The trial lasted 5 days
The trial lasted 5 days. Witness after witness took the stand, telling their stories of theft and intimidation and murder.
Hollister’s testimony was devastating. A systematic dismantling of every lie Stockton had ever told. The documents from the safe were entered into evidence, each one another nail in the coffin.
And then it was Caleb’s turn. He walked to the witness stand on legs that felt steadier than they had any right to.
He placed his hand on the Bible and swore to tell the truth. And then he told the story.
He told them about his family’s ranch in Colorado. About his parents, hardworking and decent, who had built something good from nothing, about his sister Elizabeth, 16 years old, who had wanted to be a teacher.
About the night he came home to find everything in ashes, everything in graves. He told them about the fire, about Stockton’s men lurking in the shadows, about the forged documents and the bribed officials and the systematic coverup that had buried the truth.
He told them about 5 years of hunting, 5 years of following the trail of bodies and burned out ranches, always one step behind, never quite able to catch up.
And he told them about Willow Bend, about Lydia, cornered in that store, about saying, “She’s leaving with me,” and meaning every word.
When he finished, the courtroom was silent. Stockton’s lawyers had no questions for him. What could they possibly ask?
The truth was the truth, and it had finally been spoken. The jury deliberated for less than two hours.
Guilty on all counts. Murder, arson, fraud, conspiracy. Every charge that had been brought, every crime that had been documented, every life that had been destroyed.
Baron Stockton was sentenced to hang. The execution was set for the following week. Caleb didn’t attend, didn’t need to.
The moment the guilty verdict was read, something that had been wound tight inside him for 5 years finally released.
The rage, the obsession, the driving need for vengeance. It all fell away, leaving behind something that felt almost like peace.
His family was still dead. Nothing would ever change that. But they had been avenged.
Their killer would face justice. It was over. It was finally over. He and Lydia rode back to Willow Bend the day after the verdict, traveling slowly this time, savoring the journey instead of racing against it.
The valley had never looked more beautiful, the aspens turning gold, the mountains capped with the first snow of the season, the sky that endless impossible blue that made you believe in God.
When they crested the final ridge and saw the ranch spread out below them, the new barn, the repaired house, the cattle grazing peacefully in the pasture, Lydia reigned in her horse and sat there for a long moment, just looking.
“Home,” she said softly. Caleb reached over and took her hand. “Home,” he agreed. They rode down together, and the future, bright and uncertain and full of possibility, rose up to meet them.
The autumn wind swept through Willow Bend like a blessing, carrying away the last traces of summer’s brutal heat, and replacing them with crisp, clean air that smelled of turning leaves and distant snow.
The valley was transforming, the landscape shifting from brown and gold to deeper shades of amber and rust.
And everywhere Lydia looked, she saw evidence of renewal. The ranch was healing, the valley was healing, and the man she loved was finally beginning to heal, too.
She watched Caleb from the kitchen window as he worked on the new corral fence, his movement still careful, still favoring his wounded side, but stronger now than he had been even a week ago.
The doctor had pronounced him on the mend during his last visit, though he had warned that full recovery would take months, not weeks.
Caleb predictably, had ignored this advice and thrown himself back into work the very next day.
You’re going to tear those stitches again. Lydia had warned him that first morning. Already did.
He had admitted. Doc Crane sewed me back up yesterday. Said if I did it a third time, he’d tie me to the bed.
Maybe I should help him. Caleb had given her a look that managed to be both amused and heated at the same time.
That a promise? She had thrown a dish rag at his head and told him to get out of her kitchen.
That had been 3 days ago, and since then they had fallen into a rhythm that felt almost domestic.
Caleb worked on the ranch during the day, pushing himself as hard as he dared, while Lydia managed the house and the business side of the operation.
In the evenings, they sat together on the porch, watching the sun set over the mountains, talking about everything and nothing.
They talked about the future, about the cattle they would buy in the spring, the improvements they wanted to make to the house, the children they might have someday.
They talked about the past, about Lydia’s father and Caleb’s family, about the losses they had both suffered and the scars they would always carry.
And sometimes they didn’t talk at all. Sometimes they just sat in silence, holding hands, watching the stars come out one by one.
It was peace. Real peace. The kind Lydia had almost forgotten existed. But beneath that piece, something else was stirring.
