Rockstar’s Accidental Marriage (Wild Band Rockstars #2)

12. Twelve

Twelve

Sam

The drive to Ocala feels longer than it is. Maybe it’s the quiet anticipation of sharing pieces of my childhood with Emily that leaves me feeling exposed. Or maybe it’s the fact that this is the first time I’ve ever taken someone to meet my dad.

Emily sits in the passenger seat, her hands resting lightly on her lap, her eyes scanning the endless stretch of green pastures and fences that line the backroads. She hasn’t said much since we left Jacksonville, but I catch her stealing glances at me every now and then, her expression unreadable.

“What’s on your mind?” I ask, breaking the silence.

She looks at me, startled, then nods quickly. “Just... wondering.”

“About what?”

“About your father,” she admits, her voice soft. “What he’ll think of me.”

I chuckle, though there’s a nervous edge to it. “Don’t worry. He acts like a tough guy, but he’s not as intimidating as he seems.”

My words don’t seem to ease her worry, and honestly, I don’t blame her. My dad isn’t exactly the warm and fuzzy type. He’s quiet and reserved—the kind of man who speaks volumes with a single look. But underneath all that, he’s a good man.

I just hope he shows that side to Emily.

We pull up to the farm just as the sun dips low in the sky, casting the fields in a golden glow. The sight of the place sends a pang of nostalgia twisting in my chest.

The farmhouse looks just like it always does—simple but sturdy, with a wraparound porch that could use a fresh coat of paint. The barn stands off to the side, its red boards faded from years of sun and rain, and the pastures stretch out endlessly, dotted with grazing cattle.

My dad steps out onto the porch as we park, his silhouette framed by the warm glow of the porch light. He’s still wearing his work clothes—faded jeans, a flannel shirt rolled up to his elbows, and a pair of worn boots. His red hair is a bit more gray than the last time I was here, and his face is lined with years of hard work, but his eyes are sharp and steady as they meet mine.

“Hey, Dad,” I say, climbing out of the car.

“Sam,” he says with a nod, his voice deep and even. His gaze shifts to Emily, and his brows lift slightly in surprise. “Who’s this?”

“This is Emily,” I say, motioning for her to join me. “Emily, this is my dad, Clay Ryder.”

Emily steps forward, her smile warm but a little shy. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Ryder.”

He nods, his gaze assessing but not unkind. “Call me Clay,” he says simply, then looks back at me. “Didn’t know you were bringing company.”

“Yeah, well...” I glance at Emily, then back at him, with a shrug. “There’s a lot to catch you up on.”

He raises an eyebrow but doesn’t press. Instead, he motions toward the house. “Come on in. Supper’s on the table.”

The inside of the farmhouse is the same as always—worn but cozy, with the faint scent of woodsmoke lingering in the air. The kitchen is small but tidy, the table set with mismatched plates and glasses, and a steaming pot of stew sits in the center.

My dad quietly gets down another place setting for Emily. He then motions for all of us to sit down. The three of us settle into an easy silence as we eat. Emily tries to make conversation, asking about the farm and the animals, but my dad’s answers are short and to the point.

“It’s a lot of work,” he simply says when she asks how he manages it all on his own.

“That’s why I’ve been telling you to hire some help,” I chime in, my voice tinged with frustration.

Dad shakes his head, his expression resolute. “Don’t need help. Been doing this long enough to know how to get it done.”

“Yeah, but it’s too much for one person,” I argue. “You’re not as young as you used to be, Dad.”

His eyes narrow slightly, but there’s a faint glimmer of amusement in them. “Thanks for the reminder, son.”

Emily hides a smile behind her glass of water, and I shake my head, letting the subject drop.

After dinner, we sit on the porch, the cool evening air wrapping around us as the crickets sing in the distance. My dad leans back in his rocking chair, a mug of coffee in his hand, while Emily and I share the swing at the far end of the porch.

“So,” he says after a long stretch of silence, his gaze fixed on the horizon. “You said there was a lot to catch me up on.”

I glance at Emily, then take a deep breath and nod. “Yeah. There is.”

He turns his head slightly, one brow raised in silent question.

“Emily’s not just a girlfriend,” I say, my voice steady despite the importance of the moment. “She’s my wife.”

The words hang in the air, heavy with meaning, as my dad processes what I’ve just said.

“Your wife,” he repeats slowly, his tone neutral.

“Yeah,” I say, nodding. “We got married last year.”

