Page 84 of Wild Highway (Runaway 2)

Easton kissed me until we were both breathless, then he let me go and jerked his chin to the Cadillac. “Now get back in the car before you freeze. I need to get Jigsaw to the stables, then I’ll meet you at the house.”

“Okay.” I nodded, hesitant to let him go, but I didn’t want him outside either.

“Here.” He held up a finger as his other hand dove into his jeans pocket, pulling out his keys. On a leather strap were four keys and a black fob. He twisted off the only brass key and pressed it into my hand. “That’s yours.”

I stared at it in my palm and the lump in my throat came back.

He’d given me the key to his home.

Most people wouldn’t be stunned speechless by a key. But I wasn’t most people.

Whenever I’d needed a home, I’d gone out and found or built or bought one mys

elf.

And Easton had just given me his.

He kissed my forehead and clicked his tongue to Jigsaw, who hadn’t so much as moved from the spot where he’d been left. With a fast swing up, Easton was in the saddle and loping down the road, not wasting any time as he made his way to the stables.

I climbed back in my car, Easton’s key clutched in my hand, and drove toward his house.

A smile tugged at my cheeks as I pulled into the space in his driveway, parking in front of the garage. Londyn was going to love this. So was Katherine. So was Benjamin, though I was still going to send him and Taylor to Bali.

I decided to leave my suitcase in the trunk—Easton would haul it in later—and walked up the steps to the porch and to the front entrance, slipping my key inside the lock. I held my breath as I turned the bronze knob, not sure what to expect on the other side of the hickory door. But when I stepped across the threshold, my jaw dropped.

Easton’s home was picture perfect. The open floor plan gave me a view of the wide, expansive kitchen. It flowed seamlessly from the dining area to the living room, filled with leather furniture and walnut pieces. The bay windows in the front of the house were as impressive as those showcasing the view behind the house.

The style was rustic and woodsy, very Easton, yet not overly manly. It was warm and inviting. It was exactly what I would have designed for a home at the base of a mountain.

I took another step inside, closing the door behind me. If Easton had wanted to give me the tour, he’d have to live with the disappointment. The guest bedrooms on the main floor were down a hallway off the living room along with a sparsely decorated office. I peeked into the pantry along with both the mud and laundry rooms.

When I walked down the hallway leading to the back of the house, Easton’s scent greeted me before I stepped into the enormous, master suite.

His bed was unmade. The charcoal sheets were rumpled and the suede quilt strewn on the floor. Every night he’d spent at the cabin, he’d slept like a rock, barely moving. Which meant last night, he’d probably tossed and turned.

I walked deeper into the bedroom, not bothering with the light. He’d vaulted the ceiling in the bedroom and the back wall was made almost entirely of glass. Sunbeams streamed inside, lighting the room and warming my face.

Every step felt heavy. Deep. Like with each one, my feet sank through the hardwood floor, past the concrete foundation and into the earth.

Like a tree’s roots taking hold.

A wave of emotion welled in my chest and I was crying again. Damn it, I’d cried more in the past twenty-four hours than I had in the last eleven years.

Maybe that was expected when someone like me finally found it.

Home.

I hadn’t cried for long when two arms banded around me and Easton pulled me into his chest. “You okay?”

I nodded, leaning into his embrace. “They’re happy tears.”

“Good. Welcome home, darlin’.”

Epilogue

Gemma

Six months later . . .