56
Shaping a partner
A few days later, his parents dropped a bombshell of their own, and Rafferty went looking for Brandy-Lyn.
She was training a horse, and he stayed to watch, leaning against the top rail of the arena fence, the sun warm on his shoulders, the scent of dust and horse and annoyed cow thick in the air.
The young gelding under Brandy-Lyn shifted restlessly, snorting as he tossed his head, but she sat on him like she was born there — easy, relaxed, reins loose in one hand.
She came around again. The gelding resisted, tossed his head, kicked out in irritation.
The cow bellowed her own frustration. Brandy-Lyn didn’t flinch.
Just circled, calm and steady, her voice low and sure as she talked the horse through his paces.
No frustration, no tension. Just that unshakable patience he’d come to recognize in her — in the saddle, with the kids.
With him.
Again, she ran the cow down the fence, turned it clean, sharp as a knife, then eased the gelding off when he started to fret. She didn’t push. Just brought him back, asked again. Then again.
Rafferty watched as she repeated the maneuver a fourth time — slow and deliberate — the gelding finally starting to settle. Starting to trust the rider. Learn his job.
He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.
Damn, but she was good. Not just at riding — but at reading the animal, knowing exactly when to press and when to release. All grace and control, her posture relaxed but never lazy. Every cue subtle. No wasted motion.
She wasn’t just training a horse. She was shaping a partner.
Shaping a partner …
He blinked.
Hot damn. That’s exactly what she’d done with him.
Never pushing too hard. Never demanding more than he could give. Just showing up, again and again, until he stopped flinching at the touch. Until he trusted that she wouldn’t bolt when things got dark. She hadn’t broken through his defenses — she’d gentled them.
Brandy-Lyn turned in the saddle, eyes scanning the fence line — and found him. She smiled.
He felt it all the way to his soul.
She steered the gelding toward him and halted beside him.
“Hey, you,” she said, breathless but grinning, her cheeks flushed and eyes bright.
“You’re something else in the saddle,” Rafferty said, voice low, still a bit in awe.
Brandy-Lyn rolled her eyes, but her smile deepened.
She was something else. Period.
And she was his.
Fuck, he was one lucky man.
A stable hand jogged over, and she handed off the reins with a quiet word, brushing the gelding’s sweaty neck one last time.
Then she swung down, boots landing in the dirt with a satisfying thud.
Discarding her hat, she grabbed her water bottle off the fence post, popped the cap, and took a long drink before leaning on the rail beside him.
Her shirt clung to her back, streaked with sweat and dust. Tendrils of hair stuck to her temples. She smelled of leather, horse, and sun-warmed skin — pure Brandy-Lyn.
No bottled fragrance came close.
Rafferty slid his arm around her shoulders without thinking, like his body had learned the motion on its own.
She leaned into him, eyes half-closed as she rested her head against his chest.
“That boy’s going to make a fine cow horse,” she murmured.
“He already trusts you,” Rafferty said, lips brushing her hairline. “Can’t blame him.”
Her chuckle rumbled low and soft against him. “Takes time.”
“Yeah,” he said quietly, watching the gelding disappear toward the stable. “But some things are worth it.”
They both knew they were no longer discussing the horse.
She tilted her head to look up at him, sweat-damp hair and all, and damn if his heart didn’t knock against his ribs like it had that first time in his brother’s college apartment.
“You’re so worth it,” she said.
And that comment deserved a nice long kiss.
He really was a lucky man.
Which reminded him just how fortunate he really was, and he told her about his earlier conversation with his parents.
And their generous offer.
“Let me get this straight,” she said when he stopped talking. “They want to swap houses?”
“It makes sense,” he said, and paraphrased his parents’ words to Brandy-Lyn.
“We need the space, and they don’t need a rambling seven-bedroomed house.
It’s simpler than adding to the cabin like we talked about.
” He rubbed the back of his neck. “And apparently Mammy’s got herself a place in the new senior center in town and intends to move in a couple of weeks.
Says it saves her from Ma’s nagging about driving back and forth.
“And the cabin just needs a few minor tweaks to accommodate Pa. Obviously, the Main House needs some updating, but you’d get to make it your own.”
She leaned back, wiping her hand over her mouth. “Wow,” she whispered. “That’s … generous.”
He couldn’t get a read on her tone, and he bit back his disappointment. The idea had certainly grown on him. “Is that a good generous? Or—”
She placed a finger over his lips. “It’s perfect.”
*
He was a bundle of nerves, like a father awaiting the birth of his first child. Even if the babe was a fawn. Growing up on a ranch, animals’ birth was part of life. But Rosie, the deer he rescued from the side of the road, held a special place in his heart.
“She’s doing good,” Brandy-Lyn murmured, shooting him a quick glance, her voice low and calming, before returning her attention to Rosie.
The mule deer lay on her side in her straw-covered shelter, breathing deep and steady, her sides rippling with each contraction. Crouched behind the deer, her palm resting lightly against Rosie’s flank, Brandy-Lyn continued to whisper encouragement. “You’ve got this, mama.”
