.”

“Well, that was Jute. I’m Cate.”

“Right.” He pulled a blue bandanna out of his back pocket when they reached the porch. “Let me get that. The dogs messed up your boots.”

She said nothing as he hunkered down, swiped the mud off the tops of her boots. It gave him a moment to gather himself.

“So you’re here for Christmas?”

“Yes. All of us. A horde of Sullivans.”

She stepped in when he opened the door.

Their tree stood in the front window, presents piled beneath, a star on top. The air smelled of pine and woodsmoke, of dogs and cookies.

“Why don’t you sit down? I’ll find the rest of us.”

The dogs went with him, as if attached by invisible leashes. And she had a moment to breathe out.

No panic, and that was good, she thought. Nerves, a lot of nerves, but the dogs had helped distract her from them.

And Dillon. He’d looked so different. So tall now, and not so bony. She supposed he looked like a rancher—the young, sexy type—in his scarred boots and cowboy hat. So kind still, she thought, rubbing her bracelet. The way he’d bent down and wiped off her boots had made her eyes sting.

Just kindness.

She stood when Julia ran down the stairs. Hair in a messy ponytail, a plaid shirt over work jeans.

“Caitlyn!”

Open arms to take her in, to hold on.

“This is the best surprise.” Julia pulled her back, studying, smiling. “You grew up and got gorgeous. Dillon’s getting his gram. She’s going to be thrilled.”

“It’s so good to see you. I never really—I just wanted to come by and see you.” Cate held out the lilies.

“Thank you. They’re spectacular. Why don’t you come back in the kitchen, sit with me while I put them in water? I was hoping you’d come by when you wrote your family would be here for Christmas.”

“It looks the same,” Cate murmured.

“Yeah. I think about a kitchen remodel, but never get beyond the thinking.”

“It’s wonderful.” One of her safe places when the panic struck. “I almost didn’t come.”

Julia got two vases—the girl must have bought every red lily in Big Sur. “Why is that?”

“I could bring myself back here, in my head—something my therapist helped me with—when I had nightmares and couldn’t sleep again. If I came here in my head, I felt safe. I didn’t know if I’d feel that if I came, or be able to feel that in my head if I didn’t.”