Chapter 36

Six months had passed since their California odyssey, and two months since the final divorce papers had arrived like a benediction. Nathan Montgomery was officially, legally, completely free. But freedom, it turned out, came with its own kind of chains. Both he and Trevor had thrown themselves into ranch work with the intensity of men trying to prove their worth, working extra shifts and taking on additional responsibilities as if they could somehow repay the ranch for the two weeks they'd been away dealing with Nathan's past.

Don't get them wrong, they loved the Yellowstone Dutton Ranch. It had become home in ways that transcended employment, a place where they belonged not just as workers but as family. But six months of relentless routine, of never venturing beyond the property lines except for necessary trips to town for supplies, had left them both feeling restless. They'd catch each other staring toward the horizon sometimes, not with any desire to leave permanently, but with the simple human need to see something different, to remember there was a world beyond cattle and fences and the familiar rhythm of bunkhouse life.

The morning started like every other: pre-dawn wake-up, quick showers, coffee strong enough to wake the dead, and breakfast consumed with the efficient hunger of men who had physical labor ahead of them. Nathan sat across from Trevor at the small dining table, both of them going through the motions of their established routine while nursing secret hopes that today might offer something different.

That's when Rip Wheeler pushed through the bunkhouse door with the purposeful stride of someone bearing work assignments. His presence immediately commanded attention, conversations dying as everyone turned toward their foreman with the automatic respect that came from years of following his leadership.

"Trevor," Rip said without preamble, his voice carrying the authority that made discussions unnecessary. "I need you to go to Billings. Bring Nathan if you want."

Nathan's response was immediate, his voice carrying barely contained excitement at the prospect of a day away from familiar surroundings. "I would be glad to."

Trevor's eyebrows shot up with surprise and something approaching hope, though he tried to keep his tone casual. "Really? You booked a hotel room for us or something?"

Rip's expression shifted to dangerous territory, his voice taking on the edge that meant Trevor was pushing his luck. "Don't fucking try me, Trev. No, I need you to pick up a cattle trailer we just bought. Here's the paperwork and the address."

He handed over a manila folder containing purchase documents and dealer information, the kind of routine transaction that kept the ranch running efficiently. But to Nathan and Trevor, it might as well have been a ticket to paradise, or at least to somewhere that wasn't the same pastures they'd been staring at for months.

Colby looked up from his eggs with the genuine curiosity of someone who'd never understood business economics. "Why don't you just have it delivered?"

Rip's answer was immediate and definitive. "Because delivery costs more money than I'm willing to spend when I have two perfectly capable drivers sitting right here."

Ryan, ever the advocate for what he perceived as fairness, decided to voice his protest. "Oh come on, they just got back from LA."

Nathan's correction was gentle but pointed. "That was six months ago."

Teeter seized the opportunity to redirect attention toward more recent questionable behavior, her voice carrying the gleeful satisfaction of someone throwing stones from a glass house. "Yeah, Ryan. And didn't you drive to Wyoming to stalk Abby just two weeks ago?"

Ryan's defensive response was immediate, his face flushing with the indignation of someone whose romantic reconnaissance had been discovered. "I was not stalking. I just needed to see how she was doing, make sure she was okay..."

"Without her knowledge." Teeter pressed, clearly enjoying Ryan's discomfort.

"She didn't need to know I was there." Ryan protested, his logic sounding increasingly weak even to his own ears.

Lloyd set down his coffee cup with the deliberate movement of someone about to deliver a harsh truth. "That's textbook stalking, son. If I was her father, I would've shot you dead and buried you in an unmarked grave."

The uncomfortable accuracy of Lloyd's assessment hung in the air as Ryan squirmed in his seat, realizing that his romantic gestures might not have been as noble as he'd convinced himself they were.

Meanwhile, Trevor and Nathan had finished their breakfast with unusual speed, both men energized by the prospect of a day beyond the ranch boundaries. Trevor stood and grabbed the keys to one of the work trucks, his movements carrying barely contained excitement.

"Can we make it a two-day trip?" Trevor asked, his tone suggesting he was only half-joking about extending their time away.

