Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
REINE
Over the next few days, Cole shows me around Silver Spoon Falls, and I absolutely fall in love with the small Texas town.
Grams only lasted three days before she started fussing about missing home.
Typical. The woman is more attached to our ranch than most people are to their firstborn.
When Cole and I take her to the airport in Houston, she jokes about having to fly commercial this time.
“We’ll be home in two weeks,” I tell her as she checks in her luggage.
“Enjoy your vacation,” Grams tells me. “You deserve the time off. And the new ranch foreman Hudson hired will keep things running until you get back.” I hug Grams tight, pretending my eyes aren’t getting watery in the middle of the Houston airport.
She’s a tough old bird, but I know she hates leaving me behind in Texas, even if it’s only for a couple of weeks.
Cole stands to the side, his muscular arms folded across his broad chest, the sleeves of his crisp button-down straining slightly against his biceps. "Call us if you need anything," he tells Grams, his deep Texas drawl softening with genuine concern.
"Don't worry about me," she insists, the corners of her weathered eyes crinkling as she turns to wink at me. Her silver hair catches the fluorescent airport lighting, making her look almost angelic despite the mischievous glint in her eye. "Just keep my girl out of trouble."
Cole's full lips curve into a wicked grin that sends a flutter through my stomach, his dimple appearing on his right cheek as he leans closer to my grandmother. "No promises, Grams," he drawls, his voice dropping to a honeyed rumble that makes my cheeks flush hot. “She’s a handful.”
The next morning, I’m getting ready for the day ahead when my husband sticks his head in the door.
“You ready?” He grins.
“Define ready.” I laugh and wrap my arms around his waist.
Cole grins down at me, all cocky confidence and Texas swagger. “It’s time to introduce you to the best damn donuts in the state, Mrs. Carrington.” He sweeps me into his arms and spins me around like it’s the most normal thing in the world.
“You realize it’s barely sunrise, right?” I grumble, but honestly? I’ve never been so happy to get out of bed this early.
He just smirks, tugging me close. “We have to get there before they sell out. Trust me.” His lips find the top of my head, and just like that, my heart does its signature somersault.
I give up and let him lead me outside. The early morning air is thick with the scent of dew and distant wildflowers, and the only sound is the crunch of our boots on the gravel. Cole helps me up into his monster truck, then rushes around to hop in the driver’s seat.
He reaches across the console to tangle his fingers with mine.
I stare out the window as we drive past the Carrington estate—white fences, sweeping lawns, a barn that looks like it could house a minor league baseball team.
Once we hit the main road, it’s pure small-town Texas.
Cows, fields, and the occasional lonely gas station. Cole points out every random sight.
“That’s the Silver Spoon MC clubhouse.” He points at the large iron gates guarding a stunning fortress.
“That’s a motorcycle club compound? It looks more like some billionaire’s estate.”
Cole laughs, all cocky and pleased with himself. “That’s because most of the members are billionaires. One is even a real-life prince. They do more business deals than bike rallies.” Holy shit. I can’t believe this town.
I stare out at the manicured hedges and the gleaming metal roof. Even the damn mailbox is fancy. Only in Silver Spoon Falls.
Cole keeps up a running commentary as we hit the town limits.
The main street is a perfectly curated blend of small-town charm and old-money luxury.
Every shop has a fresh coat of paint and a clever name.
There’s a bakery with a chandelier in the window and a feed store that looks like it belongs on the cover of a magazine.
He pulls up in front of The Golden Mug, a ranch-style building with massive wood beams and a wraparound porch.
My mouth starts watering before we even get out of the truck—the air is thick with the smell of cinnamon, sugar, and pure fried heaven.
My stomach actually growls loud enough for Cole to hear it.
He grins at me, hopping out and hustling around to open my door before I can even get my seatbelt off. “You’re in for a religious experience, Montana.”
I roll my eyes, but honestly? I’m drooling. The second I step onto the porch, the smell hits in full force, and I actually go up on my toes trying to inhale more. “Holy shit, what is that?”
Cole laughs, low and wicked, then leans in close. “Best donuts in Texas. Maybe the universe.” He tugs my hand and leads me inside.
