Chapter 9 - Lily
I'm beyond happy, but I can't let myself fully sink into it.
I have a daughter. I can't just dive headfirst into this, can't let myself get swept up in the fantasy of a handsome cowboy who saves me from falling and asks me on dates.
I need to protect myself. More importantly, I need to protect Rosie.
She's been through enough upheaval in her short life—constantly moving, sleeping in cars, never having stability.
The last thing she needs is me getting involved with a man who might not stick around, who might turn out to be just another disappointment.
I need to take things slower. Need to keep my head on straight even when Mason's looking at me like I'm something precious, even when his arms around me felt like the safest place I've ever been.
But right now, walking toward that main house with Rosie's hand in mine and Mason beside me, this feels like a fever dream. Like something out of a storybook. Saved by a handsome man who falls for me quickly, who offers shelter and help and wants to take me on dates.
That only happens in princess stories, and I'm far from a princess.
I'm a broke single mom with stretch marks, too much curves and a used Honda that barely runs. I'm the woman men fuck but don't date, the one they proposition in bars but never introduce to their families. I'm not the heroine of any story worth telling.
But Mason's hand brushes mine as we walk, and Rosie's laughing with Emma ahead of us, and for just a moment I let myself pretend this could be real.
The main house is bigger than I expected. Two stories of weathered wood and stone, with a wraparound porch that's seen decades of Montana weather. It looks lived-in, loved, the kind of place where people actually make memories instead of just existing.
Tucker holds the door open, and we step inside to organized chaos.
The kitchen is massive, clearly the heart of the home. A huge wooden table dominates the center, scarred and worn from years of use. The counters are cluttered with the debris of men living together: coffee mugs, random tools, a stack of mail nobody's sorted yet. But it's clean underneath the mess.
Three men look up as we enter, and the room goes silent.
"Well, well," one of them says, a grin spreading across his face. He's got dark hair and an easy smile that probably gets him in trouble. "Mason brought home a stray."
"Fuck off, Rhett," Mason says, but there's no heat in it.
"Language!" Tucker warns, gesturing at the two little girls who've already climbed onto chairs at the table.
Rhett has the grace to look sheepish. "Sorry. Mason brought home a guest."
"This is Lily," Mason says, his hand settling on the small of my back. The touch is possessive and comforting at the same time. "And her daughter Rosie. They're staying in Wade and Sierra's cottage while those two are off being disgustingly romantic somewhere."
A tall man with brown hair steps forward, extending his hand. "Boone Sullivan. Nice to meet you."
"Lily." I shake his hand, noting the gentle strength there. "Thank you for having us."
"Another Sullivan here," a younger man says, also standing. He looks like Boone but younger and with more volatile energy. "Colt. Boone's better-looking younger brother."
"By six years and debatable on the looks," Boone says dryly.
"And I'm Garrett Palmer," the one called Rhett says, "but everyone calls me Rhett. I handle the business side of things, which means I'm the only one here who can actually do math."
"That's bullshit," Mason protests. "I can do math."
"Adding up how many beers you drank last night doesn't count," Colt shoots back.
The banter is easy, natural. These men have clearly been together for years, their relationships worn smooth by time and trust. It reminds me of what I never had—siblings, family, people who knew you well enough to tease you and love you anyway.
"Ignore them," Tucker says, setting plates on the table. "They're like children. Speaking of which, Emma, Rosie, what do you want to drink? We've got milk, juice, water."
"Juice!" both girls chorus together, and I can already see Emma taking Rosie under her wing, the seven-year-old acting like a protective big sister.
"Sit," Mason murmurs to me, pulling out a chair. "I'll help Tucker with lunch."
I sink into the chair, Rosie immediately climbing into my lap despite the empty seat beside me. She's overwhelmed, I can tell. New place, new people, too much stimulation. She buries her face in my neck, and I stroke her curls, murmuring reassurances.
"She's adorable," Boone says from across the table, his voice gentle. "How old?"
"Two." I adjust Rosie on my lap. "She'll warm up once she gets used to everyone. She's just shy at first."
"Emma was the same way at that age," Tucker says, bringing over sandwiches. "Now we can't get her to stop talking."
"I heard that, Dad!" Emma calls from where she's coloring at the end of the table.
The men laugh, and slowly the conversation flows around me. They ask polite questions—where I'm from (I stay vague), what brought me to Blackwater Falls (looking for work), what I think of Montana so far (beautiful but cold). They don't pry, don't push for details I'm not ready to give.
Mason and Tucker work together in the kitchen, assembling sandwiches and pouring drinks. These men take care of each other. Cook for each other. Create a home together.
"So, Mason said you're looking at the job at Sarah's place?" Tucker asks, taking a massive bite of his sandwich.
"Yeah. He offered to introduce me, put in a good word." I glance at Mason, who's setting a plate in front of me. "If you don't mind me asking, what exactly do you know about the position?"
"Sarah needs help behind the bar and with the books," Rhett explains. "She's getting older, doesn't want to work seven nights a week anymore. The nighttime daycare thing is new. She set it up about six months ago when one of her bartenders needed it. Figured other people might too."
"That's incredibly generous of her."
"Sarah's good people," Colt says. "Tough as nails, doesn't take shit from anyone, but fair. If she hires you, she'll treat you right."