Nathan immediately nudged Trevor's arm in warning, recognizing the dangerous territory Trevor was venturing into with their notoriously no-nonsense foreman.

Rip's expression turned positively volcanic, his voice carrying the kind of threat that brooked no argument. "Do that and I'm gonna ban you two from leaving this ranch for a whole year."

Nathan quickly stepped in with diplomatic damage control, his voice carrying the kind of responsible assurance that had made him valuable as Beth's assistant. "We'll be back before midnight, sir."

Trevor nodded his agreement, understanding that he'd pushed as far as Rip's patience would allow. They gathered their jackets and headed for the door, both men moving with the barely contained energy of prisoners being granted parole.

As their truck disappeared down the gravel road toward the main highway, the remaining bunkhouse occupants settled back into their breakfast routine with renewed interest in gossip and observation.

Teeter leaned back in her chair with the satisfied expression of someone about to make a profound observation. "They really have changed since they first got here, haven't they?"

Ryan immediately perked up, recognizing an opportunity for entertainment that didn't involve his own romantic failures being dissected. He straightened his posture and affected an exaggerated scowl, dropping his voice to mimic Trevor's early demeanor. "I'm so dark and mysterious. Look at me wrong and I will kill you with my bare hands."

Colby joined the performance, his voice taking on the soft, apologetic tone that had characterized Nathan's first months at the ranch. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to bother you. I'm sorry, I didn't know this was your seat. I'm sorry for existing and taking up space..."

The impressions were cruel but not entirely inaccurate, capturing the defensive walls Trevor had maintained and the careful self-effacement that had been Nathan's survival strategy. But they were delivered with the kind of fond affection that came from family members remembering how far everyone had traveled together.

Rip's voice cut through the theatrical mockery with characteristic bluntness. "Shut up. You all like having them here, and you know it."

Lloyd nodded with the conviction of someone stating an obvious truth. "We do. This place wouldn't be the same without them."

The admission hung in the air with the weight of genuine sentiment, acknowledging what everyone in the room understood but rarely articulated, that Trevor and Nathan had become essential threads in the fabric of their ranch family, their presence making everyone's life richer and more complete.

As the sound of their truck faded into the distance, the bunkhouse settled back into its familiar rhythm, but with the comfortable knowledge that by evening, their family would be complete again. Some people were worth waiting for, worth welcoming home, worth celebrating when they found their way back to where they belonged.

—

The moment their truck crossed the property line, marked by the familiar wooden sign bearing the Yellowstone Dutton Ranch brand, Nathan exhaled with such profound relief that it sounded like he'd been holding his breath for months. His entire posture shifted, shoulders dropping as tension he hadn't realized he'd been carrying finally released. A grin spread across his face: genuine, boyish excitement that made him look years younger.

"God, I thought I'd never get to leave the ranch again." Nathan said, his voice carrying the giddy energy of someone granted unexpected parole from a prison he'd chosen but still needed breaks from.

Trevor glanced over at his passenger, noting the way Nathan's eyes had brightened as they drove past familiar boundaries into the wider world beyond. "Me too."

Nathan turned slightly in his seat, his expression growing more thoughtful as he watched the Montana landscape roll past their windows. "I mean, I love the ranch. I owe it and everyone in it my life, literally. But man, I gotta leave the place at least once a month just to remind myself there's a whole world out here, you know?"

Trevor nodded with understanding, recognizing the need for perspective that came from seeing beyond the daily routine of ranch life. "Yeah, I hear you. You ever been to Billings?"

"Nope." Nathan replied, pulling out the paperwork Rip had given them and consulting the dealer's address. "You?"

"No."

Nathan programmed the truck's GPS according to the documents, the electronic voice providing turn-by-turn directions toward their destination. As they settled into highway driving, the landscape opened up around them. Endless Montana sky stretching above rolling plains that seemed to go on forever, the kind of vast emptiness that could make a person feel simultaneously insignificant and completely free.

They drove in comfortable silence for several minutes, both men absorbed in the simple pleasure of forward motion through country that wasn't divided by ranch boundaries or daily responsibilities. The road stretched ahead of them like a promise, empty of other traffic and full of possibilities.

