Page 71

Lainey: Smooth.

Me: I have my moments. How'd she sleep?

Lainey: Better than expected. Woke up twice, went right back down both times. I think the new house agrees with her.

Me: And you? How'd you sleep?

Lainey: Honestly? Better than I have in months. Which feels like it should worry me more than it does.

I read that one twice, debating how to reply.

Me: Good. You deserve a full night's sleep.

Lainey: Careful. Keep talking like that, and I'll start thinking you're sweet.

Me: I am sweet. Ask anybody who isn't currently mad at me.

Lainey: That narrows the field considerably.

My grin widens. It's the same fast-witted Lainey that I couldn't get enough of on New Year's Eve.

Me: So what are you doing right now?

Lainey: Feeding Charlie, drinking coffee, trying to figure out how I'm supposed to walk into a house full of Cartwrights this afternoon without having a nervous breakdown in your mama's front yard.

Me: About that. Change of plans. Breakfast instead.

Lainey: Breakfast. As in, right now? This morning?

Me: As in I want to take you and your mama to the main house before this day gets away from us. Rip the bandage off early, while everybody's still too busy with coffee and eggs to properly ambush you.

There's a long pause. So I head for the door, step into the crisp morning air, and head toward the Butterfly House.

Lainey: Mama? Jagger, no. Absolutely not. I need time. I need to mentally prepare. I need at least six hours and possibly a stiff drink. And I rarely drink.

Me: You'll have Charlie in your arms and me right beside you the whole time. It's eggs and bacon, not a firing squad. Plus, your mama might be scarier than me when I'm protecting you :)

Lainey: That's exactly what somebody facing a firing squad would say to make it sound less terrifying.

My boots crunch over frost-stiff grass, and my breath comes out in a thick fog. The ranch wakes up slow around me, lights flickering on in the bunkhouse, somebody's dog barking off toward the barn, the whole place stretching itself awake the way it does every morning whether or not I'm ready for the day ahead of it.

Me: There's no time like the present. Trust me on this one. Plus, you won't have to stress for the next six hours.

I take two porch steps at a time and knock on her door with three solid raps.

A muffled curse and steps at the front door appear before Lainey whips the door open. Her hair's still damp from a shower. Charlie rides her hip, already dressed in a onesie with tiny embroidered horses stitched across the front. She glares at me. "You're relentless."

"I've been told." I lean against the doorframe, taking her in, the mess of her hair and the panic still simmering behind her eyes.

Charlie reaches one small fist toward me. My heart swells, and I put my fist around hers, softening my tone, "Good morning, my beautiful daughter."

She coos, looking right at me.

I lean down and kiss her head.

"Get inside and shut that door before all the heat escapes," Lainey's mama orders.

"Ma'am, morning," I say, tipping my hat, then do as told.