“You okay?” Caleb murmurs, coming up behind me.
I nod, blinking away the sting of happy tears. “More than okay.”
“Good,” he whispers, kissing my cheek before joining the others.
We eat together, laughing and joking, feeling like a real family even though it’s far from the truth.
***
After breakfast, the men scatter to their chores again, but not before insisting that I bring baby Caleb out to meet the horses.
“It’s a rite of passage,” Wade declares dramatically. “Kid’s gotta touch a horse before noon, or it don’t count as a real ranch day.”
Caleb nods. “Rules are rules.”
Baby Caleb claps like he understood every word.
Wade grabs his hat from the hook, then pauses, looking at me. Without a word, he settles it on my head. It’s far too big, the brim dipping over my eyebrows, and he grins as he tips it up with two fingers so he can see my eyes.
“There,” he says softly. “Now you match the rest of us.”
I laugh, adjusting the hat with one hand while I balance my baby on my hip. Wade steps closer, sliding an arm around my waist as he presses a slow kiss to my lips. It’s warm and sweet, and when baby Caleb squeals loudly, absolutely delighted, Wade pulls back laughing.
“Well, at least he approves,” he says.
Caleb approaches from behind and brushes a fingertip along the baby’s cheek. “Come on then,” he says. “Time to meet the horses.”
We walked together toward the pens, the morning sun warming my back, Wade’s hat slipping lower on my forehead, and my son laughing between us like he’s already accepted that this ranch will be his whole world.
And as the horses lift their heads, ears twitching toward us, joy settles behind my sternum. For once, I’m not holding my breath waiting for the ground to fall out from under me.
I’m standing on solid ground with my son and two men I trust more with every hour that passes. It’s impossible not to look dead in the eye at a future that feels fated, daring to believe that nothing else will go wrong.
Chapter 24
Wade
Joelle descends the stairs in her new dress, and for a second, I forget how to breathe. The fabric clings to her curves, dipping enough at the neckline to make my pulse jump. Her hair’s curled from the humidity, her cheeks are flushed, and Little C, as we’ve now started calling him, is tucked on her hip, holding his blue rabbit stuffed toy like it’s the most important thing in the world.
Caleb lets out a low whistle. “Darlin’, you’re gonna shut down the whole damn fair lookin’ like that.”
Joelle blushes, smoothing the skirt with her free hand. “It’s just a dress.”
“It ain’t ‘just’anything,” I say, stepping in close to tuck a curl behind her ear. “You’re beautiful.” And the way she looks at me right then, hopeful, soft, and a little shy, damn near knocks me flat.
Little C babbles and smacks his hands together, eager for whatever adventure he senses coming. So we pile into thetruck, Caleb strapping him into his car seat with the careful focus he gets anytime the baby’s involved, and I drive us toward the fairground that has sprung up outside town.
The closer we get, the louder everything grows: the music, the chatter, the clang of metal as rides warm up for the evening crowd. The air smells like kettle corn, fried dough, hay, and barbecue smoke. Families who have driven for miles mill around with paper cups of lemonade. Kids run past with sticky fingers and cotton candy mustaches. Somewhere, a fiddle plays an old cowboy two-step.
We spend the first half hour wandering. Caleb wins a stuffed horse for the baby. Joelle feeds Little C tiny bites of funnel cake. I buy her candied pecans and watch her lick the sugar from her fingertips, getting all kinds of riled up. She’s fascinated by the barrel racers warming up and tells me how she always loved the horses more than the crowds.
We walk together while Caleb jogs ahead to let Little C see the goats and sheep. I lace my fingers with Joelle’s, and she leans into my side, warm and certain about our physical contact in a way she never used to be. “This is nice,” she murmurs.
“Yeah,” I say. “It is.”
I’m not the kind of man who dwelled much on what it would feel like to have a woman and child. Family felt broken to me: mom passed away before I could truly feel her love, and a father who showed his cows more affection than his sons. But today, I see what all the fuss is about. I glance at other men, caring excited kids on their shoulders or pushing strollers, their wives laughing, and I get it. There’s a contentment that’s settled into me that’s so much greater than I expected. I cup Joelle’s head and pull her close, kissing her temple. She smells of strawberry shampooand sugar, my sweet, strong, beautiful woman.
We’re cutting past the livestock tent toward the Ferris wheel when Joelle stops dead.