Something that Caleb hadn’t yet shared with her, though she could see the weight of it in his eyes, in the way he sometimes stared off at nothing, lost in thoughts he wouldn’t voice.
She didn’t push. She had learned in the weeks they had spent together that Caleb Ror opened up in his own time, on his own terms.
Pushing him only made him retreat further into himself. So she waited and she watched and she trusted that eventually he would tell her what was on his mind.
The moment came on a quiet evening a week after they had returned from Denver.
They were sitting on the porch as usual, wrapped in blankets against the autumn chill, watching the last light fade from the sky.
The ranch was quiet around them. The cattle settled for the night, the chickens roosting in their newly rebuilt coupe.
Caleb was silent for a long time. Then, without preamble, he said, “There’s something I need to tell you.”
Lydia turned to look at him. His face was in profile, shadowed and unreadable. His eyes fixed on some distant point she couldn’t see.
About what? About Stockton. About Colorado. He paused and she saw his jaw tighten. [clears throat] About why I was really following him all those years.
She waited, giving him space. I told you he burned my family’s ranch, Caleb continued.
Killed my parents and my sister. That’s true, but there’s more to it than that.
There’s something I didn’t tell you. Something I’ve never told anyone. You don’t have to.
Yes, I do. He turned to look at her, and his gray eyes were haunted.
If we’re going to build a life together, you need to know who I really am, what I’ve done, and then you can decide if you still want me.”
The word sent a chill through her that had nothing to do with the evening air, but she held his gaze without flinching.
“Tell me,” she said. Caleb took a deep breath. “The night of the fire,” he began.
“I wasn’t home because I was in town getting drunk at the saloon. I was 18 years old, angry at my father about something stupid.
I can’t even remember what anymore. And I’d stormed off to drown my anger in whiskey.
His voice was flat, controlled, but Lydia could hear the pain beneath it, decades old and still raw.
I stayed out all night, passed out in the stable behind the saloon. When I woke up, it was morning and there was smoke on the horizon.
I rode home as fast as I could, but by the time I got there, he trailed off.
Lydia reached out and took his hand, holding tight. “There was nothing left,” he continued after a moment.
“Just ashes and bodies, the house, the barn, the corral, everything gone.” “My parents were I found them in what was left of the bedroom.
They died in their sleep. The smoke got them before the flames.” My sister. His voice cracked.
He stopped, swallowed, forced himself to continue. Elizabeth wasn’t in the house. I found her near the tree line, 100 yards from the fire.
She’d gotten out. She’d escaped. His hand tightened on Lydia’s until it was almost painful.
But she didn’t get far. Someone had caught her. Someone had He couldn’t finish. He didn’t have to.
Lydia felt sick. The horror of it washed over her. Cold and overwhelming. And for a moment, she couldn’t breathe.
They killed her, she whispered. Even though she escaped, they killed her anyway. Not just killed.
Caleb’s voice had gone dead, empty. I won’t tell you what they did. I can’t.
But I found her and I buried her. And I swore on her grave that I would make them pay.
Every single one of them. Caleb. I tracked down Stockton’s men over the years, one by one.
The ones who set the fire. The ones who? He stopped, shook his head. Seven men, Lydia.
Seven men involved in what happened that night. I found six of them. I killed them all.
The words hung in the air between them. Heavy and terrible. The seventh man was the one who hurt Elizabeth.
The one who, again, he couldn’t finish. I never found him. Never even got a name.
He was Stockton’s shadow, his personal enforcer. But by the time I started looking, he’d vanished, dropped off the face of the earth.
Lydia’s mind was reeling. She tried to process what he was telling her, tried to reconcile the man she knew, the man who had saved her life, who had fought beside her, who held her so gently with the killer he was describing.
“You hunted them down,” she said slowly. “For 5 years. You tracked them and you killed them.”
“Yes, in cold blood. Some of them he met her eyes and there was no attempt to hide, no effort to justify.
Some of them I gave a chance to draw first. Most of them didn’t take it.
Why are you telling me this? Because you need to know who you’re choosing. His voice was rough.
I’m not a good man, Lydia. I’ve done terrible things. I’ve killed people, not just in self-defense, not just in the heat of battle, but deliberately with planning and intent.
I’ve spent 5 years being a hunter, and hunters don’t come home clean. He looked away, his jaw tight.
