Chapter 25 KATHERINE
KATHERINE
For as far as my eyes can see, Iron Stallion stretches out in every direction—grass rolls in soft waves beneath the Texas sun, horses graze in the distance with lazy dignity, and fences cut clean lines through land that looks too vast to belong to anyone, and yet it does. All this belongs to the Morgan family.
A week ago, this place was just a name to me.
A family ranch I’d written about once or twice in connection with Ava Noa’s fairytale marriage.
It was a headline, a piece of gossip wrapped in glossy wealth.
Now it’s where my son is being passed from arm to arm like a crown prince, where Ryder is healing, and where I’m trying my best to feel like I belong.
I rest my hands on the top rail of the fence, staring out at the valley below, letting the wind cool my face. It smells like earth, horses, bulls, and hay. Behind me, I hear footsteps, and I know who they belong to without turning. Ryder.
He asked me out for a ride this morning, and I said yes too quickly, because I’m incapable of telling him no, but the whole time we’ve been riding, I’ve felt this quiet gravity pulling us toward something inevitable.
Ryder doesn’t invite people to places, so if he asked me to come out here, it’s because he wants to talk, and Ryder Morgan does not talk unless it matters.
I turn my head slightly as he comes up beside me, his horse’s reins loose in his hand. He’s still healing, still stiff in ways he refuses to admit, but out here he looks like he belongs in a way he never did in the city. The cowboy is in his blood, even if the ghosts of his past tried to erase it.
He stops at the fence with me, gaze fixed forward, but he doesn’t say a word. The wind moves between us, tugging at my hair, his jacket, and the space he never quite knows how to close first.
“We need to talk about Julian,” he finally starts.
Just the name of our son on his lips pulls my attention immediately. “Yes?”
His jaw works, tension flickering along the line of it. He looks like a man stepping toward a cliff edge without knowing if there’s ground on the other side.
The next words out of his mouth rattle me to the bone. “I’d like him to have my last name.”
My breath catches, and for a second, all I can see is Julian as an infant in my arms in the NICU—tiny and wired, fighting for breath while the world spun on without his father.
All I can hear is my own voice whispering James into the paperwork because it was the only thing I had.
And now Ryder is standing here, asking for the rest of it.
“Ryder…” I start, voice trembling.
His expression tightens instantly, misreading. “You don’t have to.”
“No.” I shake my head hard, stepping closer. “No, that’s not—“
I exhale shakily, forcing myself to meet his eyes fully. “I want that… I wanted that before I even knew your last name.”
Ryder stills, and I continue, because if I stop, I might cry.
“Before I found out I was pregnant, I didn’t think you were real.
You were like a story I couldn’t prove. Then those lines popped up, and it proved that what we shared actually happened, and I realized one thing: no matter how horribly we left things between us, Julian deserved to be tied to you somehow. Even if you never came back.”
His throat moves as he swallows.
“So I gave him James, because it was all I had. But now that you’re here, he can have your name. Of course he can.”
Ryder’s shoulders sag the smallest fraction, like he’s been holding something up for far too long and has finally set it down.
“Morgan,” he murmurs, tasting it.
“Julian James Morgan,” I whisper softly, and the name feels right in my mouth.
We’ve already tackled something important, and since I have his attention, we might as well go all the way. So, I ask the question that’s been sitting in my chest for weeks. “What about me? Ryder… what about us?”
His eyes lock onto mine, and in that instant, I understand with aching clarity: Giving Julian his name is the easy part—the harder part is what comes after. The part where Ryder Morgan has to decide if he can be more than a ghost.
The question lingers in the air between us. He looks past me, out over the valley, scanning the open land like there might be an enemy hiding in the grass, like it’s safer to watch for threats than to face what’s standing right in front of him.
His throat works once, then, finally, “I don’t know.”
The words are quiet, but they hit like truth always does. I inhale slowly, steadying myself.
“You don’t know if you want me,” I clarify, because I need to hear it cleanly.
Ryder’s head turns sharply, eyes cutting to mine. “That’s not—“
He stops, frustration flashes across his face, before he finally admits, “I don’t know how.”
“How to be… a couple?” I ask softly.
Ryder’s jaw clenches. “How to stay,” he corrects.
The words are stripped down to bone. He looks like a man standing in unfamiliar terrain without a weapon, like every instinct in him is screaming that this is the part where he runs before it destroys him.
I step closer anyway. “Ryder, you don’t have to be perfect.”
“I don’t do perfect,” he mutters.
“I know. You do… survival. But I want more than that. For Julian, and for me.”
Ryder exhales sharply through his nose. “That’s dangerous.”
“So is everything about you,” I say, unable to help the small, breathless laugh that escapes. “And yet here I am.”
His gaze holds mine now, dark and heavy. “You shouldn’t be.”
“Stop telling me what I shouldn’t be,” I snap softly. I’m not angry, just desperate. “I’m here with you, aren’t I? I don’t want a fantasy—I want you, exactly as you are, but present.”
His gaze drops to my mouth, then back to my eyes. The silence stretches thin, charged. I take another step, close enough now that I can feel the heat of him despite the cold air.
“I don’t know how to be what you want,” he confesses, voice rough.
