“You’re riding a horse in tight jeans and a hat with your man holding you. You’re a goddamn cowgirl now, Jo.”
I glance over to see Wade snapping pictures with his phone. “Hold up that chin, darlin’. Let’s see that grin.”
I give him a mock glare and a real smile, one hand reaching for the brim of my hat like a model in a western calendar.
“That’s the one,” Wade says, his voice a little husky. “My girl.”
My heart could float right out of my chest.
After a few minutes, Caleb leans down and murmurs, “Want to try it on your own?”
I hesitate. Then I nod. It’s now or never. A woman can’t live on a ranch and not know how to ride a horse. I’m pretty sure the cowboy police—or committee or whatever—is on the brink of coming to arrest me for crimes against ranch life.
Caleb dismounts easily, then helps me settle. I’m so high, and without his arms around me and his solidity at my back, fear rears again. He keeps hold of the reins, though, walking beside Penny as I take the lead, cautious but exhilarated.
Every step is a small victory. Every sway of the saddle reminds me I’m stronger than I thought, and I can do anything if I put my mind to it.
“You’re doin’ it,” Caleb calls, tipping up his hat to look up at me.
“Iam, aren’t I?” I laugh, eyes wide with wonder.
Wade cheers from the fence, hoisting Little C up to sit beside him. “Damn right you are! Look at Mama go!”
After a slow circle through the paddock, we lead Penny to a patch of soft shade beneath a wide, old cottonwood. I swing down with Caleb’s help, boots hitting the ground with a satisfying thunk.
“You guys ready for lunch?” I ask, suddenly shy. “I made sandwiches and pie.”
“I’d eat dry toast if you made it,” Wade says, already spreading out the blanket.
We sit beneath the tree, Little C crawling between us, trying to sneak bites from everyone’s plates and squirting his juice box in Wade’s eye. Caleb helps me unlace my boots while Wade pulls me into his lap, sandwich forgotten as hepresses a kiss to the side of my neck.
“Happy?” he asks, like he ever needs to.
I look around at the golden grass, the sleepy horse grazing nearby, our son’s curly head bent over a crushed blueberry, the way Caleb watches me like I’m a miracle. Wade’s at my back, his love as solid and reliable as his body.
There’s no hesitation in me when I answer.
“More than I ever knew I could be.”
Epilogue
Joelle
The house smells like birthday cake and warm cider. Balloons brighten the corners, flanking colorful banners. My son,ourson, as Wade and Caleb now call him, turned two today, and he was spoiled rotten.
Little C is curled in Wade’s lap, his chubby fingers clinging to the pages of a picture book as Wade reads in his slow, steady voice that could soothe the growl out of a thunderstorm. Caleb watches from across the room, a gentle smile playing across his lips. Sometimes, I catch him looking at his gruff brother, who has softened over the past year, with so much love it takes my breath away. Their bond is strong. Stronger since I arrived on the ranch, worn down and desperate, and found two men who needed love as much as I did.
Janey sits beside me at the table, cupping a mug of tea in both hands. She’s been so supportive of my new relationship, despite the unusual circumstances. She’s stillconfused by our arrangement, and I’ve learned to dodge the pointed questions and let her guess at whatever she thinks happens behind our bedroom door. Yesterday, she joked that she wouldn’t mind two handsome, rugged cowboys spoiling her rotten, and I told her to stick around; we’ve got more single men on this ridge than she realizes, and at least two of them turn into bashful idiots whenever she walks past.
“This cake is so good,” Rick says around a mouthful.
“Thanks,” I smile.
Eli grins with telltale wickedness. “No wonder Wade and Caleb have put on weight since you arrived.”
I flush, wondering if it’s the cake or all the breast milk they’ve been enjoying. They have bulked up, packing on muscle in all the right places. Just thinking about their work-hardened bodies makes my pussy squeeze, and a slow pulse of heat spreads through my body.
A gust of cool air sweeps in when the door opens. Two broad silhouettes fill the doorway, boots and hats dusty, shoulders wide enough to block the light behind them. Their strides shake the floorboards. The Fletcher cousins, Mason and Brookes, stride in with the kind of easy swagger that runs in their bloodline. Mason’s tall and sandy-haired with a jaw square enough to cut lumber. Brookes is darker, with tousled curls and smirking eyes that scream trouble. They greet Caleb with a back slap that sounds like someone chopping wood, nodding to Wade, who continues to focus on Little C’s bedtime story.