If you want me to leave, I’ll understand. If you want to call Marshall Warren and have me arrested, I’ll understand that, too.
Those men I killed, they were criminals, murderers. But what I did to them wasn’t justice.
It was revenge. And revenge makes you no better than the people you’re hunting. Lydia was silent for a long moment.
Her heart was pounding. Her thoughts a whirlwind of conflicting emotions, horror at what he’d done, compassion for what had driven him to it, fear of what it meant for their future, and beneath it all, a love that refused to die, no matter what revelations tried to smother it.
“The men you killed,” she finally said, “Were they involved in what happened to your family?”
“Every single one. Did any of them deserve to live after what they did?” Caleb flinched.
That’s not the point. I don’t get to decide who deserves to live or die.
That’s what courts are for. That’s what the law is for. The law failed you.
Lydia’s voice was quiet but firm. The law let Stockton walk free. The law let him burn out more families, kill more innocent people.
If you had trusted the law back then, he’d still be doing it now. Maybe.
But that doesn’t make what I did right. No, she agreed. It doesn’t. She turned to face him fully, taking both his hands and hers.
Caleb, listen to me. I’m not going to pretend that what you did was noble or righteous.
I’m not going to tell you it was okay because they deserved it. What you did was terrible.
It was violent and brutal, and it left blood on your hands that will never wash off.
He closed his eyes, his face a mask of pain. But, she continued, and he opened his eyes again.
I’m also not going to pretend that I don’t understand why you did it. Your family was murdered.
Your sister was She couldn’t say it either. The people responsible were never punished. You were a boy alone with no one to help you and nowhere to turn.
So, you became the instrument of justice because no one else would. Revenge isn’t justice.
No, but sometimes it’s all we have. She squeezed his hands. I’m not asking you to justify what you did.
I’m not asking you to make peace with it. I’m just asking you to understand that I know who you are now.
Really know all of it. And I’m still here. I’m still choosing you. Caleb stared at her like she had spoken in a language he didn’t understand.
Why? His voice was barely a whisper. Because the man who did those things isn’t the man sitting in front of me.
Lydia’s eyes were bright with unshed tears. The man who did those things was broken, lost, consumed by grief and rage.
But that man walked into a store in Willow Bend and saw a woman in trouble.
And instead of walking away, he said, “She’s leaving with me. That man has been rebuilding my ranch, protecting my home, standing beside me through everything.
That man is the one I love. And I believe, I have to believe that he’s the real you.
The one you were before the fire and the one you can be again now that it’s over.”
The tears were falling now, sliding down her cheeks, but she didn’t look away. You’re not defined by the worst things you’ve done, Caleb.
None of us are. We’re defined by what we do next, by the choices we make going forward.
She lifted his hand and pressed it against her cheek. Choose to stay. Choose to build a life here.
Choose to be the man you want to be, not the man grief made you, and let me love you through all of it.
For a long moment, Caleb didn’t move, didn’t speak. His eyes were wet, his breathing ragged, and Lydia could see the war playing out behind his face, the self-hatred, the fear, the desperate hope that wared with the certainty that he didn’t deserve what she was offering.
Then slowly, he pulled her into his arms and held her like she was the only real thing in a world of shadows.
“I don’t deserve you,” he said into her hair. “I don’t deserve any of this.”
“That’s not your decision to make,” she held him tighter. It’s mine and I’ve made it.
They stayed like that for a long time, wrapped in each other’s arms as the stars wheeled overhead and the night deepened around them.
When they finally went inside, something had shifted between them. A deeper understanding, a more complete trust.
The secrets were out, the darkness exposed, and they had survived it. They went to bed that night, not as two people circling each other wearily, but as partners, fully committed, fully known.
And when Caleb woke the next morning with Lydia curled against him, the weight that had pressed down on him for 5 years felt lighter than it ever had before.
The days that followed were the happiest of Caleb’s life. He threw himself into the work of the ranch with new energy, new purpose.
The corral fence was finished. Then the chicken coupe expanded. Then the roof of the house properly patched against the coming winter.
He hired two young ranch hands from town, brothers named Jake and Danny Willard, who had lost their own family’s farm to Stockton years ago and were looking for honest work.
The ranch began to thrive. More cattle arrived, purchased with money that had been frozen during Stockton’s trial and released to his victims after his conviction.