Nathan broke the quiet with a question that carried a note of mild complaint. "Why do you never let me drive on trips like this?"

Trevor's response was immediate and unapologetic, his Alabama drawl thick with amusement. "Because you drive like you're still in LA traffic when there's literally no one else on the road but us. You'll do the speed limit even when we could safely go faster, and you brake for tumbleweeds." He paused, his grin turning mischievous. "And I like having you as my passenger princess."

Nathan's eyebrows shot up as he processed Trevor's casual use of internet slang, his expression caught between amusement and disbelief. "You've been on the internet too much, haven't you? Learning all the current terminology and everything."

"Is that wrong?" Trevor asked with mock defensiveness. "A man's gotta stay current with the times. Besides, you are afraid of empty roads like this."

Nathan's protest was immediate and indignant. "No, I am not."

"Yes, you are." Trevor replied with the confidence of someone who'd observed his boyfriend's driving habits extensively. "You held onto me pretty tightly on our way to the train station that night. I could feel you tensing up every time we hit a stretch of empty highway."

Nathan shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his cheeks flushing slightly at having his anxiety called out so accurately. "It was pitch black that night, alright? I couldn't see what was out there beyond the headlights. You never know what lurks in the dark in places like this."

Trevor's expression shifted from teasing to genuine curiosity, his voice carrying a note of disbelief. "Seriously? You believe in cryptids and all that supernatural bullshit?"

Nathan's defensive posture suggested he was prepared for mockery but unwilling to back down from his position. "All I'm saying is, there's still a lot of things in this world that we don't understand. Montana's got thousands of square miles of wilderness where anything could be hiding."

Trevor chuckled, the sound warm with affection rather than derision. "Alright then, let's get to our destination before some wendigo decides to make us lunch."

"That's not funny." Nathan replied, though his tone suggested he was more amused than actually offended by Trevor's teasing.

Trevor's chuckle deepened as he noted Nathan's attempt to maintain dignity while clearly being flustered by the supernatural discussion. There was something endearingly contradictory about a man who could perform field surgery under combat conditions and kill to protect the people he loved, yet worried about mythical creatures lurking in empty landscapes.

These ridiculous fears that Nathan harbored toward made-up creatures struck Trevor as impossibly cute, another layer of complexity that made him fall deeper in love with this man who somehow managed to be both incredibly brave and charmingly vulnerable depending on the situation. Nathan could face down armed mercenaries without flinching, but the possibility of encountering a Bigfoot on a lonely highway made him prefer passenger seat safety.

The contradiction was perfectly, wonderfully Nathan: practical and mystical, brave and cautious, confident and uncertain all at the same time. It was exactly the kind of beautiful complexity that made Trevor want to spend the rest of his life discovering new facets of Nathan's personality, new reasons to love him more completely.

As they drove deeper into Montana's vast emptiness, Trevor's hand unconsciously moved to his jacket pocket, feeling the small velvet box he'd carefully hidden there that morning. He'd been carrying the ring in his duffel bag for months. But today, with the prospect of hours alone with Nathan, away from the bunkhouse and prying eyes. He'd made the impulsive decision to bring it along. He was afraid he wouldn't get another chance like this for a while, just the two of them with nowhere to be but together.

The open road ahead of them felt like a metaphor for the future they could build together, full of possibilities and adventures yet to be discovered. Trevor's fingers traced the outline of the ring box through the fabric of his pocket, wondering if today might finally be the day he found the courage to ask Nathan to make their partnership official.

But for now, protecting his passenger princess from imaginary monsters felt like the most romantic gesture he could manage.

—

The two-hour drive to Billings had passed in comfortable conversation and shared observation of Montana's endless landscape, but as they pulled into the dealership lot, the sky began its ominous transformation. What had been clear blue only minutes before was now darkening with the kind of heavy, pregnant clouds that promised serious weather ahead.

Trevor climbed out of the truck and walked around the new cattle trailer with the methodical attention he applied to all equipment inspections. His experienced hands checked the hitch mechanism, tested the electrical connections, and examined the tires with the thoroughness of someone who understood that equipment failure on the highway could be dangerous and expensive. The trailer was solid, well-built, exactly what the ranch needed for moving livestock efficiently.

