“I’ll think about it.”
We reach his truck. He loads the bags into the back.
“We can walk you over to the market. Help you shop,” he offers. “It’s the least we could do.”
“Not necessary. I only have a few things to pick up, and I already know the sizes and colors of every grocery item I need,” I joke.
Waylon chuckles, and there go those damn dimples again.
“Thanks,” he says. “For everything.”
Ruby suddenly runs over and throws her arms around my waist.
I hug her back without hesitation.
Waylon buckles her into her car seat, careful and attentive, then straightens and gives me a small nod before climbing into the driver’s seat.
He rolls down his window. “I’m gonna call you next week about those lessons.”
I throw my hand up and wave without answering and watch them drive away.
And for the first time, I think maybe I’ve misjudged him.
Just a little.
Nah. He’s still a jackass.
The alarm goes off at four a.m. sharp, bringing an abrupt stop to the dream I was enjoying. A steer. A gold buckle. Crowd cheering.
I groan and roll onto my back, fumbling for my phone on the nightstand. I pound the screen and silence it with more force than necessary. My body screams at me as I stretch my back. I conveniently forgot how early everything starts on a ranch. It doesn’t care if you’re tired. Cows don’t wait. Neither does daylight.
Beside me, the reason for my achy limbs stirs. Ruby is a combative bedmate. She starts the night sweetly cuddled into my side, but once she’s asleep, it’s like wrestling an alligator. She twists and turns, landing sideways with a foot in my rib cage.
But, man, she’s the cutest little alligator.
Her eyes blink open once, maybe twice, unfocused and heavy with sleep. For half a second, I panic, thinking I’ve woken her for the day, but then she rolls onto her side, curls into herself, and is out again.
I stay still for a moment, watching her breathe.
This—this—is the part that makes it all worth it. The quiet seconds when I can appreciate where this path has led me before responsibility slams back into place. Before I panic at the fact that I’m a single dad who has no fucking clue what he’s doing. A single dad who has no business being responsible for the care and safety of this tiny human.
I tuck the blanket up around her shoulders and ease myself out of bed, careful not to let the floor creak beneath my weight.
I dress in the bathroom across the hall, pulling on jeans and a thermal, taking my boots in hand and carrying them downstairs instead of putting them on up here. The house smells like coffee by the time I reach the kitchen.
Momma stands at the stove, flipping eggs in a skillet. Her hair done, robe exchanged for jeans and a sweater, she looks fresh as a damn daisy.
“Morning,” I mumble.
She turns and smiles, like she’s been waiting for me. “Good morning, sweetheart,” she chirps cheerfully.
I kiss her cheek and grab a mug, pouring myself coffee before my brain has time to catch up. She loads a plate with eggs, bacon, and toast and slides it toward me as I sit at the island.
“Thank you,” I say.
I eat fast. Barely taking the time to appreciate the food. A habit from years of grabbing meals between shifts where jobs don’t wait. When I’m halfway through, guilt creeps in.
“You sure you don’t mind keeping Ruby today?” I ask.