The herd grew from 30 head to 80, then to over a 100. The pastures, which had been brown and withered during the drought, turned green with the autumn rains, and the creek ran full and clear.
Lydia managed the books and the business, proving herself to have a sharp mind for numbers and an even sharper instinct for negotiation.
She struck deals with the railroad for better shipping rates, arranged contracts with buyers in Denver who paid premium prices for quality beef, and laid the groundwork for what she was determined would become one of the territo’s most successful operations.
And through it all, she and Caleb grew closer. They were married on a crisp November morning in the little church at the edge of Willow Bend.
The whole town turned out, everyone who had helped rebuild the barn, everyone who had stood beside them during the darkest days.
Ezra Carter gave Lydia away, his old eyes bright with tears. Martha Crane provided the cake.
Thomas Garrett, the blacksmith, crafted matching wedding bands from silver he had been saving for something special.
Caleb wore his best clothes, which weren’t very fine, but Lydia had insisted they were perfect, and stood at the altar with his heart pounding so hard he was sure everyone could hear it.
Then Lydia walked down the aisle, and he forgot how to breathe. She was wearing her mother’s wedding dress, altered and mended and made beautiful again.
Her hair was pinned up with wild flowers, and her smile was the most radiant thing he had ever seen.
When she reached him, she took his hands and whispered, “Still sure about this cowboy?
Never been more sure of anything in my life.” The ceremony was simple, traditional, perfect.
They exchanged vows that had been spoken by generations before them, promises of love and honor and faithfulness that felt new and sacred all the same.
And when the preacher said, “You may kiss the bride,” Caleb did so with an enthusiasm that made [clears throat] the congregation laugh and cheer.
They were married. They were home. They were together. Nothing else mattered. The wedding celebration lasted late into the evening with music and dancing and more food than anyone could eat.
Caleb found himself pulled into conversation after conversation, accepting congratulations and well-wishes from people who had once been strangers and were now something like family.
It was overwhelming in the best possible way. Late in the evening, he found himself standing at the edge of the gathering, watching the festivities with something like wonder.
“Lydia spotted him and broke away from a group of women to join him.” “You look like a man who doesn’t quite believe his luck,” she said, slipping her arm through his.
“That’s exactly what I am.” He looked down at her at his wife and shook his head slowly.
“6 months ago, I was a drifter with nothing but a gun and a grudge.
Now look at me. Now look at you,” she agreed. Respectable rancher, pillar of the community, married to the most beautiful woman in the territory.
That last part’s definitely true. She laughed and leaned into him. Are you happy, Caleb?
Really truly happy? He thought about the question. Thought about everything he had lost, everything he had done, everything he had suffered.
Thought about the darkness that still lurked at the edges of his heart, the memories that would haunt him forever.
And then he thought about this moment, this woman, this life. Yes, he said, “I am good.”
She stood on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek because you’re stuck with me now.
No takebacks. Wouldn’t dream of it. They stood together, watching their friends and neighbors celebrate, feeling the weight of the past balanced against the promise of the future.
The road ahead wouldn’t always be easy. They both knew that there would be hard winters and lean years, challenges they couldn’t predict and obstacles they would have to overcome.
But they would face them together, and that made all the difference. Winter came early that year, blanketing the valley in snow that sparkled like diamonds under the cold December sun.
The ranch was well prepared. The cattle had been moved to the lower pastures. The barn was stocked with hay and feed, and the house was warm and snug against the bitter winds.
Caleb and Lydia fell into the rhythm of the season, working side by side during the short days and spending the long evenings by the fire.
They read to each other from books Lydia had ordered from Denver, novels and poetry and histories that opened windows to worlds neither of them had ever seen.
They played cards and chess and made plans for the spring, and they talked endlessly, it seemed, about everything under the sun.
One evening, as a storm raged outside and the fire crackled in the hearth, Lydia looked up from the book she had been reading and said, “Tell me about Elizabeth.”
Caleb went still. It was the first time she had brought up his sister since that night on the porch, and he wasn’t sure how to respond.
“What do you want to know?” He asked carefully. “Anything. Everything.” She set the book aside and curled her feet under her.
You’ve told me how she died. I want to know how she lived. He was quiet for a long moment, staring into the flames.
Then slowly he began to talk. He told her about Elizabeth’s laugh, bright and infectious, capable of filling a room.