Meanwhile, Nathan approached the dealership employee handling their transaction, a weathered man in his fifties who carried himself with the easy confidence of someone who'd spent decades selling equipment to ranchers who knew exactly what they wanted.

Nathan glanced toward the increasingly threatening sky as he accepted the final paperwork. "Is it gonna rain?"

The man followed Nathan's gaze upward, his expression suggesting he'd been watching the weather with growing concern throughout the afternoon. "Most likely. It's been raining heavily for the past week, on and off. Better be careful on your way back. These mountain roads can get real nasty real quick when the weather turns." He paused, then reached behind his counter and pulled out a heavy-duty tarp. "You can have this as a freebie. Might come in handy if you need to secure anything."

Nathan accepted the tarp gratefully, recognizing practical generosity when he saw it. "Thanks, I appreciate it."

He and Trevor worked together to attach the protective covering to the cattle trailer, their movements coordinated with the efficiency that came from years of partnership. Trevor held the tarp steady while Nathan secured the ties, both men working quickly as the first fat raindrops began to fall with ominous regularity.

When they finished securing the trailer, Trevor noticed a small diner across the street from the dealership, its neon sign advertising "Home Cooking" in letters that had probably been bright twenty years ago. His stomach chose that moment to remind him that they'd been driving for hours on nothing but bunkhouse coffee and determination.

"You wanna grab a bite?" Trevor asked, nodding toward the diner. "I'm starving."

Nathan considered the darkening sky and the increasingly steady rainfall. "Sure, I can eat."

Trevor's grin turned mischievous as he caught the careful phrasing of Nathan's response. "You know, you don't always have to stay ready for me."

Nathan scoffed, his cheeks flushing slightly as he caught Trevor's implication. "Get your mind out of the gutter. I just don't eat as much as you do, that's all."

Trevor's expression suggested he wasn't entirely convinced by Nathan's protest. "If you say so."

They jogged across the street through the steadily increasing rain, pushing through the diner's glass door to find themselves in a time capsule that probably hadn't changed much since the 1970s. Red vinyl booths, a lunch counter with chrome stools, and the kind of atmosphere that spoke of honest food served to working people who appreciated substance over presentation.

It was well past normal lunch hour, nearly 3 PM, but the diner was still occupied by a handful of locals who'd apparently decided to wait out the weather over coffee and conversation. Trevor and Nathan claimed a booth near the window where they could watch their truck and trailer while enjoying whatever passed for late lunch in this establishment.

As they settled into their seats, the rain outside intensified dramatically, transforming from steady drops to a deluge that hammered against the diner's windows with increasing fury. The sound was almost deafening, the kind of Montana storm that could turn roads into rivers and make travel treacherous within minutes.

They ordered a simple fare of burgers and fries, coffee that was strong enough to strip paint and watched the weather continue its assault on Billings. After they'd finished eating, it became clear that the storm wasn't going to pass quickly. Other patrons had apparently reached the same conclusion, because several people had lit cigarettes despite the obviously enclosed space.

Trevor pulled out his own pack, offering one to Nathan before lighting up himself. The relaxed atmosphere suggested that smoking indoors was either officially permitted or universally ignored, and frankly, watching their truck get battered by rain made both men feel like they needed something to take the edge off.

"Can't believe you're basically a smoker now," Trevor observed, exhaling a stream of smoke toward the ceiling.

Nathan took a drag from his own cigarette, his expression thoughtful. "I'll stop if you stop."

Trevor raised an eyebrow. "So it's my fault you picked up the habit?"

Nathan's smile was unapologetic. "Of course it is."

"You know this stuff kills you, right?" Trevor said, though his tone carried more affection than genuine concern.

Nathan's response was matter-of-fact, delivered with the casual acceptance of someone who'd gained perspective on what constituted real danger. "So? I've been through worse."

Trevor's expression softened immediately, recognizing the truth in Nathan's words. Nathan had survived systematic torture, mercenary attacks, and psychological trauma that would have broken most people. If smoking cigarettes provided him with a small comfort, a way to take the edge off life's remaining stresses, then Trevor would cherish every smoke break they shared together rather than worry about long-term health consequences.

