Ten Years Later
ANNA
Early morning is still my favorite time at the ranch. There’s nothing quite like the sun spilling over the ride, lighting up the pastures in golden light. From the kitchen window, I can see the horses grazing in the field, the barns all freshly painted, fences straight and strong.
Rock Creek Ranch is alive again. Bigger, better and more full of life than anyone ever imagined it could be.
Except me.
As soon as Wyatt told me his vision, I believed in him one hundred percent. Between him and his brothers, and of course their families, too, this place was thriving.
Any other day, our five boys would already be out in the yard, running wild in the best possible way, raising chaos with their cousins in only the way that Thorne boys can.
Sometimes I still can’t believe we have five, muddy, loud, sweet in their own way, boys.
Just the way Wyatt’s mama did.
I saw the worry on his face the night our youngest was born. I knew what he was thinking. His mama had five boys before…
But I told them the night our baby was born that we were absolutely escaping that particular family curse. There was nothing to worry about. And there wasn’t.
I felt it in my bones. We got happily ever after. Forever.
And that’s exactly what life had been. Between the ranch, my busy practice, and our boys, life was beyond full and busy.
Today, however, it’s blessedly quiet as all of Wyatt’s brothers, along with their own wives and children, have left for the town of Iron Peak, for the rodeo, and volunteered to take our five boys, too.
Living on a family ranch had some challenges for sure, but one of the distinct advantages was that we all helped out with each other’s families. Which meant that this morning it was just me and my sexy, cowboy husband.
I laugh to myself as I flip the bacon, wearing nothing but one of Wyatt’s oldest flannel shirts. It’s still my favorite after all this time. It hangs to mid-thigh, soft and worn, smelling faintly like coffee and wood smoke. Just like my man.
The pan hisses, the coffee brews. For the first time in weeks, there’s no shouting, no tiny feet thundering down the hall. Just me, the sizzle of breakfast, and the slow creek of the bedroom door opening behind me.
“Something smells good,” Wyatt’s voice, still rough with sleep, sends a thrill through me. “But not as good as you look, sweetheart.”
I turn around, tongs still in my hand. “Hungry?”
“You know I am.” His grin is positively animalistic. “My favorite shirt.”
“Mine too.” I wink and turn back to the stove, pretending not to notice the way his gaze travels down my legs.
Even after ten years, and the extra padding, lines, and scars that come with five children, my cowboy still wants me every bit as badly as he did that first night.
Maybe more.
The feeling is more than mutual. I’m already wet with the promise of what’s to come.
In the reflection of the window, I see the smirk that’s always meant the best kind of trouble. The one that makes my heart race.
“Bacon’s gonna burn,” he murmurs, stepping up behind me, his hands sliding up my bare legs under my shirt.
“Let it.”
The sound he makes, low and rough, vibrates against my skin. His breath is warm on my neck as he reaches around and turns the burner off before guiding me toward the kitchen counter.
After all these years, it’s still my favorite place to have breakfast with my cowboy.
Join Wyatt and Anna for a very yummy breakfast.