“Why not?” Her bottom lip jutted out in a pout, emphasizing her playful defiance.
She tilted her head slightly, a questioning look crossing her face as I raised an eyebrow and gestured toward her midsection with a subtle, pointed motion.
“Pregnant women ride all the time, and as a matter of fact, I was riding four days ago.”
“I have no problem with your riding a horse. We can get one picked out for you, but you can’t ride Vader.”
“But he is so sweet.”
Vader’s big-ass nickered softly, lowering his head to nuzzle her hand in a gesture of trust and affection. It was clear that the connection between them was instant and genuine.
It didn’t sway my decision. “The fuck he is. He is unpredictable. We aren’t taking any chances.”
Protecting Jo and the baby was the most important thing to me, and I was willing to do whatever it took to ensure their safety, even if it meant sacrificing my own desires or going against her wishes. Her well-being and the safety of our child were my top priorities, and I was determined to protect them at all costs, no matter how difficult the choices might be.
CHAPTER TEN
JO
The cottage had undergone a thorough transformation over the past few weeks. According to the baby books, I was in the nesting phase of my pregnancy. The air inside was crisp with the faint scent of fresh paint and lemon-scented cleaner, a testament to the hours spent scrubbing every surface. Soft afternoon sunlight streamed through the newly washed windows, casting warm, golden beams across the freshly painted walls. The rooms felt alive, each one carrying the faint hum of effort and care that went into making this space feel renewed and ready.
The baby’s room was perfect. I never thought I’d be so predictable. It was soft, sweet, and just right for our little princess. The walls were painted a delicate shade of blush, and the sunlight streamed through lace curtains, casting warm, golden patterns on the plush cream carpet. A faint scent of baby powder and lavender lingered in the air, mingling with the comforting smell of freshly laundered crib sheets.
Ryan was right all along—we were having a baby girl. God, he looked so smug when he found out. He grinned from ear to ear, his eyes sparkling with a mix of pride and excitement. As soon as the doctor revealed the news, he couldn't resist a little celebratory fist pump right there in the office. Later, he teased me gently, reminding me how he’d been so certain all along, and his joy was infectious.
Ryan’s mom created the best part of the baby’s room. She wasn’t anything like I expected. First, she was so youthful that she could pass for his sister. Her short purple pixie cut suited her, as do her vibrant, multicoloured dresses, which swirled as she moves, highlighting her distinctively bohemian vibe. She carried the scent of patchouli. June, who insisted I call her “Mama June,” was an artist at heart.
The mural she created was a breathtaking fusion of Mulan’s strength and Tiana’s vibrant charm, blending their worlds into a single masterpiece. The vivid imagery transported you into a realm where cherry blossoms swayed alongside New Orleans jazz, and every detail felt alive with energy. I was completely captivated by its beauty.
I often found myself sitting in the baby’s room, on the rocking chair, staring at it. Okay, that’s where I spent time when I was instructed to rest. Texas is more than happy to fulfil my requests as long as I stick to delegating and avoid lifting a finger to help. Other than his insistence that I rest, it’s been nice having Ryan here full-time. For a few months, he had split his time, spending half the month in each location. Then, two weeks ago, it all ended.
“I’m on my way to you,” he called me as he was waiting for his flight. “The weather is changing. What if a winter storm strands me, leaving me unable to reach you? I can’t bear thethought of risking the baby coming early and missing her arrival. I need to stay close; no more trips back and forth to South Dakota until after she’s born.”
Since then, I woke up to the irresistible scent of a warm, mouthwatering breakfast, felt my feet gently caressed without asking, and sunk into bed, utterly spent, after he sends me spiralling into ecstasy.
His presence had its challenges. He insisted I reduce my workload, which is easier said than done. Convincing him of a paralegal’s limits was like milking a bull. After many heated discussions, I agreed to hire a newly appointed bar lawyer for my office while I’m on maternity leave. Training has been difficult, with Ryan accusing me of micromanaging and urging me to stop working. I compromised by working from the cottage.
Ryan was more a part of my life and decisions than I imagined he would be. Our ‘arrangement’ felt more traditional than the ‘just co-parenting’ one I agreed to. In hindsight, I may not have had all the facts I needed to make my decision. I’m not blaming Ryan, but when he sold me on the co-parenting dream using his parents as examples, he left some things out. Or some might say I hadn’t asked.
His family’s closeness, even with two homes, was a dream he cherished. His parents’ unwavering commitment to putting him first, their shared vacations and holidays, and the absence of any ill words between them painted a picture of harmony and love. It was a dream he held close, one that inspired him to believe in the possibility of a loving, supportive co-parenting relationship, even in the face of challenges. If Ryan and I ever faced divorce, this blueprint of mutual respect and carewould guide us in giving our daughter the best life possible.
During his parents’ visit, Mama June let me in on a piece of the puzzle I wasn’t aware of. It turned out the free spirit Mama June and Ryan’s buttoned-up father, whom I called Mr. Kay, were still married. They always had been.
“Ed and I aren’t divorced; we loved each other too much to give up on what we had. We simply discovered early on that living together 24/7 wasn’t healthy for us. I’m water, and he’s oil—our love is undeniable, but our differences were epic and constantly ignited flames that would have destroyed us in the long run. We found the key to keeping our bond strong was to prioritise our well-being, live apart while ensuring our children were happy, safe, and loved.”
After his parents left, I confronted Ryan.“I never told you my parents were divorced. My parents found an unconventional way to raise their family and remain a couple. They had to. Kays don’t get divorced, Sunshine.”
The conversation left me with much to reflect on. Was that the goal we were aiming for? Our situation was different. His parents’ story began traditionally—they fell in love, got married, and built a life together. For us, though, things were more complicated. Our origin story wasn’t a fairytale based on love, just two people with a strong physical attraction who enjoyed each other’s company, complicated by an unexpected pregnancy.
The difference in our marriage was stark compared to his parents’—we lived in separate countries, and there had never been any discussions about living together in the samecountry. The uncertainty of a lack of shared plans or a clear future path hung over us like a storm cloud waiting to burst.
Ryan was deeply connected to Broken Stone Ranch. Ranching wasn’t just a job for him; it was his passion. Whenever he wasn’t with me in the cottage, he would spend hours working at Chase’s ranch or my brother’s, fully immersed in the life he loved. I couldn’t imagine him giving up his life in South Dakota and living with us full-time.
“I thought I’d find you in here.” Ryan’s sudden appearance startled me, interrupting my thoughts.
He was all smiles until he stopped right in front of me. His expression changed as he held his hand out to me. “What’s on your mind, Sunshine?”
“Oh, nothing, you know how my mind wanders.”