Nathan checked his watch, noting how the afternoon had slipped away while they'd waited for the weather to improve. "I think we should go. It's already four o'clock."

Trevor glanced toward the window, where the rain continued its relentless assault on everything outside. "It's still pouring."

Nathan's voice carried the practical concern of someone who understood their foreman's expectations. "You want Rip to ban us from leaving the ranch for a whole year? He wasn't joking about that."

Trevor sighed in resignation, recognizing that Nathan was right about their timeline. "Fine."

They stubbed out their cigarettes and prepared for the inevitable soaking. The dash from the diner to their truck was only about fifty yards, but the rain was falling with such intensity that they were both thoroughly drenched by the time they reached the vehicle. Trevor's cowboy hat channeled water like a gutter, and Nathan's jacket clung to his frame with the uncomfortable persistence of wet fabric.

They climbed into the truck's cab, both men dripping and slightly breathless from their sprint through the downpour. Trevor started the engine and carefully pulled out of the diner's parking lot, the cattle trailer following behind them with reassuring stability despite the challenging conditions.

But as they approached the main highway leading out of Billings, their progress came to an abrupt halt. A line of vehicles stretched ahead of them, brake lights glowing like angry red eyes in the storm's premature darkness.

"What the fuck's going on?" Trevor muttered, craning his neck to see past the cars ahead of them.

In the distance, through the rain-blurred windshield, they could make out official vehicles blocking the roadway. Police cars, emergency lights, and what looked like highway department trucks positioned across the lanes in the universal configuration of bureaucratic authority preventing forward movement.

They were trapped in a line of frustrated travelers, going nowhere fast, with the storm showing no signs of mercy and Rip's deadline growing closer with each passing minute.

Trevor's hand unconsciously moved to his jacket pocket, feeling the outline of the ring box that had been waiting for the right moment all day. Maybe, he thought as he watched the rain continue its assault on their windshield, the right moment was about to present itself whether he was ready for it or not.

The line of cars stretched endlessly ahead of them, trapped in automotive purgatory while the storm raged with unrelenting fury. Some drivers were honking their horns in frustration, and despite the brutal rain hammering against their windows, muffled shouting could still be heard from other vehicles. But none of the cars seemed to be moving forward, and the roadblock showed no signs of clearing anytime soon.

Trevor stared through their rain-streaked windshield at the sea of brake lights and emergency vehicles blocking their path home. "The motel back there looked real comfortable in weather like this," he said with deliberate nonchalance. "Maybe not being allowed to leave the ranch for a year doesn't sound too bad after all."

Nathan turned to look at him with raised eyebrows, his expression carrying amused suspicion. "You're horny or something?"

Trevor's grin was unrepentant. "With you around, it's hard not to be. But don't worry, I'm great at self-control."

Nathan's response was delivered with perfect deadpan sarcasm. "Wow... that sounds very reassuring."

Nathan shrugged and began removing his damp trucker cap and jacket, clearly uncomfortable in the wet clothes. He searched around the truck's interior until he found a small towel in the glove compartment, shaking it out with the practical efficiency of someone who'd learned to make do with whatever was available.

"Let me just..." Nathan said quietly, reaching over to carefully remove Trevor's cowboy hat from his head.

He placed both their headwear on the dashboard side by side: Trevor's weathered brown cowboy hat next to Nathan's faded trucker cap. The sight of their worn, everyday accessories sitting together struck Trevor with unexpected emotional force. They looked perfect there, like they belonged together, like they were meant to be paired. Just like him and Nathan.

Nathan began gently drying Trevor's damp hair with the towel, his movements careful and loving, not saying a word as he tended to Trevor with the kind of intimate care that spoke louder than any declaration. The gesture was so tender, so unconsciously domestic, that it took Trevor's breath away completely.

When Nathan finished with Trevor's hair, he reached for Trevor's jacket, tugging at it gently as if asking him to remove the wet garment so he wouldn't get any more soaked. But Trevor pulled away, his movement careful but deliberate.

Nathan frowned with concern. "What is it?"

