Chapter 23
KATHERINE
Texas doesn’t ease you in; it announces itself, loudly and unapologetically.
The moment we turn off the highway and onto a long stretch of gravel, the world opens up in a way that feels almost confrontational.
Land rolls out in every direction, wide and stitched together by fences that look less like boundaries and more like declarations.
The air smells different here—drier and earthier.
The more of it I see, the more I realize that I am a long way from home.
Ryder sits beside me in the backseat, pale and quiet, Julian cradled carefully against his chest. He’s conscious now, eyes open but distant, conserving what little strength he has.
His arm curls around our son instinctively, protective even when he can barely lift his head.
I keep my hand on his knee, grounding myself as much as him.
We tried getting him to ride in an ambulance, but the stubborn mule said it was too emasculating, so Beck and I caved and let him come in the car with us.
“You okay back there?” Beck asks from behind the wheel, glancing at us in the rearview mirror with an easy grin that feels wildly out of place after everything we’ve just survived.
Ryder doesn’t answer—he rarely speaks, but he’s quieter than usual. He has two holes in him, barely stitched together, so it’s understandable.
“I’m good,” I reply instead. “He’s holding on.”
Beck nods once, the grin softening. “Good. We’re almost home.”
Home. The word lands strange in my chest, but before I have time to start overthinking everything, tall iron gates appear, wrought with a design that’s elegant without being decorative.
IRON STALLION is forged into the metal in bold, unashamed letters.
The gates open smoothly, like they’ve been waiting for us.
Beyond them, the ranch unfolds like a small city.
Multiple buildings dot the landscape—barns, stables, long, low structures that look industrial and immaculate all at once.
Horses graze in the distance, sleek and powerful, their movement fluid and purposeful.
I catch glimpses of fencing that stretches farther than my eyes can follow, of dirt roads branching off into places I can’t see yet.
My stomach tightens. This isn’t just a ranch—this is legacy, riches beyond measure, and I’m smack in the middle of it.
The long driveway leads up to a large main house that looks more like an estate than a home. Beck pulls up the drive with practiced ease. The house is magnificent; stone, wood, and glass come together in a way that feels intentional, grounded, and quietly expensive.
“Welcome to Iron Stallion,” Beck invites lightly as he cuts the engine. “Try not to be intimidated. It bites newcomers sometimes.”
I let out a breath that’s half a laugh, half disbelief. “You’re… the youngest brother, right?”
He grins wider. “Unfortunately. It means I get all the shit and none of the authority.”
“That’s not what it sounds like,” I murmur.
He shrugs. “Depends who you ask.”
The front door opens before I can say anything else. A woman steps out first, about my age or a bit younger, looking very confident—all soft curves and boundless energy. Her dark brown hair is pulled back, eyes sharp but warm, scanning the scene like she’s already assessing what needs to be done.
Ella. I don’t know how I know, but I do.
Behind her is a handsome, tall, older gentleman with graying hair and a posture that radiates quiet command. His gaze lands on Ryder first, then shifts to Julian, and something changes in his eyes.
Ryder exhales slowly beside me, like he’s been holding his breath since we crossed the gates. “That’s my dad, Hank, and sister, Ella,” he rasps.
That’s his dad?! Wow. Now I see where Ryder and Beck get their dashing looks from.
I move to take Julian from him, and he protests a bit before letting go, his eyes staying locked on us even as I exit the truck. Ella is upon us the moment we step out, her eyes softening the moment they land on Julian.
“Oh, he’s adorable,” she gushes, and my throat tightens unexpectedly. “Welcome. You must be Kate.”
She looks at me then, and there’s no shock or judgment there, just warmth and something like recognition.
I nod, suddenly unsure what more to say. “I am, and this is Julian.”
“Hi Julian,” she coos excitedly, the sincerity catching me off guard. “It’s nice to meet you both. I’m Ella, the youngest and only sister,” she introduces, then turns to her big brother.
“Ryder James Morgan! Oh boy, are you in trouble,” she glares at him through the open car door.
Ryder looks scared for a moment, and it’s the first time I’ve seen him afraid of anyone—not even when he had to fight against eight heavily armed men. He’s a foot taller than her and twice her size, and he’s scared of her? Should I be scared of her, too? What is going on?
“Hi, El.”
She rolls her eyes at him. “Don’t El me.”
He tries to move but winces due to his injuries, and that’s when her face softens. “Let’s get you inside first, get you all better, then I’ll happily kill you myself.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he smiles back.
She rushes to his side, her hand light but firm at his elbow, with Beck on the other side. Hank stays back half a step, watching everything with an intensity that makes my skin prickle.
Ryder sways the moment his feet hit the ground, and I instinctively reach out.
“I’ve got him,” Beck assures me, already adjusting his grip.
I hover uselessly, torn between Julian and Ryder, between staying out of the way and needing to be close.
Hank steps closer then, but doesn’t speak right away.
He looks at Ryder, really looks at him, and then his gaze drops to Julian.
His eyes linger on Julian’s hair, the way it curls slightly at the edges, and the unmistakable color of his dark eyes.
When the recognition hits, all he does is exhale. “Well, that explains a few things.”