His gaze shifts to Emily, his expression unreadable. “That true?”

“Yes,” she says softly, her hands twisting nervously in her lap. “It’s true.”

He studies her for a moment longer, then looks back at me. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It’s... complicated,” I admit, rubbing the back of my neck. “But there’s more.”

His eyes narrow slightly, but he doesn’t interrupt.

“We’re having a baby,” I say, the words coming out in a rush. “You’re going to be a grandfather.”

This time, his reaction is immediate. His brows shoot up, his eyes widening in surprise.

“A baby?” he echoes, his voice gruffer now.

“Yes, sir,” I say, my lips curving into a small, proud smile.

He looks at Emily again, and for the first time, his stern expression softens. “Congratulations,” he says gruffly, his voice laced with something that almost sounds like pride.

“Thank you,” Emily says, her smile shy but genuine.

He nods, then leans back in his chair, his gaze shifting to the stars above. “Well,” he says after a long pause. “Guess I’ll have to fix that back gate before the kid starts running around.”

I laugh, the sound breaking through the tension like a release valve. “Guess so.”

Emily glances at me, her eyes shining with a mix of relief and another emotion I can’t quite name.

I push off on my foot to get the swing moving. Then I set back, my arm around Emily and a smile on my face. It feels good to be home.

We sit like that for a while, watching the stars twinkle above us and the gentle sound of the cows mooing in the field.

“Time to hit the hay,” Dad says, rising from his rocker as he leads the way into the house.

“You know the way,” Dad gestures to the door at the end of the hall. “You’re room.”

It looks exactly the same as when I left. The twin bed has been replaced with a larger one, and the wallpaper’s a little more faded, but the rest? Pure nostalgia. The wooden dresser with the scuff marks on the side, the bookshelf still crammed with old paperbacks and CDs, and the framed poster of Elvis alongside a guitar I swore I’d own someday—it’s all still here.

“Make yourselves comfortable,” Dad says, his tone gruff but not unkind. “Breakfast at dawn. Don’t be late.”

Emily gives him a small smile. “We won’t be.”

As he walks away, I close the door and glance at Emily, who’s taking in the room with a mix of curiosity and amusement.

“Your room, huh?” she teases, running a finger along the edge of the bookshelf.

“Don’t judge,” I say with a grin. “I was a typical kid.”

She laughs softly, and the sound is enough to make my chest tighten. I watch as she glances nervously at the bed. I turn, hiding my smile. The way she’s acting, you’d think we weren’t married—or that she’s never slept with me before. Still grinning, I decide to take it easy on her and pull on a pair of sleep pants for her benefit.

We climb into bed, the mattress creaking slightly under our combined weight. It’s a little snug, but I certainly don’t mind, though Emily does her best to stay on her side of the bed. Pulling the blanket over us, I lie back on a pillow. I glance over at Emily’s stiff shoulders with a grin. Sharing a bed with Emily and having her this close feels right.

“Goodnight, wife,” I say softly in a low voice as I pull her gently back against me. She doesn’t protest, and I smile in approval as her sleepy eyes close. She’s fast asleep in no time.

I wake up before dawn, and the soft light filtering through the curtains casts the room in a golden hue. Emily is still asleep, her head resting against my chest, her hair splayed across the pillow.

For a moment, I just watch her, my hand resting lightly on her back. She looks peaceful, her breathing slow and even, and something shifts inside me. It’s not just desire anymore—though that’s definitely still there. I feel a deeper need to protect, to cherish.

Emily slowly moves, positioning herself against me. The feel of her soft breasts pressed firmly against my naked chest with only her thin nightgown between us has my body growing hard in response.

Gritting my teeth and being careful not to wake her, I reluctantly ease out of bed. Pulling on my jeans and boots, I get ready for the day.

“What are you doing?” her sleepy voice asks, muffled by the pillow.

I turn to see her blinking up at me, her dark hair tousled adorably around her face.

“Helping Dad with the morning chores,” I say, pulling a hoodie over my head.

She sits up, yawning as she rubs her eyes. “I’ll come with you.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” she says, cutting me off. “I might as well enjoy not having morning sickness while I can,” she says with a sleepy grin.

We step into the barn, the earthy scent of hay and animals filling the air. Dad is already there, working with a calm efficiency that’s second nature to him.

“Morning,” he says without looking up.

“Morning,” I reply, grabbing a stool and a pail.

