Chapter 7
Baby, One More Time
I’m going to be a dad.
The thought has been on a loop in my head since Charlie dropped the bombshell. Not only did she reject my proposal outright but she also left me standing there alone with life-altering news I still haven’t fully processed.
Asking her to marry me might’ve been an uncharacteristically impulsive decision, but that doesn’t mean it was strictly out of obligation like she thinks it was.
I’ve always wanted a family, and now she’s the only person I can picture starting one with.
If I had ended up in this situation with anyone else, I still would’ve stepped up, but not with a proposal.
Charlie is the only woman I could imagine calling my wife.
I still remember that night at the saloon when my obsession started.
After she danced on the bar, I had to stand by and watch her kiss some hotshot from the local rodeo circuit.
My hand tightened around my whiskey, the glass threatening to crack under my grip as I watched him slip his hat onto her head like it belonged there, and every instinct in me screamed to cross the room, knock the damn thing off, toss her over my shoulder, and haul her out of there.
Even back then, we were like fire and ice—she was carefree and impulsive, while I stuck to routine and restraint.
There was never a world where I’d be her first choice when she could chase a thrill seeker rather than settle for someone whose idea of a perfect Friday night is sitting out in the pasture with a six-pack, watching the sun sink behind the mountains.
After that night, it was easier to avoid Charlie, and when we were in the same room, to pretend she annoyed the hell out of me, than to admit the truth—that she was burrowed so deep under my skin that I knew I’d never get her out.
Sleep eluded me last night. By the time dawn broke, I was already leading the horses out to pasture so I could muck out their stalls and refill their feeders.
I’ve been at it for over an hour, a fifty-pound sack of grain slung across my shoulder as I haul it to the nearest stall. I drop it to the ground with a thud, flick open my pocketknife, and slice the twine, pouring the feed into the empty trough.
“Didn’t expect to find you doing ranch hand duties, son.”
I look back to see Pops leaning against the stall door, arms crossed, watching me closely.
As the dust settles around me, I wipe my hands on my jeans. “Weren’t you the one who taught me no task is beneath me when there’s work to be done?”
Once I finish filling the feeder, I move to the automatic water trough, crouch down, and check the pressure line for leaks. A satisfied grunt escapes when it holds steady, and everything looks to be working right.
“That was when I was in charge, and the ranch was a hell of a lot smaller,” Pops counters. “You’ve got more responsibilities around here than I ever did, yet you still won’t delegate like you should.”
How do I explain that it’s easier to do things myself than to fix someone else’s mistakes later?
Or that after Walker became sheriff, I realized just how big the shoes I had to fill were and how hard it’s been to find a replacement.
Granted, mucking stalls and topping off feeders are things most ranch hands can do, but this morning I was looking for anything to keep my hands busy and my mind distracted.
I straighten to my full height, bristling at his accusation. “I let the guys do their jobs without much interference.”
Pops scoffs. “Even if that were true, you’re wearing yourself thin. It’s not feasible to manage an operation this big without a foreman. Even I know that.”
And there it is.
It confirms what I already suspected—that he and Walker have been discussing this without me. They’ve been pressing me from all sides to hire someone, and I’d been waiting for Pops to confront me outright after my latest conversation with Walker.
“Don’t worry, Pops. I have things handled just fine on my own.” I brush past him into the aisle to grab another bag of feed before moving into the next stall.
He follows, clearly not letting me off the hook that easily.
“If that’s the case, how come the feed order was short for the third time in a row this past month, and the south fence has been down for three days with nobody out there fixing it yet?” Pops calls me out as he inspects the automatic water trough while I fill the feeder.
I’ll admit I’ve dropped the ball on ordering supplies lately.
Walker handled that side of the business, and we always had overstock because he was constantly finding excuses to stop by the local feed store where Birdie worked.
Now that he’s gone, that responsibility falls to me, and it’s been hard to find time for inventory and calling in orders with how busy things are around here.
I blow out a long breath. “When did you notice the south fence was broken?”
“Your ma and I went for a ride earlier this week, and I noticed it was damaged. When I went out again yesterday, it still hadn’t been mended,” Pops answers.
