Epilogue
SECOND CHANCES
Lainey
“So you just make a shovel with your hand and scoop up the dough.” Dean dips his hand into the bowl and tucks his little hand underneath the flour and water mixture. “Just like this. See? Now you give it a try.”
Nodding, I press my tongue into the corner of my mouth and stick my hands inside the bowl beside Dean’s. “Like this?” I carefully turn the dough over in the bowl.
“Like that,” Colt says with a nod. “Now I’m going to add the starter and the salt. Y’all keep mixing with your hands, okay?”
Dean grins. “Got it, Dad.”
Colt’s arm brushes mine as he spoons the sticky sourdough starter into the bowl. “About a third of a cup or so should do the trick.”
“So that’s the stuff that makes the magic happen.
” I mimic Dean’s motions. The crumbly mixture that sticks to my fingers is soft and warm.
Inhaling, I pick up on the dough’s deliciously cozy smell.
It’s earthy. Savory even. I can only imagine how good it’s going to smell once this loaf is in the oven.
“Yep. It’s what gives the bread its rise. I can’t wait for you to try it.”
Dean is still grinning. “It’s gonna change your life, Lainey.”
Colt and I laugh at that, exchanging a glance. This kid is really fucking cute.
It’s Saturday morning. We’re all still in our jammies—well, Colt’s sweats-and-a-T-shirt version of jammies anyway, because he always sleeps naked—the three of us crowded around the counter in the kitchen.
The scents of coffee and pancakes fill the air.
Colt’s already got a fire going in the family room’s fireplace.
I slept great. Dean slept in, so Colt and I snuck in a slow, lazy round of morning sex before we padded out to the kitchen an hour or so ago. Starting my day off with an orgasm courtesy of a naked cowboy followed by a homemade breakfast just might be my favorite thing ever.
Life isn’t perfect. But I’m not sure I’ve ever been happier than I am right now.
When Dean suggested we make sourdough bread for tomorrow morning’s French toast, Colt and I were immediately on board. I’ve wanted to learn how to make it ever since Colt mentioned he knew how.
More than that, I’ve wanted to taste it. I’ve only had homemade bread a couple of times before.
The counter is a mess of flour and water and sticky dough, but Dean and I still giggle as we incorporate the starter into the flour and water.
Colt adds a good amount of kosher salt to the mix.
Dean and I work the dough for a little bit longer before Colt gives my ass a discreet pinch. My blood leaps.
“I think that should do it,” he says.
I hold up my hands, which are covered in dough. “Not fair. I can’t pinch you back.”
“Dad pinched you?” Dean’s brows snap together. “Dad, that’s not very nice of you.”
Colt’s lips twitch. “Sometimes Lainey likes it when I’m not nice.”
“Why?” Dean is clearly very confused by this.
To be fair, I was also confused about it for a while. But now I think it’s just plain hot when he throws it back to our enemies-with-benefits era.
Leaning in, I kiss Colt’s mouth. His scruff is always scruffier in the mornings, and it catches on my chin and cheeks.
I love it.
“Because that’s just how your dad is sometimes,” I say.
Dean shakes his head, but he’s grinning again. “You guys are gross.”
“So gross.” Colt covers the bowl and places it beside the stove. “All right, this needs some time to rest for a bit. Y’all did an awesome job.”
Turning, he gets the faucet going. Dean and I wash our hands together, agreeing that kissing is gross but that his dad is pretty good at it, so sometimes I like to do it. But only sometimes.
“You promise you’ll make French toast tomorrow morning, Dad? Please please please?”
Colt chuckles, pressing a kiss to my nape before he passes a towel to Dean. “I promise. Now how about we relax for a little bit, and then we can—”
“Ride!” Dean shrieks as he wipes his hands on the towel. “Yes! Lainey, you’re going to come, right? You’re getting so good at it. Even Auntie Billie said you were a natural.”
“And we know what a tough judge she is,” Colt says with a whistle. “Lainey, you got a lot to be proud of.”
To be honest, I am proud.
We snuggle on the couch by the fire and watch—what else—Frozen. Colt slips his hand inside my shirt and rubs my back. His fingers inch closer and closer to my breasts.
Lifting my head, I cut him a look.
“What?” He smirks.
“You know what. You’re trying to—well, you know.” Get me riled up again.
Colt lifts his shoulder. “Can you blame me? You know I like it in the mornings.”
“Like what?” Dean asks from his perch on the floor, where he’s been playing with a car-themed LEGO set while watching the movie.
“Coffee,” Colt says.
“Snuggles,” I say at the same time.
Dean ignores us, turning back to his LEGO set.
Later, we drive over to the stables. I’m saving my new pair of Bellamy Brooks boots for the Rattler tonight. Frisky Whiskey agreed to do a doubleheader for the holiday season, so they’re playing Friday and Saturday nights this weekend. I can’t wait to see them again.
I am, however, wearing the new pair of Ariat boots Colt and Dean gifted me for the holidays. They really are perfect for riding—they’re comfortable and warm, and they can take a beating.
Dean taught me how to tack up, so I go about my business brushing down Cream Puff before settling the saddle pad and saddle on his back.