Rafferty knelt just behind Brandy-Lyn, quiet and alert, hands resting loosely on his thighs. The intimacy of the moment, the quiet strength of the woman he loved beside him, and the trusting stillness of the deer grounded him in a way nothing else could.
Rosie gave a soft grunt, her legs tensing, then relaxing. Another wave of contraction rippled through her. Brandy-Lyn shifted, brushing Rosie’s neck gently. “There you go, mama. Just one more push.”
And then …
A slender, damp fawn slid gently onto the straw, legs still curled beneath it, ears pressed flat, sides heaving with the first breaths of Texas air.
“It’s a girl,” Brandy-Lyn announced.
“She’s beautiful.” Rafferty said with reverence.
He’d witnessed chaos.
He’d walked through hell.
But this beautiful miracle … was something else entirely.
Rosie lifted her head, nose twitching as she turned toward the fawn. They didn’t intervene — just let the mother do what nature intended. Rosie sniffed the baby gently, severed the umbilical cord in several efficient tugs, and began licking her clean with slow, methodical strokes.
The newborn gave a soft, tentative bleat, and Rafferty’s heart swelled at the sound. Tiny and perfect, the little fawn blinked, ears twitching as she instinctively sought her mother.
Life, fragile and fierce, had made its way into the world again. And he was eternally grateful for the privilege of witnessing it.
“Guess we can call in the troops,” Brandy-Lyn murmured with a soft smile.
“Yeah.” They’d agreed earlier not to let Connor and Nadie witness the birth itself. Just in case something went wrong. But now, with the tiny fawn safely curled beside Rosie and the mother calmly grooming her newborn, it was time to let them share the miracle.
Rafferty stepped away from the shelter to make the call.
The spring dusk settled soft and golden over the ranch, the last rays of sunlight filtering through the budding oaks, casting long shadows across the pasture.
The air was thick with the scent of warmed earth and fresh hay, the kind of evening that whispered promises of new beginnings.
New beginnings he was eternally grateful for.
Elsa gave a soft whinny from her side of the fence.
He turned at the sound, already smiling.
He crossed the short distance to her paddock and rested his arms on the top rail, letting her nuzzle his forearm.
“You’ll get your turn to meet the little one,” he murmured, reaching to stroke the length of her neck. “Just give mama and babe tonight.”
She bumped his shoulder lightly with her muzzle, as if to say I’m ready now.
He chuckled. “I know. You’ve been waiting a long time for this. But it’s her moment, Elsa.” He paused, rubbing under her forelock where she liked it best. “Tomorrow, I’ll introduce you. Slow and gentle. Like we talked about. Yeah?”
Elsa let out a breathy sigh, shifting her weight as though understanding — or maybe just accepting his promise.
He leaned his forehead briefly against hers. “You’re good with babies,” he whispered. “You proved that with Nadie and Connor. You’re gonna be great with this one too.”
The way Elsa had taken to the young ones hadn’t surprised him. She had a quiet, instinctive empathy for wounded souls — human or animal. And lately, he’d been turning over ideas in his head on how to harness that gift.
Elsa turned her head, and her ears pricked, eyes trained toward the gate. Preston came into view first, Nadie perched on his shoulders, her little hands tangled in his hair.
“’Urry, Pres. Nadie see Bambi!” she called out, half-whisper, half-shout.
Connor jogged behind him, Olivia and Amelia on his heels. The boy’s eyes were wide with excitement, though his steps hesitated near the pen.
Rafferty met them at the gate, opening it for them, and walked them over to the stall. “She came out about ten minutes ago. Everyone’s just great,” he said proudly.
Preston knelt to let Nadie slide down, and she toddled over. “Bambi,” she breathed, the words reverent.
“She’s perfect,” Mimi added, voice quiet with awe.
Connor stood still, watching Rosie nuzzle her newborn with slow, tender licks. “She’s not scared of us?” he asked.
“No,” Brandy-Lyn said, crouching beside him. “She knows you’re safe.”
Connor nodded slowly, his face a mask of solemn wonder. “I’ll never hurt her.”
Brandy-Lyn joined Rafferty, and he pulled her in front of him, slipping his arms around her waist, nestling her back to his front.
Around them, the kids murmured soft questions, made quiet observations. No one shouted. No one jostled. Even Nadie seemed to instinctively understand the need for calm.
And in the golden hush of late afternoon, with the fawn nestled against her mother and five kids gathered around, Rafferty saw it all clearly.
New life. New beginnings.
A family bound not just by blood, but by love, by choice.
He leaned in close, his lips brushing Brandy-Lyn’s ear. “Love you, Red,” he murmured, pressing soft kisses down the side of her neck.
She turned to face him, her hand gliding over his chest, then curling around his neck as her fingers threaded through his hair. “Love you more,” she whispered back.
“Impossible,” he said, just before claiming her mouth.
The kiss was gentle — restrained in the presence of their watching brood — but it thrummed with promise.
Of more. Of later.
Of everything they were building together.