Fuck. Between calving season and fixing the irrigation system, I had to push back my last scheduled perimeter check. It’s a good thing the cattle haven’t been in that pasture, or we could’ve lost part of the herd.
“Is that why you came to find me so early this morning?” I pull off my hat, wiping sweat from my brow. “To tell me I’ve let things slip through the cracks?”
He shakes his head. “No. I’m here because you’re too stubborn to admit that you’re in over your head. So I’ve decided that until you hire a foreman, I’m stepping in.”
“That’s not necessary—”
He silences me with a stern look. “I wasn’t asking permission. You might be the boss around here, but I’m still your father, and I’m not about to let your stubbornness run this ranch into the ground.”
“Hard to see that happening considering I’ve tripled revenue since taking over,” I mumble under my breath as I fill the trough with grain.
Pops cups his ear. “What was that, son?”
“Nothing.”
He smirks. “Figured. This mean you’re going to accept my help?”
As much as I want to fight him on this, I know it’s a lost cause. He’s as bullheaded as they come, and once his mind is made up, it’s carved in stone.
Plus, the more I think about it, I can’t afford to turn him down even if I wanted to. With Charlie and me expecting, I want to be at every prenatal appointment, which means someone has to keep an eye on the ranch in my absence.
I nod as I drop the empty feed bag to the floor. “Yes, sir, it does. I got some big news yesterday that’ll have me away from the ranch more than usual, so I could use the help,” I say, hating to admit it out loud.
“Must be pretty serious if you’re willing to let go of control for once.” Pops’s tone is edged with curiosity.
I rub my palms down my thighs and raise my eyes to his. “Yeah… I found out I’m going to be a dad.”
Pops studies me, his face unreadable. I’m not surprised he doesn’t respond right away since he’s more stoic than expressive.
Ma has made her opinion on my having a family on my own perfectly clear, but he’s never said much about it, usually just nodding along in agreement when she pesters him to weigh in.
He lets out a low whistle, coming over to clap a heavy hand on my shoulder. “Well, I’ll be damned. Didn’t see that comin’. Congrats, son. I reckon that means I’ve got a second grandkid on the way?”
“You do.”
Briar and Jensen have a seven-year-old son named Caleb.
We didn’t meet him until two summers ago, when he and Jensen moved here after his mom passed, and Jensen and Briar fell in love shortly after.
Pops and Ma have taken to being grandparents in stride, spoiling Caleb rotten whenever they get the chance.
“I didn’t realize you were dating someone. I assume your mother is in the dark or she’d be shouting it from the rooftops,” Pops remarks.
I scrub a hand across the back of my neck, wincing. “I’m not exactly seeing anyone.”
Having a casual fling isn’t the kind of thing I want to admit to him, even if I had good reasons for agreeing to a no-strings arrangement—though my perspective has shifted entirely since Charlie told me she was pregnant.
Pops’s judging gaze has guilt setting heavy in my chest. “Hope that doesn’t mean you’re fixin’ to dodge responsibility.”
“Never. In fact, I asked her to marry me, but she said no.” I leave out the minor detail that I’m talking about Charlie.
Pops pinches the bridge of his nose. “No shit, son. I’m about the least romantic man you’ll find, but even I know a woman doesn’t want to feel like an obligation. She wants to be swept off her feet and properly wooed.”
I chuckle. “That what you did with Ma?”
“At first? No. But somewhere along the way, she had me beggin’ on my knees and still turned me down when I proposed, twice. Not great for my pride, but I never quit fighting for her—not when I would’ve done anything to call her mine.” His eyes crinkle at the corners, a smile crossing his lips.
Pops makes a good point. Charlie seemed more bothered by how suddenly I sprang the proposal on her rather than about the idea itself, and that tells me plenty.
“Seems like I might have my work cut out for me,” I say.
The corners of my mouth lift as I think of all the ways I can win over my stubborn wife-to-be.
“Sounds about right, but you’ve never been one to back down from a challenge,” Pops remarks.
“Not this one,” I state.
Our conversation is exactly the reassurance I needed to solidify my decision not to give up on things with Charlie.
Still, I have to remember that when she showed up at the ranch, she was already reeling from the unexpected bombshell she received at the doctor’s office and hadn’t had much time to process it before I proposed.