Chapter 3 #2
I meet his gaze, holding it. “Yeah,” I repeat, more solid this time. “I’m not going anywhere.”
That lands between us, and I see the shift in all three of them, subtle but there.
Relief.
Respect.
And something else that feels a whole lot like backing me up without needing to say it.
Wade exhales through his nose. “Well, good, because you don’t get to disappear on this,” he says, with less bite in it now. “Kind of a lifetime commitment situation.”
I snort under my breath. “Yeah, I picked up on that.”
Brooks shakes his head, a faint smile pulling at his mouth. “You always did have a way of keeping things interesting.”
“Pretty sure this tops everything else,” I mutter.
“Not wrong,” Wade says. “Still, could’ve given us a heads-up before you started a whole family.”
That earns him a look. “Funny. Real funny.”
Luke steps in just enough to break that up before it turns into something else, his tone steady. “We’ll figure it out,” he says, like it’s already decided. “Whatever this is, we handle it together.”
That hits different.
Because that’s the part I don’t have to question.
Not with them.
I glance down at Hadley again, her small hand still wrapped around mine like she’s got it all figured out already, and something in my chest settles a little deeper.
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “We will.”
And for the first time since she said the word daddy, the weight of it doesn’t feel like it’s knocking me off balance.
It feels like something I’m bracing for.
Something I’m stepping into.
And I’m not doing it alone.
I draw a slow breath and let it out, steadying myself in a way that feels new, like I’m choosing something instead of reacting to it, and when I look back up at Riley, I don’t see a problem to solve so much as a line I’m stepping across on purpose.
“I’m in,” I say, keeping my voice even so it carries without turning into a declaration I can’t back up. There’s no hesitation in it either. “Whatever this looks like, we figure it out, and I’m not going anywhere.”
Riley doesn’t soften at that, not the way someone might if they were ready to believe me.
When I meet her eyes I see it clear as anything, the caution still there, the distance she’s holding on to like it’s the only thing keeping her steady.
It tells me plainly that whatever trust this is going to take, it’s not something I get with a few words and a promise.
It’s something I’m going to have to earn over time.
Riley studies me, searching for something she can trust, and I don’t rush her or try to sell it, because I know better than to make promises I haven’t earned the right to make yet. So I give her the only thing I can that matters right now.
Consistency.
“I work here,” I add, nodding toward the spread around us, the cattle, the fences, the land that’s been in our family longer than I’ve been alive.
“This ranch is my job, my home, and I’m here every day, which means if you need to find me, you know where I am, and if she needs me, I’m not hard to track down. ”
Wade lets out a low breath behind me, not quite a laugh, not quite a comment, just enough to show he’s heard it, while Brooks folds his arms like he’s measuring the words against the man he knows, and Luke just gives the smallest nod like he already decided I meant it.
I look back down at Hadley, tightening my hold on her hand just a fraction, not enough to be noticed by anyone but me, but enough to feel like something real.
“You hungry?” I ask her, because it feels like the most normal question in the world and the most important one all at once. “Quinn’s got a cookie jar in the house she keeps stocked, probably better than anything Wade’s about to offer you.”
She nods immediately, like that’s an easy answer compared to everything else. “Yeah.”
I glance over at Wade. "Let’s just go find a cookie.”
I shake my head, a small grin pulling at my mouth despite everything. “Good to know nothing’s changed.”
Luke steps in, easy and calm. “Georgia Mae's got lunch in town, or we can grab something from the house. Either way, we’re not feeding her whatever Wade made this morning.”
“Hey,” Wade protests, but there’s no real heat in it. “That was edible.”
“Barely,” Brooks mutters.
Hadley’s laugh slips out soft and bright, and it hits me square in the chest again, different this time, lighter, like something just opened up that I didn’t realize was closed.
I look back at Riley, holding her gaze so she knows I’m not brushing past any of this, even with the humor easing the edges. “We’ll take this one step at a time,” I tell her, steady and sure. “No pressure, no rushing anything, just… showing up and figuring it out as we go.”