Emily stands off to the side, watching in fascination as I settle in next to one of the cows.

“Come here,” I say, motioning for her to join me.

She hesitates and then steps closer, her expression a mix of curiosity and trepidation.

“You’ve never milked a cow before, have you?” I ask, smiling.

“No,” she admits, folding her arms.

“Here.” I pat the stool beside me. “Take a seat.”

She does, and I guide her hands to the cow’s udder, showing her how to apply the right amount of pressure.

“Like this,” I say, demonstrating.

Her first attempt is awkward, the milk barely trickling into the pail, but she sticks with it. Her determined expression as she tries to get it right, leaves me feeling an unexpected surge of pride. She's so different from the polished manager—here she is, sleeves rolled up, trying something completely new just because it matters to me.

“You’re a natural,” I tease.

“Hardly,” she mutters, but I see the sparkle in her eyes.

I catch my dad watching us, and though his expression is unreadable, I see a glimmer of approval in his eyes.

After we finish, he shows Emily how to pour the milk through cheesecloth into a jug, explaining how it helps filter out impurities before it cools. She listens intently, her brow furrowed in concentration, and I feel a strange sense of satisfaction watching her.

Back in the house, the smell of bacon fills the air as Dad works at the stove.

“Sit,” he says when Emily tries to help.

“I can—”

“Sit,” he repeats, his tone firm but not unkind.

She glances at me, and I shrug, grinning. “When he says sit, you sit.”

She laughs, taking a seat at the table while I grab the coffee pot and pour myself a cup. I pour a glass of cold milk for Emily, who looks at it doubtfully at first but then shrugs and takes a curious sip. “It’s rich but good.”

Dad places plates of food in front of us—eggs, bacon, biscuits, and a heaping pile of hash browns. It’s simple but hearty, the kind of meal that sticks with you.

As we eat, he leans back in his chair, his gaze resting on me.

“That money you sent,” he says, his tone even. “It was more than enough to fix the well. I’m having the tractor worked on next.”

Emily’s fork pauses mid-air, her eyes darting curiously to me.

“I’m glad it helped,” I say, my voice casual.

He nods, his expression unreadable. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to,” I say firmly.

Dad shakes his head, but I catch the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

Emily looks at me, her eyes wide with surprise.

“You work too hard, Dad,” I tell him, feeling a little self-conscious under her gaze. “It’s the least I can do.”

Dad snorts. “Don’t need charity.”

“It’s not charity,” I argue. “It’s me helping take care of the farm and you.”

He doesn’t respond, but I can tell by the look in his eyes that he’s not as annoyed as he pretends to be.

After breakfast, Dad leans against the counter, his arms crossed.

“You should show her around the place,” he says, his tone casual. “Take the old buggy. She doesn’t know how to ride, and being in her condition…” He gestures vaguely toward Emily’s stomach.

“I’m pregnant, Mr. Ryder, not an invalid,” Emily says with an amused smile.

“Clay,” he grunts back, “and I know you’re with child,” he mutters as if the phrase is somehow more acceptable.

I laugh, grabbing my jacket. “Come on, Em. Let’s go.”

The buggy is an old relic from when I was a kid, but it still works. The wheels slightly creak as we make our way down the dirt path that winds through the pastures.

Emily sits beside me, contentedly sighing as she takes in the view. The fields stretch out endlessly, the tall grass swaying in the breeze, and the sound of birds fills the air.

“You know the quiet used to bother me. I was always playing my guitar to ward off the silence,” I admit, with a slight shake of my head. “But now, when I’m out here–I relish the quiet.”

“It is a change from the band’s constant music,” she says softly, “It’s beautiful out here.” Turning to watch how the sunlight catches in her hair, how naturally she fits into this piece of my past.

“Yeah,” I agree, my voice softer than usual. “It is.”

She glances at me, her eyes searching mine. “You care about this place, don’t you?”

I nod, my grip tightening on the reins. “It’s home. Always has been.”

“And your dad?”

“I care about him, too,” I admit, my voice rough. “I just—I wish I could do more. Be here more often. He works too hard and won’t let me help. At least, not how I want to.”

Emily places a hand on my arm, her touch light but supportive. “It sounds like you help out a lot, Sam. I’m sure your dad appreciates it.”

I look at her, the sincerity in her eyes cutting through the slight guilt that’s been weighing me down.

“Thanks,” I say quietly.

She smiles, and for a moment, everything feels right with the world.