Chapter 40
Colter could stitch up a half-wild mutt in a thunderstorm, but sitting across from Sutton in a restaurant had him sweating through his damn suit.
The fact that he was in a suit said something. He hadn’t worn a tie on a date since he was living in California during vet school.
The restaurant wasn’t big, but Barrel & Bloom—a bistro that liked to pretend it was upscale—was the perfect first-date size. Brick walls washed in amber light, white tablecloths that had definitely met an iron, and a low run of olive trees separating the entry from the dining room.
He opened the door for Sutton, and she stepped in first—her floral scent brushing against him.
One tiny woman in a silk top and a skirt that hit mid-thigh left one hell of a big impact. The soft fabric of her blouse skimmed curves, her knee-high leather boots looked like a dare, and she carried enough quiet confidence to make a grown man forget his own name.
In contrast, he felt like a linebacker trying to tiptoe through a crystal shop.
He’d driven her here—watched her climb into his truck, watched her smooth her hair, watched her stare out the window like she was trying not to overthink. He’d joked about the weather and she’d given him a noncommittal “mmhmm,” which was woman-code for ‘Don’t push me yet.’
Now she was only inches ahead of him, and his heart was being an absolute jackass.
He tugged at his cuffs and the suit suddenly felt like a straitjacket. Sutton looked over her shoulder at him, eyes curious and maybe a little amused and—holy hell—that made it worse.
He’d requested a table in the corner that was private, but not suspiciously so. The kind of table a man chose when he wanted privacy but didn’t want a woman thinking he had basement killer energy.
His pulse refused to slow.
He’d been bucked, kicked, bitten, and damn near shot, but sitting down to dinner with this woman felt like stepping into a pen with a bull he actually cared about impressing.
She slid into the booth in this graceful and unbothered way that he envied the hell out of. She might only be twenty-four, but she was all woman.
He took the seat across from her, trying to look relaxed—his knee bounced anyway.
She eyed him. “You okay over there?”
He swallowed—tried for a shrug and failed. “I’ve just never worn a suit for someone who scared me before.”
Her lips parted in a slow, startled smile and—god help him. Dinner hadn’t even started, and he already knew he was in trouble.
Sutton tilted her head, studying him like she was cataloging truth from bravado. Then, quietly, she asked, “Have you ever been in love before?”
The question caught him off guard.
He leaned back, dragging two fingers across his jaw. “I guess we’re jumping right into it.”
“Again, mom time. Why waste my time talking about things that don’t matter?”
“Then, no.”
She blinked, like she was waiting for qualifiers or excuses—the usual romantic resume.
Colter exhaled slowly. “I’ve been in want before. Lust. Comfort. Habit.” He shook his head. “But love? No. I’ve never stayed long enough to see what that felt like.”
Sutton didn’t gasp—she just sat back, fingers brushing the edge of her napkin. “I’ve never been in love either,” she said quietly. “At least, not the kind anyone writes songs about.”
Something eased in his chest—shared honesty leveling the ground between them.
She didn’t fill the silence. She let him sit in it and that, alone, was intimate as hell.
Colter rolled his water glass between his fingers. “I was good at temporary. My work came first—always. A broken leg, a seizure, a midnight emergency—I’d drop everything. A relationship doesn’t survive when you train someone to expect you to leave.”
Sutton’s eyes softened—just a fraction.
He cleared his throat, pushing on. “I used to treat women like breathers. A distraction from thinking too hard. Something easy before I went back to the clinic.” His voice dropped. “It’s not something I’m proud of.”
Sutton rested her forearms on the table, leaning forward just enough that the silk across her chest shifted with her breath. “And now?”
He met her eyes—specks of gold on blue, steady as a verdict. “Now, I’m tired of being disposable. Acting like I don’t want anything just because wanting something means it could vanish.”
Sutton’s throat flexed with a swallow. “That sounds lonely.”
“It is,” he admitted.
“And you think I’m the antidote?”
Colter shook his head with a certainty he didn’t feel a moment ago. “I don’t want an antidote. I want a partner, someone I’ll never walk away from.”
Her breath stalled. “That’s a very big statement for a first date.”
“I’m tired of playing small.”
