“They already know,” I confessed, grinning in the dark.
“Lincoln Felder, what the hell?” Her hand smacked my chest, but it was gentle.
“I’m surrounded by men who procreate like it’s their only job,” I said. “They saw the signs.”
Her soft laugh vibrated against my chest, a sound I could have lived inside forever.
“You’re not wrong,” she said. “This ranch is growing faster than anyone dreamed of. Good thing you’ve got lots of property.”
Silence settled over us, not heavy, just warm, and it wrapped around the room like a quilt; the only sounds were the fainthum of the furnace and the sigh of wind brushing against the windowpane. I could still smell the hay in my hair and the wood smoke that clung to my coat. All of it mixed with her scent, sweet and human and home.
“Oh, you know who I saw having lunch together at Fred’s today?” she murmured.
“Babe, guessing isn’t my strong suit, and while I’m half asleep, it’s not going to be any better.”
“Troy and Hattie.”
“Hmm. Didn’t see that one coming.” I cracked one eye open, too tired to lift my head. Elle’s ex-husband and Jake’s ex-wife were about the most unlikely pair to be seen together in this town. “They seeing each other?”
“Elle said they’ve been going out for a few months.”
I made a sound somewhere between a groan and a laugh. “Well, that’s a hell of a plot twist.”
“You could say that,” she said softly. “But good for them. Everyone deserves another chance.”
I nodded and let my eyes close. Her hand drew lazy circles across my chest, and somewhere between one breath and the next, everything went black.
When I woke again, light crept through the curtains in soft yellow lines. The storm hadn’t arrived overnight like it was supposed to, leaving the world outside quiet. I could hear the distant hum of the skid-steer in the corral, and the soft, contented moving of the occasional cow.
Kristin was still curled up next to me, her face pressed into my shoulder, her hair a mess across the pillow. Her hand rested over her belly like she was already protecting what we hadn’t told anyone yet. My throat went tight. I watched her breathe for a long minute, each slow rise and fall steady as sunrise.
Deciding it was still too early to get up, I pulled her tightly against me and rested my hand below hers. The weight wassmall, barely visible yet, but it changed everything I felt about the morning.
Outside, a plow rumbled somewhere up the road. I could almost picture the tracks it left, neat lines through new snow, the kind of order that meant the day had started whether I wanted it to or not. But for now, for this minute, I stayed exactly where I was.
She stirred a little, making that sleepy hum I loved, and her fingers flexed under mine. Her eyelashes brushed my chest when she blinked awake.
“Hey,” she whispered, her voice rough from sleep.
“Morning.”
Her eyes opened, still heavy, and she smiled. “You’re warm.”
“You say that like it’s a surprise.”
“It is when you come in from twenty below.”
“Maybe you should keep me close then.”
“I think I already do.”
We lay there in the kind of silence that only comes after a night that asks everything from you. The cattle were fine, the barn lights still glowed, and for once I wasn’t thinking about what might break next. I was just here with her.
She traced a line along my jaw with her fingertip. “You need a shave.”
“I need about twelve hours of sleep.”
“Take what you can get,” she said, kissing the corner of my mouth.
