AN: Hello, my dears

Okay, so maybe I'm a liar. I thought for sure the rest of my chapters were at least 1000-2000 words, but apparently I don't even know my own story. In fact, I'm pretty sure this chapter is shorter than the first two. IDK. I'm sorry. It is what it is. Life is hard. I have faith that we can move past this.

Disclaimer: Ally Carter owns Zach, Cammie, and the Gallagher Girls universe.

Happy reading!

Cammie's POV

Grandma Morgan stood at the top of the steps with sun-spotted hands on her slim hips. She was trying to appear the part of the tough rancher's wife, but joy shone behind her eyes and creased all of her laugh-lines. Her long, white hair was braided and pulled over one shoulder, and I don't think she'd ever looked more beautiful.

"Grandma!" I exclaimed, running up the steps and wrapping her in a hug.

"Oh, I missed you so much, my baby," she said, smoothing my hair back and kissing my cheek much like Grandpa had.

"I missed you, too," I whispered, "so much."

"What's the hold up?" called Grandpa, and over Grandma's shoulder I saw him push through the screen door on the far side of the porch, the door that led directly to the kitchen. He had an impatient look on his face, but that melted away when he saw Grandma and me.

"Well, if it isn't the two prettiest ladies in the world. How did a guy like me get so lucky?"

"Good question," Grandma teased, then beckoned him over.

He wrapped his arms around both of us, and when he softly said, "my girls," I was reminded of my dad. Dad used to call Mom and I his girls. Apparently he'd gotten that endearment and most of his physical features from my grandpa because, right then, I felt like I was looking at him.

Both of my grandparents were laughing, but I couldn't breathe. So much had happened to me over the past three years. I'd been kidnapped, tortured, chased, shot twice, and so many other things that were considered classified. I could've died so many times and neither of them would've known the truth about how or why. Just like they didn't know the truth about their son.

I was suddenly struck with so much relief that I hadn't died just so I could be there in that moment with them. I wasn't really a crier, but tears rimmed my eyes and my chest felt like it was going to cave in.

"I love you," I choked out, and they both pulled back.

"We love you, too, Dolly," Grandpa said slowly. "What's wrong?" His bushy brows were drawn in confusion.

Grandma didn't look confused, though. She looked like she understood exactly what I was thinking—well…not exactly what I was thinking, but the code-red version—and she knew what I needed.

She started shooing Grandpa away. "Go on down to the cellar, Virgil, and grab some of our homemade applesauce. You know how much Cammie likes it."

"Quit shoving me, Marion. Cammie is-"

"Cammie baby, would you and your handsome young man pick a bouquet of zinnias? We're overrun by men in there. The table needs a woman's touch."

They disappeared inside the house, Grandpa complaining the whole time, and I clopped down the wooden steps back to Zach, clutching the white-washed railing for support.

He held my upper arms and ducked his head to look me in the eyes as a few tears finally spilled over. "It's a lot, isn't it?" He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. "Seeing them after…everything."

I gave him a watery smile and a nod. "I don't know why I'm reacting like this. I'm happy"—I squeezed my eyes shut—"so, so happy to see them."

"You're overwhelmed," he told me, pressing my face and tears to his chest. "You're here. You're alive. This is a good moment. You haven't had a lot of those over the past few years. Give yourself a minute to take it in."

So, I did. I breathed in the Nebraskan air and listened to all of the sounds I'd missed. Primarily I heard mooing, seeing as this was a cattle ranch, but there were also horses snorting and chickens clucking, and in the background was the perpetual soft rush of the creek that flowed through Grandpa's land.

"Better?" Zach asked when I lifted my head from his chest.

I nodded. "Thank you."

"Eh, it's kind of my job. Now let's pick some zinnias."

"Do you know what zinnias look like?" I asked as we turned to face the garden blooming with about a dozen different kinds of flowers.

He smiled with confidence. "Not a clue."

I pulled out the pocketknife I'd made a habit of always carrying and cut the stem of a flower with many layered, soft, pink petals, then I handed it to Zach. "Ranching lesson number one: this is a zinnia, my grandma's favorite flower. And here's how you pick them."

AN: Thank you so much for taking the time to read this chapter! I appreciate you all...verily? Muchly? With great amounts of genuineness? Let's just say a lot. I appreciate you all a lot! Anyway, if you're feeling up to it and don't have any plans within the next 3 minutes, feel free to leave an encouraging comment or helpful critique. Up to you, though. It's not like I'm an amateur author who craves validation or anything.

Hope you all have a great week!

Much love, Rachel