Mason slides into the chair beside me, his thigh pressing against mine under the table. It's casual, probably unconscious, but it sends heat flooding through my body. I shift slightly, trying to put some distance between us, but there's nowhere to go without being obvious.
"How'd the riding lesson go?" Boone asks Mason, his tone innocent but his eyes knowing.
Mason's jaw tightens. "Fine until I got distracted and Daisy spooked."
"Distracted by what?" Colt's grin is wicked.
"None of your fucking business," Mason growls.
"Language!" Tucker says again, pointing at Emma and Rosie.
"Sorry." Mason doesn't look sorry at all. "But seriously, drop it."
But Colt's already looking between Mason and me, reading the tension, the way we're sitting too close, the flush on my cheeks. "Oh, this is good. This is really good."
"I will murder you in your sleep," Mason threatens.
"Worth it to see you actually interested in someone," Boone says, and there's genuine warmth in his voice. "Been a long time, brother."
My face is burning now. They know. They all know Mason's interested in me, and they're giving him shit about it in front of everyone. I should be embarrassed. Should want to sink through the floor.
But instead, I feel... accepted. Like their teasing includes me too, like I'm already part of this makeshift family instead of an outsider looking in.
"Leave him alone," I hear myself say. "He saved me from getting trampled by Daisy. He's earned a break from the harassment."
The table goes quiet for a second, and then Rhett starts laughing. "Oh, I like her. She's got spine."
"Told you she was good people," Mason mutters, but there's satisfaction in his voice.
Lunch continues with more easy conversation. They tell me about the ranch, about Frank and how he saved each of them, about Sierra's investment that's finally giving them breathing room financially. They ask about Rosie—her favorite foods, her favorite toys, whether she likes animals.
Tucker mentions that Emma would love to have another kid around more often, and Emma enthusiastically agrees, asking if Rosie can come play tomorrow. The way they include us, make space for us, it's overwhelming in the best way.
Nobody pressures me or makes inappropriate comments or treats me like I'm just another woman Mason's fucking. They treat me like a person. Like someone who might actually stick around.
Rosie finally relaxes enough to sit in her own chair, munching on the sandwich Tucker made for her: cut into tiny pieces, crusts removed without me having to ask. Emma shows her the coloring books she brought to the table, and soon both girls are absorbed in their art.
"So, when do Wade and Sierra get back?" I ask, suddenly aware that I'm staying in their home without their knowledge.
"Sunday," Tucker says. "But don't worry. They'll understand. Wade's a softie under all that grumpy exterior. And Sierra's been trying to get us to be more welcoming to newcomers anyway. She'll probably be thrilled Mason actually took initiative."
"I take initiative," Mason protests.
"You hide in your cottage and avoid people," Colt corrects. "Taking in Lily and Rosie is the most social thing you've done in months."
Mason's hand finds my thigh under the table, his palm warm through my jeans. It's possessive and reassuring at the same time, and I don't pull away. Just let him touch me, claim me in this small way in front of his brothers.
"Well, I'm grateful," I say. "All of you. For welcoming us. For not treating me like an intruder."
"You're not an intruder," Boone says firmly. "Frank taught us to help people who need it. That's what we're doing. What we'll keep doing for as long as you need it."
The sincerity in his voice makes my throat tight. These men barely know me, and they're already offering unconditional support. It's more than my own family ever gave me.
"Besides," Rhett adds with a grin, "it's nice having more women around.
Balances out all the testosterone. Once Wade and Sierra get back, and you're here, plus Marley stops by for the animals, and Nicole's always around, and Harper's moving in with Colt next month, we're actually becoming civilized. "
"Is everyone here dating someone?" The question comes out before I can stop it.
"Just about," Tucker says with a smile. "Mason and Rhett are the last holdouts. The confirmed bachelors of Promise Ranch."
"Hey," Rhett protests. "I'm not confirmed anything. I'm just selective."
"You're scared of commitment," Mason corrects.
"And you are too," I say to Mason, raising an eyebrow. "Or were, until about an hour ago when you asked me out."
The table erupts in noise. Colt's laughing so hard he nearly chokes on his sandwich. Boone's grinning like he just won money. Tucker's shaking his head with amusement. Even Rhett looks impressed.
"She's got you there," Boone says, clapping Mason on the shoulder.
Mason's grip tightens on my thigh, and I can feel the heat radiating off him. He's embarrassed but also pleased, like he wants his brothers to know he's claimed me even though he's getting shit for it.
"At least I had the balls to ask someone out," Mason shoots back. "What's your excuse, Rhett?"
"I'm waiting for the right woman," Rhett says with exaggerated dignity.
"You're waiting for a woman who doesn't exist," Colt corrects. "Your standards are impossible."
The banter continues, and I find myself relaxing into it. This is what family sounds like. Teasing and laughter and people who know each other well enough to push buttons without causing real hurt.
Lunch winds down slowly. The men clear the table without being asked, working together like a well-oiled machine. Emma and Rosie are now best friends, planning elaborate games involving horses and unicorns. The afternoon sun streams through the windows, warm and golden.
This could be my life. This house, these people, this sense of belonging. If I let it. If I'm brave enough to take the risk.
Mason's hand is still on my thigh, and when I look at him, he's already watching me. His dark eyes are intense, full of things he's not saying in front of his brothers. Promise. Desire. Hope.
I'm not a princess, and this isn't a fairy tale. But maybe, just maybe, it could be something real.