I don’t miss the proud gleam in Colt’s eyes as he checks my handiwork. “You’re gettin’ good at this, Fort Worth.”
“I’m a fast learner.”
“So I’ve discovered.” He leans in to kiss me.
Dean rolls his eyes as he passes by. “Ugh, seriously, Dad, you’re always kissing her. Why?”
“Because I can.” Colt kisses me again, this time tilting his head a little. “Because I like to.”
“Whatever.”
“Remember where we left Lainey’s present in the tack room?” Colt asks, keeping his eyes locked on mine.
I blink. “My present?”
“Your present!” Dean claps his hands. “I’ll be right back!”
Looking at Colt, I tilt my head. “What did you do?”
“Something you’re gonna like.” His eyes flick to my mouth.
My body lights up. I keep wondering when I’m gonna get sick of this man. When I’ll get used to how often, how well, he touches me.
“You really have to stop with all the presents.”
He scoffs. “Honey, I ain’t ever gonna stop. You’re fun to shop for.”
“You’re fun to f—”
“Lainey! Lainey Lainey Lainey, oh my goodness, you’re gonna love this!” Dean comes galloping toward us with a cowboy hat in his hand. “Dad got it for you! It’s white! Do you love it?”
He holds out the hat to me.
My vision blurs. “Seriously?”
“Seriously.” Colt takes the hat from his son and puts it on my head. He smiles. “You’re a cowgirl now, remember? And cowgirls gotta look the part.”
“They wear the hat,” Dean says.
Colt’s lips twitch. “They ride the—”
“Horse,” I finish for him, reaching up to touch the brim. “Y’all, this is beautiful!”
Colt nods. “You look cute in a Stetson.”
I reach up to touch his brim. “You don’t look so bad yourself.”
“And what about me?” Dean crosses his arms. “I thought I was always the cutest?”
“Always,” Colton says.
“The handsomest too,” I say.
Colt frowns. “Ouch.”
“Truth hurts, Dad,” Dean says crisply. “Let’s get moving, guys. I’m not getting any younger here.”
Shaking his head, Colton laughs. Then he helps me up onto the saddle, and we head out into the glorious winter day.
Billie throws up her arms when she sees us walk into the Rattler later that night.
“Y’all came!” She wraps me in a hug before moving to Colton.
He gives her a squeeze. “Of course we did.”
“I thought for sure y’all were gonna, you know, disappear on us again.”
I blush. Colton cuts me a knowing look. We were supposed to meet up with the Wallace siblings earlier this week for an impromptu bonfire at Beck’s place. Paige offered to babysit Dean, so Colt and I threw on our jackets and hopped in his pickup truck.
Thing is we never actually left his truck. Instead, we parked by the pole barn for old times’ sake and hooked up in the back seat. We may or may not have also made use of the handcuffs Colt now keeps in his glove box.
It was a good time. But yeah, we didn’t make it to the bonfire.
“Sorry about that,” I say.
But Billie just laughs, waving me away as she slips a hand into Ryder’s back pocket. “Don’t be. I’m happy for y’all.”
Ryder and Colt hug it out too. No trace of awkwardness.
“I’m happy for you too,” I whisper in Billie’s ear.
“Heard that,” Ryder says, hugging me. “Thank you, Lainey. Means a lot.”
We head for the bar, where Mack and Tate are throwing back shots of tequila. Nash is over by the stage, talking to some people I don’t recognize.
“Where’s Beck?” Colt asks, reading my mind.
Sipping his beer, Ryder glances over his shoulder. “Last I saw him, he was—yup, over by the mechanical bull.”
“Tallulah, you still have that thing?” Colt asks.
The bartender shrugs as she drops a wedge of lime into a waiting glass. “Long as people like it, it stays.”
“I like it,” I say.
Colt wraps his hand around my nape. “I’d like to watch you ride.”
“Ew,” Billie says, but she’s smiling.
“Let’s do it,” I say.
Colt gives me a squeeze. “Let’s.”
But when we get to the bull, there’s already a woman riding it. She’s gorgeous, wearing jeans and boots and the tiniest T-shirt I think I’ve ever seen. A smile splits her face, and she lets out a loud yeehaw that makes me grin.
“Do you know her?” I ask Colt.
He squints. “Shit. Is that…?” Then he glances to our left, and I follow his gaze. Beck is standing there, beer in hand.
My stomach dips when I see Beck’s expression. Gone is the good-natured, easygoing guy I know and adore. In his place is a man wearing a dark expression as he watches the woman ride. His eyes—they’re locked on her, and they’re different. Hard and full and fiery.
A muscle in his jaw twitches. The sinews and veins in his neck pop against his skin. I don’t miss the way the beer is clenched in his hand. His knuckles are white.
“Oh God, it is her,” Colt murmurs. “He was serious when he said she was back.”
I grab Colt’s arm. “Who’s back?”
“That right there”—he points to the woman on the bull—“is Posey Adkins. The first girl Beck ever loved.” Colt sighs. “The only girl he’s ever loved. He was a fuckin’ wreck when she left.”
“She left Hartsville? Why?”
Colt sighs again. “It’s a long story.”
“I’m down to hear it.”