He pulls out his phone and types quickly. Within seconds, his phone buzzes with responses. He glances at them and grins.
"Tucker says he's bringing Emma down. She'll be excited to meet Rosie."
More people. More of Mason's makeshift family. Part of me wants to retreat, to grab Rosie and lock ourselves back in the cottage where it's safe and controlled. But the other part, the part that's so fucking tired of running, wants to see what this place really is. Who these men are. Whether the family they claim to be is real or just another lie.
We bundle Rosie into her jacket—purple with unicorns, slightly too small but still her favorite, and head outside. The morning sun is bright, almost blinding after so many nights in dark parking lots. The ranch spreads out before us, bigger than I realized in the dark. Pastures, fences, a massive barn that looks like it's been standing for decades.
Mason leads us toward the barn, his stride long and confident. I have to take two steps for every one of his, and I can’t help but notice how my thighs rub together when I walk, how my breathing gets heavier faster than it should. Out of shape. Another thing to add to my list of inadequacies.
"That's the main barn," Mason explains, pointing. "We keep most of the horses there. The cattle are out in the far pastures this time of year. Equipment sheds are over there, and those cottages—" he gestures to a cluster of small buildings "—that's where the rest of us live."
"Six cottages for six owners," I observe.
"We have 8 now, with Sierra's investment. But she lives with Wade." Mason glances at me. "You'll meet her when they get back. She's good people. You'll like her."
I'm not sure I will. Women with money who marry into ranches usually look at women like me with disdain. But I don't say that. Just nod and keep walking.
We're almost at the barn when a man appears leading a horse. He's tall, lean, with a calm presence that immediately marks him as someone comfortable with children. A little girl with pigtails walks beside him, wearing pink cowboy boots.
"Mason!" The girl runs toward us, then stops short when she sees me and Rosie. "Oh. Hi."
"Hey, Emma." Mason's voice goes softer, more tender. "This is Lily and her daughter Rosie. They're staying at Wade and Sierra's cottage for a bit."
"Tucker Hayes." The man extends his hand to me, his handshake firm but not crushing. "And this is my daughter Emma. Mason texted that you might want to see the horses?"
"Horsies!" Rosie practically shouts, pointing at the massive animal standing placidly beside Tucker.
"That's Butterscotch," Emma informs her seriously. "She's very nice. Do you want to pet her?"
Rosie looks up at me, her eyes huge and pleading. I'm terrified. The horse is enormous, easily ten times Rosie's size, with hoovesthat could crush my daughter's skull. But Tucker and Emma are standing right there, and Emma is seven. If a seven-year-old can be around these horses safely...
"Okay," I say, my voice tight. "But you have to be very gentle."
Tucker lifts Rosie up, asking my permission first with a glance, and brings her close to Butterscotch's nose. The horse sniffs at Rosie's hand, and my daughter giggles with pure delight.
"She likes you," Emma declares. "Butterscotch is a very good judge of character."
Despite my fear, I smile. Emma is adorable. Precocious and confident in a way I never was as a kid.
"You ever ridden a horse?" Mason asks me suddenly, his voice low enough that only I can hear.
I shake my head. "Never."
"Want to try?" His dark eyes hold mine, and there's something in them that makes my pulse quicken. "I can teach you. It's not as scary as it looks."
Riding. Me. On a horse. With Mason teaching me.
The image that floods my mind is completely inappropriate. Mason's hands on my hips, his body pressed against mine from behind, that rough voice in my ear telling me what to do. I squeeze my thighs together, trying to ignore the throb of arousal between my legs.
"I don't know," I hedge, my voice coming out breathier than I intend.
"Tucker can watch Rosie," Mason continues, his gaze never leaving mine. "Emma loves having other kids around. And the corral's right there. You'll be able to see her the whole time."
Watch Rosie. Let a stranger, another one of these men I don't know, watch my daughter while I'm on a horse with Mason's hands on my body.
Every instinct screams no. Screams that this is how it happens, how you lose control, how everything goes wrong. But Tucker is holding Rosie so gently, and Emma is chattering away to her about horses and ranch life, and Rosie is laughing. Actually laughing.
When was the last time I heard her laugh like that?