About her terrible singing voice and her refusal to stop singing anyway. About her dream of becoming a teacher and the way she used to practice on him, making him sit through lessons on topics she had just learned herself.
He told her about the time she had rescued a baby rabbit from a hawk and raised it in a box in her room until their mother found out.
About her collection of pressed flowers, each one carefully labeled and preserved. About the way she had looked at the world with wonder and hope, even when hope seemed foolish.
She was brave, he said finally, braver than me. She never let fear stop her from doing what she thought was right.
His voice caught. She didn’t deserve what happened to her. She deserved to grow up, to fall in love, to have the life she dreamed about.
And someone took all of that away. Lydia reached over and took his hand. “She sounds wonderful,” she said softly.
“She was.” He looked at her and his eyes were wet. “You would have liked her and she would have loved you.
I wish I could have known her.” “Me, too.” He squeezed her hand. But in a way, I think I think this is what she would have wanted for me to find someone to be happy to stop running and start living again.
He paused. Sometimes I feel like she’s watching, like she’s glad I finally found my way home.
Lydia leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder. Maybe she is, she said.
Maybe she’s been watching over you all along, guiding you here. That’s a nice thought.
I like to think the people we lose don’t really leave us. They just move to a different room.
Still there, still part of our lives, just out of sight. Caleb was quiet considering this.
It was a comforting idea, more comforting than the cold, empty void he had imagined his family disappearing into.
“If that’s true,” he said slowly. “Then I’ve got quite an audience.” “So do I.
My father, my mother, everyone we’ve lost.” She looked up at him. They’re all pulling for us, Caleb.
I really believe that. Then we’d better not let them down. No, she agreed. We’d better not.
They sat together as the storm howled outside and the fire burned low, wrapped in warmth and in each other, drawing strength from the past and courage for the future.
They were not alone. They had never been alone. And they never would be again.
Christmas came, and with it a celebration unlike any Caleb had known since childhood. The ranch house was decorated with pine boughs and ribbons, and the smell of baking filled every room.
Lydia had thrown herself into the preparations with characteristic determination, and the result was something close to magical.
On Christmas Eve, they hosted a gathering for their neighbors and friends. The house was full of laughter and music of children running underfoot and adults sharing stories by the fire.
There was mold cider and roasted ham and more pie than anyone could eat. Caleb found himself standing in the corner watching it all with a sense of wonder that hadn’t faded.
“You look lost,” Hollister said, appearing at his elbow. Caleb turned to face the older man.
Hollister had stayed in the area after the trial, taking up residence in an abandoned cabin at the edge of the valley.
He kept to himself mostly, still carrying the weight of his own guilt, but he had shown up tonight at Lydia’s insistence.
Not lost, Caleb said, just trying to take it in. Quite a change from 6 months ago.
That’s an understatement. Hollister was silent for a moment, watching the party. Then I never said thank you for not killing me when I showed up that night.
You came to warn us, helped us bring Stockton down. After years of helping him destroy lives, Hollister’s voice was heavy with regret.
I’ve got a lot to answer for, Caleb. More than I can ever make right.
Then spend the rest of your life trying. The older man looked at him surprised.
That’s what I’m doing, Caleb continued. Every day trying to be better than I was.
Trying to balance the scales even though I know they’ll never really balance. You can do the same.
You think it’s possible to come back from what we’ve done? Caleb thought about the question.
Thought about the blood on his hands, the deaths on his conscience, the darkness that would never fully leave him.
I don’t know, he admitted. But I know the alternative is giving up. And I’m done giving up.
Hollister nodded slowly. Then I guess I am too. They stood together in companionable silence, watching the celebration unfold.
Two men who had walked through fire, who had done terrible things for reasons that seemed justified at the time, who were now trying to find their way back to something like humanity.
It wasn’t redemption. Not yet. Maybe not ever. But it was a start. The new year arrived with clear skies and bitter cold.
Caleb and Lydia watched the sun rise on January 1st from the porch of their home wrapped in blankets, their breath making clouds in the frigid air.
“Happy New Year,” Lydia said, leaning against him. “Happy New Year,” he pressed a kiss to her temple.
“Any resolutions?” “A few. Expand the herd, improve the irrigation system, build that addition to the house we’ve been talking about.”
She paused, a smile playing at her lips. Maybe start working on filling it. Caleb went very still.