The Golden Mug is packed, even at this ungodly hour. While we wait in line, several people come by and say hello to Cole. I still get a thrill when he introduces me as his wife.
The next morning, I’m positive there’s no way Cole can top himself, but I am, as usual, completely wrong.
He wakes me up by placing soft kisses on my temple. “Rise and shine, Montana. I’m taking you to the Riviera.”
For a good three seconds, I think he means the actual French Riviera, and my sleep-fogged brain tries to figure out how we’re going to get to Europe.
I glare at him from under my pillow. “What’s your fascination with getting up before dawn on our vacation?”
“I don’t want to waste any time.” He’s like a kid in a candy store. “I have so much to show you before we head home.”
My heart warms as I realize he already considers The Rolling R Ranch his home. “Give me five minutes to wake up, and I’ll be ready to go,” I tell him as I slip out of bed.
“I’m sure I can find some way to wake you up.” He smirks and runs his finger down the side of my neck, sending a shiver down my spine. When he covers my lips with his, I forget all about our plans for the day.
One second, his mouth is on mine, his hands sliding up under my shirt to palm my tits, and the next, I’m pinned against the wall, toes barely touching the floor. I wrap my legs around his waist because, honestly, there’s no chance I’m making it down the hall under my own power.
“We’re going to be late,” I groan against his lips.
Cole just grins, all alpha male and pure Texas sin. “The Riviera isn’t going anywhere.” He squeezes my ass and grinds against me, cock already hard against my thigh. “We can be a few minutes late.”
A few minutes turn into two hours, because apparently I have zero self-control when it comes to my husband’s hands.
After two weeks in Silver Spoon Falls, my jeans are tighter, my caffeine tolerance is off the charts, and my brain is permanently rewired for this town’s special brand of insanity.
I’m not complaining. Texas suits me. I can’t wait to spend a few months here every year.
We take the family private jet back to Montana.
I barely remember the landing because Cole spends the entire flight distracting me in every possible way. By the time we step off the jet, my lips are swollen, my hair is a disaster, and my body feels like it’s been put through a high-speed spin cycle. I can’t stop grinning.
Grams is waiting at the little local airport, arms crossed, lips pursed like she’s trying not to smile. The second Cole helps me down the steps, she huffs, “Glad you two are home,” but her eyes are brighter than I’ve seen them in years.
We pile into my truck, Cole insisting on driving, and his palm settles on my thigh where it stays for the entire ride. Every time he squeezes, my pulse jumps.
The moment we pull up to the ranch house, I swear, my heart damn near leaps clear out of my chest. I never thought coming home to Montana would feel this good, but here we are.
Cole hops out of the truck and hustles around to open my door. His hand is hot and solid as he helps me down. “Home sweet home, Mrs. Carrington.” He grins, and honestly, the possessive tone in his voice does crazy things to my insides. Then he moves to the back door and helps Grams out.
“I’m going work on dinner,” she calls over her shoulder as she heads for the front door.
I blink as the screen door slams. Cole’s hand is already on my lower back, hot and heavy, like he’s staking a claim.
Not that I’m complaining. The second the door clicks shut behind Grams, he crowds me up against the side of my truck, his mouth finding that spot under my ear that makes my knees buckle. Holy hell.
“You know what I missed most about Montana?” he growls, voice molten honey, lips dragging along my jaw.
I try to think, but my brain’s not functioning. “Thunderbolt? The endless work?”
He laughs, low and wicked. His teeth graze my earlobe, and my pulse spikes so hard I nearly faint. “Nope. It’s home.” He kisses me, deep and dirty, digging his hands into my ass. I melt completely, turning into a puddle of desperate want.
I thread my fingers through his thick, dark hair and pull his head down until our foreheads touch. "I love you," I whisper, my breath warming the sliver of air between our lips. My voice catches as I add, "My home is wherever you are."
His eyes—those deep, stormy blue pools that first caught me in that Montana diner—crinkle at the corners. "Ditto," he murmurs, his calloused thumb tracing the curve of my cheekbone before he captures my mouth in a kiss that tastes like promise and forever.