Anything he needed.
And if he needs a Daddy.
The voice in my head taunted me, wanting to remind me I wasn’t just a man who’d be his partner in life. I was a dominant individual looking for someone to submit to me. Looking for someone who craved the chance to let go. Who craved letting me lead.
I stood there on the porch, caught in the quiet pull between us.
He blinked, snowflakes melting in his hair, and for a heartbeat, the world felt smaller. It was just the two of us and the steady fall of snow.
I didn’t know why he was here. Was something wrong? Did he just need to get away?
Or maybe, just maybe, the universe had decided it was time for my heart to wake up again.
I didn’t call out to him. Not yet.
The moment was fragile, like the hush before dawn.
But as the cold settled deeper into my bones and his car lights disappeared, I knew one thing for certain—whatever brought Tanner here tonight wasn’t just business.
Something had shifted.
And standing there on that porch, snow falling all around me, I felt it.
That old promise stirred back to life.
Wren’s voice echoed faintly in my memory:Keep your heart open.
So I did.
It was the first time I believed I could live up to the notion my late husband left behind. The first time I realized there was room for me to want someone else.
I squared my shoulders, watched Tanner start toward me through the snow, and let the warmth of something new flicker to life in the space where grief used to live.
Whatever it might become, I’d be ready to take it on.
I was ready to takehimon.
CHAPTER
THREE
Tanner
The figure on the porch startled me at first.
I worried maybe I'd woken someone up. That my headlights cutting through the darkness had dragged them from their warm blankets into the cold.
But as I parked in front of the house I'd hoped to find peace in, I realized it wasn't either of the owners standing there in the dim light.
No, it was Simon waiting there.
My heart raced at the sight of the other man, a sudden kick against my ribs that had nothing to do with exhaustion. He was… interesting. That was the safest word I could use, though it didn't come close to capturing the effect he had on me.
Every time I'd come to the ranch, he'd been busy doing something: tending horses, mending fences, moving through the world with a quiet competence that drew my eye every single time. Other than the first time we exchanged names and shook hands—his palm warm and callused against mine—he kept to the outskirts. He was a shadow I couldn't help but watch.
Part of me wondered if it was because he felt like an outsider.
It was an easy conclusion considering how close everyone on the ranch was. This was one of the few places that didn't have a high turnover rate of helping hands. When people came to the Coleman Ranch, they stayed. They built a home. They found family.
