8. Cole
Chapter eight
Cole
Six days after Declan and Rick leave for Florida, I make it until sunset before I admit I am done pretending.
All day, Avery moves through Stone Ridge like nothing changed between us since that night on the porch. She checks on Tessa, answers calls, handles cabin complaints, and gives one ranch hand a look so sharp he apologizes for walking on an ankle he swore was “mostly fine.”
I spend the day fixing a gate that doesn’t need fixing, checking fence lines, and pretending I do not notice every time she crosses the yard.
The wind tugs loose strands from her ponytail. The tired press of her fingers to her temple. The soft smile that says she is carrying too much.
By evening, the ranch settles into the quiet stretch between supper and dark. The sky goes lavender over the mountains. Barn lights flicker on. Somewhere near the cabins, a dog barks like he’s arguing with the moon.
Avery stands alone near the porch steps of the main house, arms folded, gaze watching the sky change colors.
I cross the yard before I can talk myself out of it.
She hears me coming. “You’re walking like a man with a purpose.”
“I am.”
Her eyes flick to mine. “Should I be worried?”
“Yes.”
That gets me the smile I have wanted all day. “That was honest.”
“I’m trying something extremely new and dangerous.”
I stop at the bottom of the steps and do not look toward the house to see who might be watching.
Her smile fades into something quieter. “Cole?”
“Walk and talk with me?”
“Love to.”
I offer my hand as she steps down. “Where?”
“My cabin.” I swallow. “Only if you want that.”
Avery steps in beside me. “I thought you would never ask.”
We laugh together, easy enough that something in my chest aches.
We walk to my cabin side by side, holding hands. The night smells like dust, grass, and coming rain. Her sleeve brushes my arm, her eyes darken, and every decent thought I own disappears.
I unlock the door and wait for her to enter the small, plain one-room cabin with a bed, a dresser, and a scarred table. Nothing about it is romantic, but Avery steps inside anyway.
I close the door behind us, and for one suspended moment, we only look at each other.
Then she reaches for me.
Her hands slide up my chest and lock behind my neck. “You are thinking too loud.”
I lower my mouth to hers.
The first kiss starts carefully. A brush of lips. A breath. One last second where I pretend I have control. Then Avery makes a soft sound against my mouth, and the last of my restraint slips.
I kiss her deeper. Her fingers tighten in my hair, my hands find her waist, and suddenly she is not a dangerous thought or a porch-swing moment. She is warm, real, and pressed against me like she has been waiting for this too.
I back her against the door without meaning to. The wood thumps softly behind her, and I pull away just enough to check her face.
She fists my shirt in both hands and drags me back to her mouth.
Buttons give way. My shirt hits the floor. Her palm settles over my heartbeat, and her smile turns soft when she feels how hard it is pounding.
“You’re nervous,” she whispers.
“I want every part of you.”
“Then stop looking at me like I might disappear.”
I reach for her, drawing her shirt over her head. Standing in front of me with eyes full of trust and color rising in her cheeks, I forget to breathe.
She is beautiful, but not the polished version strangers once stared at. This Avery is warm skin, loose hair, ranch dust, a scar near her ribs, and hands that slide over me like she is not afraid of what she finds.
I carry her to the bed. She settles over me first, taking the choice before I can offer it, and the old lie reaches for me. The one that says I ruin everything I touch.
Then Avery looks down at me, flushed and sure, and touches my jaw.
The lie loses its grip.
After that, words become unnecessary. The cabin fills with breath, skin, the soft creak of the bed, her hands exploring, my name a whisper on her lips. I learn what makes her sigh, what makes her hold tighter, what makes her look at me like I am not a mistake.
I roll her beneath me, moving slow enough that I do not hurt her with my body weight.
She whispers that she wants me closer, and I am only a man. A man who has wanted too little for too long and now wants this woman with every bruised, stubborn part of himself.
Something inside me breaks free. Not because the past vanishes, but because she is here, she chose me, and for the first time, I believe I might belong in her tomorrow.
Later, the cabin is dark except for the silver edge of moonlight slipping through the curtains. Avery lies against me, her cheek on my chest, one leg tangled with mine, her fingers tracing slow patterns over my ribs.
I have one hand in her blonde hair and the other resting on her back, because apparently, now that I am allowed to touch her, I have forgotten how to stop.
I don’t want to stop.
She shifts slightly. “You’re thinking.”
“I do that sometimes.”
“Dangerous habit.”
“I’ve been told.”
Her fingers pause. “Regrets?”
“None.”
The answer comes so fast she lifts her head.
I look up at her. “Not one. What about you?” Because fear is still fear, even with her warm in my arms.
Avery props her chin on my chest. “Cole.”
“What?”
“If I had regrets, I would not be lying naked on top of you.”
Heat moves through me again, immediate and inconvenient.
Her smile turns wicked. “That got your attention.”
“You have had my attention for a while.”
“Of course I have.”
She laughs softly, and I feel it against my skin.
For a while, we lie there without talking. Outside, the ranch settles deeper into the night. A horse nickers in the distance. No sirens. No locked doors. No voices telling me I ruin everything I touch.
Just Avery breathing against me and the terrifying realization of what I want tomorrow: coffee with her, arguments about hydration, her bossy doctor voice, her laugh in my truck, and her hand reaching for mine when the world gets too loud.
I want the ordinary things I stopped believing were available to me.
Avery’s voice is sleepy when she asks, “Quiet again?”
I press my mouth to her hair. “Just relaxed.”
I feel her smile against my chest.
I close my eyes and hold her closer.
For once, the door ahead of me does not look like something waiting to slam shut. It looks like something I might be brave enough to open.
Then someone pounds on the cabin door.
Avery jerks upright, instantly awake. I reach for her out of instinct, but she is already moving.
“Avery!” Grayson’s voice cuts through the night. “Tessa’s in labor.”
She is out of bed before my feet hit the floor.
The room shifts as her shoulders square and her chin lifts. The woman wrapped around me a heartbeat ago becomes Avery Stone in one breath.
“How far apart?” she calls, grabbing her clothes.
“Close,” Grayson says through the door. “Too close. She says the baby’s coming fast. Declan and Rick are still an hour out.”
Avery curses under her breath and yanks her shirt over her head.
“Get Lena moving on towels, clean sheets, bottled water, and my medical bag from the porch. Grayson, clear the room and keep it quiet. Preston stays on the porch, updating Declan and keeping him as calm as possible until he gets here.”
I pull on my jeans, then my shirt, buttons forgotten. “What do you need from me?”
She stops for half a second and looks at me.
There is no doubt on her face. No embarrassment. No regret. Only trust.
“Help Lena carry whatever I need,” she says. “Then stay close. If I ask for something, move.”
“Done.”
I follow her into the night. Not hiding, hanging back, or pretending she is anything less than the woman I want tomorrow.
Across the yard, lights blaze in the main house.
Stone Ridge is waking up.
And Avery runs toward it like she was born for this.