Are you saying not yet, but I’m hoping. She looked up at him, her eyes bright.
Would you want that? Children? The question hung in the air between them, heavy with implication.
Caleb had never let himself think about children. Not since Elizabeth, not since the fire.
The idea of bringing new life into a world that could be so cruel, so unfair.
But this wasn’t that world anymore. This was their world, the one they had built together.
Yes, he said. I want that more than I can say. Lydia’s smile was like sunrise.
Then we’ll make it happen together. Together, he agreed. And as the new year stretched before them, full of possibility and promise, they held each other close and dreamed of the future.
The winter months passed slowly, as winter months do. There were storms that kept them housebound for days at a time, and quiet periods when the snow fell soft and silent, and the whole world seemed to hold its breath.
Caleb and Lydia worked and planned and loved, building the foundation for the life they wanted.
Word came in February that Baron Stockton had been executed in Denver. The hanging had been public, witnessed by hundreds, and the newspapers had written about it for days afterward.
Justice had been served finally and completely. Caleb received the news with a mixture of emotions he couldn’t quite untangle.
Relief certainly, and something that might have been satisfaction, but also a strange kind of emptiness, as if a chapter of his life had closed, and he wasn’t sure what came next.
Lydia found him that evening sitting alone on the porch, staring at the darkening sky.
“I heard about Stockton,” she said, settling beside him. Yeah. How do you feel? He considered the question for a long moment.
I don’t know. I thought I would feel more happier maybe or angrier, but I just feel He shook his head.
Empty. That makes sense. Does it? You spent 5 years building your life around destroying that man.
Now he’s gone. And part of you doesn’t know what to do with itself. She took his hand.
It’s like the war is over, but you haven’t learned how to stop fighting yet.
Caleb let out a breath. That’s exactly what it’s like. Then learn. She squeezed his hand.
You’ve got time now. You’ve got peace. Use it to figure out who you are when you’re not at war.
Who am I though? Without the hunt, without the vengeance, what’s left? Everything that matters.
Lydia’s voice was firm. A husband, a rancher, a friend to people who need one, a man who saved a stranger in a general store because it was the right thing to do.
She turned to face him. You’re so much more than what Stockton did to you, Caleb.
So much more than what you did in response. This, she gestured at the ranch, at the sky, at everything around them.
This is who you really are. The rest was just surviving until you could get here.
He stared at her for a long moment, then slowly he smiled. How do you always know exactly what to say?
Natural talent. Also, I’ve been rehearsing that speech for weeks. He laughed, a real laugh, the kind that came from somewhere deep and pulled her into his arms.
Thank you, he said, for everything, for believing in me when I couldn’t believe in myself.
Thank you for giving me something to believe in. They held each other as the stars came out, as the cold settled around them, as the world turned toward spring.
The past was behind them, the future lay ahead, and for now, for this moment, everything was exactly as it should be.
Spring arrived in a rush of warmth and color, and with it came news that changed everything.
Lydia had been feeling off for weeks, tired, nauseous, emotional in ways she couldn’t explain.
She had suspected, hoped, prayed, but hadn’t dared to believe until she made the trip into town to see Dr.
Crane. When she rode back to the ranch that afternoon, Caleb was working on the fence line near the road.
He looked up as she approached, concern flickering across his face when he saw her expression.
“What’s wrong?” He asked, dropping his tools. “Did something happen in town?” Lydia dismounted and walked toward him, her heart pounding so hard she could barely breathe.
Something happened, she said. But it’s not wrong. It’s She stopped, unable to find the words, and simply took his hand and pressed it against her stomach.
Caleb went very still. His eyes searched her face, looking for confirmation of what he already suspected.
“Are you?” “Yes.” The word came out, half laughing, half crying. “We’re going to have a baby.”
For a moment, he didn’t move, didn’t speak, just stood there with his hand on her stomach and an expression on his face that she had never seen before.
Wonder and terror and joy all tangled together. Then he swept her up in his arms and spun her around, laughing, crying, making sounds that weren’t quite words.
“A baby,” he kept saying. “We’re having a baby. Careful,” she shrieked, half laughing. “You’ll make me dizzy.”
He sat her down gently, reverently, and cuped her face in his hands. “I love you,” he said.
“I love you so much.” “I love you, too.” She was crying now, happy tears streaming down her cheeks.
