Page 44 of Stay Wild Darlin’

For one second too long, I imagined her wrists in this rope. Her breathing slowed under my hands.

Jesus.

I clenched my jaw and turned without another word.

Time to get back to reality before my thoughts did something stupid. The custom rope hung heavy in one hand, the soft jute coils tucked under my arm. I walked over to the truck, tossed them both in the back seat, and dusted my palms off on my jeans.

Out in the grass, Poppy had moved to stand near the split-rail fence, her back to me. She was pointing toward the open pasture, her arm stretched out like she was explaining something to a baby who probably didn’t understand a word but still looked captivated.

Cora sat in the crook of her arm, little legs kicking, head resting against Poppy’s chest. Poppy had one hand gently cradling the back of her head, holding her upright so she could see. Her other hand moved as she talked, animated, relaxed, completely in her own little world.

I stepped off the gravel and crossed the grass toward them.

“And that one,” I heard Poppy say as I got closer, “that’s a palomino. He’s got that golden coat. Can you say yellow, Cora?”

Cora let out a happy babble, flailing one tiny arm toward the fence, her other cheek squished gently against Poppy’s chest.

“That’s right. Yellow. One day we’ll learn all the colors. Maybe we’ll get you a book about horses. You’d like that, huh?”

I stopped in my tracks.

It was the way she said it—we’ll learn, like she was part of this life. Like she had a say in Cora’s firsts. For a second too long, it felt right. It looked right. Her with my daughter, teaching her, loving her like it was effortless.

It was maternal, and it shattered me.

Because Poppy wasn’t Cora’s mother.

She wasn’t permanent. She wasn’t ours. She wasn’t hers. She was the nanny. A girl who’d walk away one day and live a whole life that didn’t include us.

Brooke would come back eventually. She had to. She was Cora’s mother.

This was pretend. All of it.

I walked up fast, my pulse pounding, emotions hitting so fast I didn’t know what to do with them. I reached for Cora, pulling her gently, but firmly, from Poppy’s arms.

Her mouth parted in surprise, but she caught herself, going still when I muttered, “Let’s go. We’re not playing house.”

She didn’t say anything, only nodded and pressed her lips tight. Her eyes fell to the grass as she bent to grab the diaper bag from under the tree.

She followed me to the truck without a word, slowly sliding into the passenger seat while I got Cora strapped in.

Once I climbed in the driver’s seat, I gripped the wheel, staring straight ahead, trying to push down everything boiling in my chest. My jaw was locked so tight it ached.

I thought about her voice—soft, patient, maternal—telling Cora about horses. About colors. About sunshine and yellow and learning.

Something snapped inside me.

“Don’t do that.”

She turned slightly, confused. “Do what?”

“That,” I barked, hating the words even as I said them. “Teaching her things. Saying we like you’re part of this. You’re not gonna be around long enough to teach her colors. Just . . . watch her. That’s it.”

She went still. Completely still. Like I’d slapped her without laying a hand on her.

Her lips parted like she might say something, but nothing came. An ache filled the truck cabin like smoke.

God, I regretted it the moment I looked at her, but I didn’t take it back because I was too caught up in the fear that everything she gave to Cora—the softness, the sweetness, the belonging—would disappear.