“That’s okay,” I murmur. “I’ll teach you.”
Then I reach up, fingers brushing the edge of his jaw, feeling the roughness of beard, the tension held under skin. Ryder’s eyes close for half a second, then he opens them, and there’s something in them that makes my stomach drop.
He’s decided, and it’s exactly what I want.
I kiss him, soft at first, as if questioning him, us, and everything in between.
His answer is to pull me closer with his hands—one on my waist, pulling me into him with careful force, mindful of his injuries but unwilling to let me float away.
The other slides into my hair, anchoring me as his mouth meets mine fully.
“Ryder…” I inhale against his mouth, trembling.
He makes a low sound—barely restraint—and suddenly his body moves like instinct has taken over. He guides me backward until my back meets the fence post, wood rough behind me, the world wide open around us.
His mouth travels from my jaw to my throat, slowly, like he’s reminding himself I’m here. My hands clutch his jacket, as if to push him away.
“You’re still healing,” I breathe, even as my body betrays me, arching closer.
His mouth pauses at my neck. “I know. Don’t worry, I won’t break.”
I protest no more as his hand slides under my shirt, warm against bare skin, fingers splaying over my stomach. I gasp when he slides higher, cupping my breasts over my bra. His lips return to mine, deeper, hungrier, as he pinches my nipples over the thin material.
I moan into the kiss as the ranch disappears all around us. All that exists is the wind, the fence, and his body pressing into mine, as if he’s trying to memorize the shape of staying. My fingers find his belt, tugging him closer, frustration blooming sharp.
He exhales hard, biting my lower lip. “Katherine…”
My full name on his tongue feels obscene. I smile against his mouth. “Say that again.”
His lips twitch. “Katherine, my Katherine,” then he kisses me harder, like punishment and surrender all at once.
My back leaves the fence as he turns, guiding me backwards. He lets go of me for a moment, grabs a thick saddle blanket, spreads it on the grass before gently pulling me down onto it.
Cold air kisses my bare skin as my shirt rides up, but Ryder covers me immediately, his body shielding mine, his hands bracketing my thighs as he lowers himself between them. His forehead rests against my stomach for a moment, breath harsh, like he’s fighting for control. Then his mouth finds skin.
I gasp, fingers flying into his hair. “Ryder—“
He doesn’t answer, just keeps going. His kiss drags slowly over my ribs, the curve of my waist—reverent in a way that makes my throat burn.
My legs shift open without thought, welcoming him.
His hands grip my hips, holding me still.
His mouth lifts, eyes locking onto mine in a silent question, seeking permission.
I nod, and that’s all it takes. His hand slips between us, sliding under the edge of my jeans, fingers brushing heat that has been building for far too long. I arch sharply, breath breaking. He watches every reaction like he’s memorizing the way I fall apart.
“So responsive,” he murmurs, voice rough with something close to awe.
My cheeks burn. “Don’t talk like you’re not doing this to me.”
That almost-smile flickers, then his fingers press deeper, finding my clit, and the sound that leaves me is helpless.
Ryder groans low, like my pleasure physically wounds him. He leans down, kissing me again. His hand moves with intent, drawing me closer and closer until my whole body is shaking beneath him.
“Ryder,” I whisper, desperate now. “Please.”
His jaw flexes in understanding. He shifts, tugging at my jeans, pushing them down just enough, then his own—urgency breaking through restraint. The cold air is nothing compared to the heat between us.
He hovers for a breath, lined up, forehead resting against mine.
“This is…” he starts, then stops.
Too much, too real.
I cradle his face, forcing him to look at me. “I know. I’m here and so are you. We’ll figure it out, together.”
His eyes darken, then he thrusts forward, filling me in one slow, devastating motion. I gasp, spine arching off the blanket, hands clutching tightly onto his shoulders. Ryder stills, buried deep, breathing hard through his nose.
“So damn tight,” he murmurs, voice wrecked.
I bite my lip, trembling. “You’re big.”
“I know,” he roughly exhales.
“Smug bastard,” I mock, and that earns me a bite to the neck.
I cry out just as he starts moving—slow at first, controlled like he’s afraid of losing himself, like he’s afraid of losing me—but the rhythm builds.
His hips drive into mine with purpose, each stroke pressing deeper, claiming space, claiming what he’s been denying since LA.
My body meets him instinctively, rising fast, unstoppable.
The fence creaks softly, the wind howls somewhere beyond us, and Iron Stallion stretches out endlessly, uncaring. While Ryder—Ryder is everything. His mouth finds my throat again as he thrusts harder, breath breaking against my skin.
I wrap my legs around him, pulling him closer. “God,” I gasp. “Ryder…”
His name sounds like prayer and surrender all at once. His movements falter, a groan tearing from him as I clench around him, pleasure cresting too fast.
He grips my face, forcing my eyes to his. “Look at me,” he demands, voice raw.
I do, and the moment my release hits, it’s violent—shaking through me like thunder, my mouth opening on a sound I can’t control.
Ryder follows with a harsh groan, burying his face against my neck as his body locks, heat spilling into me, his arms crushing me close like he can’t bear the distance even for a second.