Trevor took a deep breath, his heart hammering against his ribs as he reached into his jacket pocket. This was it. The perfect moment he'd been waiting for, hoping for, dreading and anticipating in equal measure. He pulled out the small velvet box that had been burning a hole in his pocket all day.

Nathan's eyebrows shot up as recognition dawned on his features. "Trevor..."

"You know where this is going." Trevor said quietly, his Alabama drawl thick with emotion.

Trevor opened the ring box with hands that trembled slightly, revealing the sapphire and lapis lazuli ring that had been chosen specifically to match Nathan's eyes. The blue stone caught what little light filtered through their rain-soaked windshield, seeming to shift and shimmer even in the storm's premature darkness.

"Nathan Montgomery," Trevor said, his voice steady despite the magnitude of the moment, "will you marry me?"

Nathan paused for what felt like an eternity, his expression unreadable as he stared at the ring, then at Trevor, then back at the ring again. The silence stretched between them while Trevor's heart tried to beat its way out of his chest. He was terrified that Nathan would reject him for the second time, afraid that Nathan would think he was being trapped or manipulated by the circumstances of their isolation.

But then Nathan's face broke into a smile that could have powered the entire state of Montana, and he nodded with growing enthusiasm.

"Yes," Nathan said, his voice carrying wonder and joy in equal measure. "Yes, I will."

Trevor's grin was so wide it hurt as he carefully removed the ring from its box and slipped it onto Nathan's finger. The fit was perfect. All those careful measurements while Nathan slept had paid off exactly as planned.

Nathan stared down at the ring on his finger, watching how the blue stone seemed to come alive in the dim light. But slowly, his smile began to fade, and he looked down at his hands rather than meeting Trevor's eyes.

"But can I keep my name?" Nathan asked quietly, his voice carrying a vulnerability that made Trevor's chest ache.

Trevor's response was immediate and certain. "I'm not gonna take anything that is rightfully yours."

Nathan nodded, relief evident in his posture. "Thank you."

Now it was Trevor's turn to look down, suddenly unable to meet Nathan's eyes as the topic of names brought up his own complicated desires. There was something he wanted, something he'd been thinking about for months but had never been sure he deserved to ask for.

After another long pause, Trevor gathered his courage. "Can I... can I take yours instead? It's just that, the name Gibson never really meant anything to me."

The admission hung between them like a gift. Trevor Gibson was a name tied to a rough foster home and abandonment, to a childhood without family or belonging. But Nathan Montgomery, that name carried love, acceptance, healing. It represented everything Trevor had found at the ranch, everything he'd discovered about himself through Nathan's gentle influence.

Nathan finally looked up at Trevor, his expression soft with understanding and something that looked very much like love. "Of course."

Trevor met Nathan's eyes, and they came together in a kiss that tasted of relief and promise and the kind of love that survived storms both literal and metaphorical. It was tender at first, celebratory, but quickly deepened as the reality of their engagement began to sink in.

Nathan's hand found its way to Trevor's belt, fingers working at the buckle with growing urgency.

"Nate..." Trevor said, though his protest lacked any real conviction.

"Let me show you my appreciation." Nathan replied, his voice taking on the seductive undertone that never failed to make Trevor's brain short-circuit.

"You're crazy." Trevor said, but he was already shifting in his seat to give Nathan better access.

Nathan looked up at Trevor with eyes that held promise and mischief in equal measure. "You think you're the only one who has to contain himself? So just shut up and let me thank you properly."

What followed was passionate and grateful and completely inappropriate for their public location, but neither of them cared about anything beyond the cab of their truck and the love they'd just committed to sharing for the rest of their lives. The storm raged outside, trapping them in their private world, but inside their sanctuary, Trevor and Nathan Montgomery began their engagement exactly the way they'd lived their relationship, with honesty, passion, and absolute devotion to each other.

The roadblock could wait. The ranch could wait. Rip's threats could wait.

This moment belonged entirely to them.

—

The roadblock finally cleared after what felt like an eternity but had probably been closer to three hours. By the time they were allowed to proceed, the storm had exhausted itself, leaving behind only the occasional drizzle and the kind of crystal-clear air that came after nature had washed the world clean. But the delay meant they were driving home in complete darkness, the truck's headlights cutting through the Montana night like a knife through black velvet.