Ella turns slowly, her gaze following his. She takes in Julian fully this time, not just as a baby, but as Ryder’s baby. Her hand flies to her mouth for a split second before she catches herself.
“Oh,” she mutters softly. “Oh.”
I brace myself for the questions, the judgment, and the inevitable, why wasn’t I told? But none of it comes.
Instead, Ella steps closer to me, her voice gentler now. “May I?”
I hesitate for half a second before nodding. She doesn’t take Julian from me, just rests a hand lightly against his back, her thumb brushing over his tiny shoulder. Julian blinks up at her, then grins—wide and gummy.
Ella laughs, the sound warm and unguarded. “He’s definitely a Morgan.”
Ryder closes his eyes briefly, something like relief crossing his face. You and me both, papa. You and me both.
Hank clears his throat. “Let’s get you inside,” he commands, already turning toward the house. “The team’s waiting.”
“The team?” I echo.
Beck glances back at me with a lopsided grin. “Surgical. Don’t worry. They’ve seen worse than my brother’s dramatic tendencies.”
“I’m not dramatic,” Ryder mutters.
Ella snorts. “You left for ten years and came back bleeding half to death. You’re dramatic.”
As they guide Ryder toward the house, I follow instinctively, my steps faltering only when Ella gently presses a hand to my arm. “Kate, we’ve got him. I promise.”
Something in her tone makes my shoulders sag with relief.
Hank pauses at the door and looks back at me. “You and the baby will be just fine here.”
I nod, swallowing hard. “Thank you.”
As soon as we cross the threshold, I barely register Ryder being taken away.
One second, he’s being supported by Ella and Beck, and the next he’s being ushered down a long corridor by the surgical team.
The doors close behind them, sealing him off from me, and for the first time since the mountain, I feel untethered.
Then a familiar face steps in before I can spiral, and for a moment I think I’m dreaming. What is she doing here?
I recognize her the way you recognize someone you’ve studied from a distance for years.
Ava Noa—global pop icon, philanthropist, and tabloid darling turned reluctant recluse.
I’ve written about her countless times, and now she’s standing in front of me in worn jeans and boots, her hair pulled back and no makeup.
Wait, I know that she married a Morgan. Does that mean that the Morgan family she married into is the same one Ryder is from? Oh my God, what a small world. Addison will go crazy over this.
Her gaze flicks from my face to Julian, then she smiles. “Hi Kate. Welcome.”
I blink. “You… know me?”
She laughs lightly. “Of course I do. You’re one of the few columnists who ever bothered to fact-check before publishing.”
My mouth opens, then closes, then opens again. “I—thank you.”
She reaches out without hesitation. “May I hold him?”
Julian chooses that moment to babble enthusiastically, arms flailing like he’s ready to be passed around. Traitor. I ease him into her arms, my chest tightening irrationally as she adjusts him with the kind of instinct that comes from motherhood, not fame.
“Oh my word,” she murmurs. “Zane, look at his eyes.”
Whoever Zane is appears instantly, as if summoned by blood and instinct alone. Another gorgeous-looking man, same height and features as Beck and Ryder, only a bit older. Must be another Morgan brother. Just how many of them are there?
He takes one look, and his brows lift. “Yeah, that’s definitely Ryder’s boy.”
There’s no doubt in his tone, just pure acceptance, and something in me cracks wide open.
Another stunning woman joins us with a baby about Julian’s age in her arms, and she introduces herself as Quinn, Beck’s wife, and their son, Oliver.
She gives me a quick, knowing smile. “Welcome to Iron Stallion. You picked one hell of an entrance.”
I huff out a shaky breath. “Is there a manual for this family? Or—“
She grins. “Nope. But there’s coffee, food, and a group text that never shuts up.”
I laugh, her welcoming tone instantly relaxing me.
Ava shifts Julian gently, rocking him as he settles against her. “He’s beautiful.”
“Thank you,” I smile.
“And before you panic, no one here is going to interrogate you,” she assures me.
Zane nods. “We’ll get the story when Ryder’s ready to tell it.”
“And if he’s not,” Quinn adds lightly, “we’re very patient people.”
I’m not sure I believe that, but I appreciate the attempt.
My gaze drifts around the house—the sheer size of it, the quiet luxury woven into every beam and window. This isn’t flashy wealth. It’s power earned and defended over generations.
Ava catches the direction of my stare. “It’s a lot, I know. The first time can feel overwhelming.”
“I wrote about your wedding,” I admit. “About you marrying into the Morgan family. I knew the name, I just… I didn’t connect it to him.”
Her smile softens. “I don’t blame you. Ryder isn’t the kind to open up.”
“Believe me, I know,” I mutter.
“But you’re going to be okay here. We’re all family now,” she promises.
Before I can reply, Julian squirms, fussing lightly, and Ava hands him back to me without question.
“He’s safe here. Both of you are.”
I clutch Julian closer, nodding, my throat too tight for words.
Somewhere down the hall, behind closed doors and sterile lights, Ryder is fighting his own battle.
But out here? I’m surrounded by people who already consider my son one of theirs, and that knowledge settles into my bones like a promise.