Her gaze dropped to the linen tablecloth—like the honesty was almost too much to stare at directly.
Colter let the pause stand. Gave the words enough space to let her absorb it. He watched her breathe through something—an internal brace before she spoke.
“I never expected to be a mom,” she said finally. Not bitter or apologetic—just the hard truth.
Colter stayed still. He didn’t push or offer platitudes. He let Sutton talk when she was ready to.
She folded her napkin once, twice, like precision could protect her.
“Years ago, I agreed to be a surrogate and egg donor and carry a child for someone else. It was clinical and structured. I even signed paperwork.” A humorless huff escaped her. “The universe apparently didn’t care about paperwork.”
Colter listened, pulse slow and heavy.
“The biology ended up, um, different than intended,” she said carefully. “When the people who’d been waiting for that baby realized things weren’t what they expected, they stepped back. Completely.”
Her tone was flat, but her fingers tightened around the napkin.
“So there I was,” she continued. “With a tiny heartbeat depending on me and no plan. I could hand her to strangers or I could stay.” She flicked her gaze up at him—daring him to judge. “I stayed.”
Colter felt something sharp press behind his ribs. Respect for her bravery and anger on her behalf. Mixed in there was also a hell of a lot of awe.
Sutton straightened, shutters sliding back into place. “That’s all you get for now.”
Translation: Don’t dig deeper.
He nodded once. “Thank you.”
That earned him a slow breath—like she’d prepared for scrutiny and didn’t know what to do with grace instead.
“So, is being a mom really the reason you don’t date or is it something else?”
She looked down at her hands. “I’m terrified something good won’t last. It usually doesn’t.” Her voice thinned. “Lynlee is enough for me, but maybe she’s too much for a man.”
“Maybe she’s exactly the right amount.”
Sutton didn’t answer, but her throat worked and her eyes went bright in the candlelight—like hope hurt more than fear.
He could see her shuttering again—pulling control back around herself like armor. Sutton didn’t want sympathy or to be rescued. She didn’t want anyone close enough to leave a dent. So, he gave her the one thing she responded to—honesty.
“You know, one night doesn’t erase compatibility,” he said and that got her eyes back on his. “Your body already chose me.”
Her lips parted—half scandal, half memory—and hell if that didn’t send heat through his chest. But Sutton recovered fast.
She crossed her arms, voice cool as water over stone. “Sex does not equal a relationship, Colter. And I’m not rewriting my life because of chemistry. That’s not strategy—that’s biology playing tricks.”
He let her say it. Let her own the moment. But the pulse jumping at her throat said chemistry wasn’t her enemy—it was her truth.
She went quiet again—a different kind of quiet. Not defensive or wounded, more like she was thinking.
Finally, Sutton drew in a breath and tucked her hair behind her ear, the way she did when she was about to admit something she hated admitting. “I need a favor.”
Now they were talking. Favors were his specialty. “Name it.”
“When you asked about helping with Lynlee’s birthday party, I said no.”
He remembered how she’d shut that door before he’d even been able to stick his foot in the opening.
She was self-sufficient to a fault.
“But, my daughter has a very active mouth. She told her entire class she was having a pony party. And now the teacher knows, and the parents know, and the kids?” Sutton sighed. “And I really don’t want her embarrassed in her first month living here.”
“Done. She can have the pony.”
Sutton blinked, caught off guard by the speed of that answer.
“And,” Colter added, already on a roll. “You can have the entire ranch if you want it. Pool party, horseback rides, barn picnic—whatever makes her feel like a princess.”
Her eyes widened. “That’s too much.”
“No,” he said simply. “It’s just right.”
“Colter—”
“I’d have done it for Irma,” he cut in.
That actually made Sutton laugh—one soft disbelieving sound. “Irma doesn’t have kids.”
He rested his elbows on the table and leaned in so she could see the truth in his eyes. “But you do and I want to help make her day special. Not complicated or disappointing, but special like all kids’ parties should be.”
Something in her expression cracked.
“Please,” he said, voice gentler than he expected. “Let me do this.”
Sutton studied him—eyes narrowing, lips pressing together, mind calculating risk versus gratitude. Then, blunt as a blade, she asked, “Is this for Lynlee or for me?”
“Can’t it be both?”