The words feel right as I say them, not rehearsed, not forced, just true in a way I haven’t felt in a long time.
Because for once, I’m not thinking about the next ride or the next place to be.
I’m thinking about digging in, about building out on that Miller land and finally planting something that’s mine and now I may need to build for my child.
By the time the dust settles on the moment, Hadley’s already had her cookie and Riley’s gathered herself enough to make a quiet exit. Thanking Luke under her breath before guiding Hadley toward the truck, Hadley waving over her shoulder with a grin and a smear of crumbs she hasn’t noticed yet.
Riley doesn’t linger, and when her eyes meet mine one last time there’s still that distance there. That steady, measured look that says this is going to take time, and then she’s turning away and driving out the same road she came in on. Leaving the yard a little quieter than it was before.
I ease my hand from where Hadley had been holding on just minutes ago. The absence of it settling in faster than I expect.
I straighten and glance out toward the far edge of the property where the Miller land stretches open and quiet, the same place that’s been sitting in the back of my mind all morning and now feels a whole lot louder.
“I’m gonna take a quick ride out to Miller,” I say, keeping it casual even though there’s nothing casual about the way my thoughts are stacking up. “Clear my head, make sure the fence line over there is still holding.”
Wade lifts a brow. “Now?”
“Now,” I answer, already stepping back toward my horse because if I don’t move, I’m gonna stand here and overthink something that doesn’t need overthinking.
Luke gives a small nod like he gets it. “We’ve got things here,” he says. “Go.”
Brooks glances out toward the drive where Riley’s truck disappeared a few minutes ago, then back at me, measuring, but he doesn’t argue. “Don’t be long. And no matter what happens that little girl really does look like a McCallister.”
I tip my chin and head for my horse, the quiet left behind in the yard settling heavier than it should. I swing into the saddle without looking back.
The ride up there gives me space I didn’t realize I needed. The rhythm of the horse steady under me as the noise from the yard fades and the land opens up, wide and quiet and honest in a way that makes it easier to think.
The Miller land has felt like a possibility since the day we bought it. Like something not yet decided, and as I crest the low rise and take it in, I can already see where a place could sit, where a line could run, where something solid could be built that doesn’t feel temporary or borrowed.
A house out here doesn’t feel like an idea anymore.
It feels like a plan.
For the first time, it isn’t just about me either. That realization lands deep, settling in with a weight that doesn’t push me back, just plants me where I am.
I guide the horse along the fence line, checking posts out of habit, letting my eyes move over the ground, the grass, the small details that don’t mean anything until they do. That’s when I see it.
A patch of dirt that doesn’t match the rest.
It’s subtle, just a slight dip and a change in color where the soil looks recently turned. It’s enough to snag my attention, enough to make me pull the horse to a stop and swing down before I’ve fully decided why.
I step closer, crouching to run my fingers over the ground. The top layer gives easier than it should, loose in a way the rest of the line isn’t, like someone didn’t take the time to cover their tracks as well as they thought they did.
“That’s not right,” I mutter, more to myself than anything. I glance around out of instinct, scanning the open stretch even though there’s nothing out here but wind and distance.
I reach for the small shovel strapped to my saddle, working the blade into the soft patch and pushing down. The metal sliding through easier than it should, and it doesn’t take much before I hit something that isn’t dirt.
A dull, hollow sound.
I pause for a second, then clear a little more away, exposing the edge of a metal box. Weathered but not old enough to belong to the land itself. A familiar kind of unease settles in my gut as I drag it free.
It’s heavier than it looks.
I set it down and pry it open, the hinge giving with a quiet creak that sounds too loud in the open air. What’s inside hits me like a punch I didn’t see coming.
A set of rodeo tags.
Numbers I recognize.
Gear that doesn’t belong buried out here.
And tucked underneath it all, something that makes the back of my neck go tight.
A name I know.
I stare at it for a second longer than I should, the pieces starting to line up in a way I don’t like. The quiet of the Miller land shifts into something else entirely.
This isn’t random.
And whatever this is… it just got a whole lot bigger.