Normally, this kind of isolated darkness would have Nathan on edge: the pitch-black emptiness stretching endlessly on both sides of the road, the sense of vast wilderness where anything could be lurking just beyond their headlight beams. But tonight, Nathan was completely distracted by the ring on his finger, turning his hand this way and that to catch the dashboard lights, watching how the blue stone seemed to capture and reflect even the faintest illumination.

"How'd you get this ring?" Nathan asked, his voice carrying the wonder of someone still processing the reality of their engagement.

Trevor's answer was casual, but Nathan caught the hint of pride underneath. "Your father helped me pick it."

Nathan's head snapped toward Trevor, his eyebrows shooting up with surprise and something approaching disbelief. "You went ring shopping with my dad back in LA?"

"Sorta." Trevor replied, his Alabama drawl carrying just enough evasion to suggest there was more to the story than he was revealing.

Nathan studied Trevor's profile in the dim light from the dashboard, processing this unexpected revelation about his father's involvement in their engagement. "Why'd you wait? You know I couldn't say yes back then not because I didn't want to marry you, right?"

Trevor sighed, his hands tightening slightly on the steering wheel as he considered how to explain months of careful consideration and internal debate. "Your divorce and everything else going on... I didn't want to pressure you or, worse, make you feel like I was manipulating you into this. I wanted to make sure you were completely free to choose, without any legal complications or emotional baggage influencing your decision."

Nathan looked at Trevor from the passenger seat, studying the man who'd been patient enough to wait for the right moment rather than rushing into a proposal that might have felt like another form of entrapment. The fact that Trevor had been willing to wait, had prioritized Nathan's emotional well-being over his own desires, reassured Nathan further that Trevor was absolutely the right person for him.

"Thank you." Nathan said quietly, his voice thick with emotion.

Trevor glanced over at Nathan with a slight smile. "I thought we agreed to stop saying thank you to each other."

Nathan chuckled, then returned his attention to the ring, turning it again to catch the light. "How'd you know my ring size anyway?"

Trevor's response came perhaps a beat too quickly, his voice carrying the casual confidence of someone who'd prepared for this question. "I've held your hand enough times to eyeball it well enough."

It was a complete lie, and Trevor hoped desperately that Neil would never reveal the truth about those careful measurements taken while Nathan slept. Even though Nathan would probably find it more endearing than creepy, Trevor still thought the whole thing was too embarrassing to admit.

Nathan's expression suggested he wasn't entirely convinced by Trevor's explanation, but he let it slide without further interrogation. "Okay."

As they continued through the Montana darkness, Trevor caught a glimpse of something in his side mirror that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. A huge, shadowy figure with what looked like horns, standing about a hundred yards behind them in the road. He blinked hard and looked again, but the figure was gone. If it had ever been there at all.

Nathan noticed Trevor's sudden tension, his voice carrying concern. "You okay?"

Trevor forced his shoulders to relax, his grip on the steering wheel loosening as he reminded himself that whatever he'd seen or thought he'd seen didn't matter. "Yeah, I'm great."

And he was great. Better than great, actually. He couldn't give two shits about wendigos or bigfoot or any other cryptids, even if they were all real and having a convention in the Montana wilderness tonight. He'd just made Nathan his fiancé. Everything else was background noise compared to that monumental fact.

The ring caught the dashboard light again as Nathan moved his hand, and Trevor found himself grinning like an idiot at the sight. They were engaged. Actually, officially, legally engaged to be married. Nathan had said yes, had chosen him, had agreed to build a life together that would last longer than ranch contracts or employment situations.

Trevor Montgomery. He was going to be Trevor Montgomery, carrying Nathan's family name forward into whatever future they built together. The thought made something warm and permanent settle in his chest, a sense of belonging that went deeper than the ranch brand on his skin.

Behind them, the cattle trailer followed obediently, carrying proof of their successful mission for Rip. But more importantly, they were carrying something infinitely more valuable. The promise of a shared future, officially blessed and mutually chosen, that would survive whatever storms Montana or life could throw at them.

The ranch was still hours away, but they were already home in all the ways that mattered most.