Chapter 41
Sutton stood under the shade of a sycamore, a paper cup of lemonade sweating in her hand while shrieking five-year-olds ran in feral circles. Lynlee’s pony—now covered in glitter stars and hair bows—looked one meltdown away from demanding hazard pay.
Five.
The number settled in Sutton’s chest with a strange mix of pride and disbelief. Five years ago, Lynlee had been small enough to fit against her heart, all broken cries and soft breaths, and now she was out there in the sun, loud and laughing and utterly certain the world would meet her joy halfway.
Five birthdays. Five years of figuring it out as she went. Five years of choosing joy where she could, and holding things together with love and sheer stubborn will. Whatever else the day held—glitter, noise, or impending pony rebellion—this part she’d gotten right.
Vivi adjusted her sunglasses. “I swear to god, that pony is going to unionize.”
Jo snorted. “Same. If it were me, I’d demand benefits and PTO.”
The three women went quiet as the Callahan brothers came into view—sun hitting them like a spotlight. They were loading coolers off the back of a side-by-side, all shoulders and hands and unapologetic testosterone.
Vivi made a low sound of pure, female appreciation. “That should come with a warning label.”
Jo didn’t bother with subtle. “Look at them. Sun-kissed, ranch-raised prime rib.”
“They are men, not entrée specials,” Sutton said but her eyes were glued to the scene like they were the finale of the Bachelor.
Jo lifted her lemonade. “Well, I’d like mine medium-rare with a side of reckless decisions.”
Vivi nodded like she was swearing in testimony. “Ladies, I’d climb Boone like a hayloft ladder.”
Sutton choked on her lemonade. “Please don’t climb anyone.”
“Why not?” Jo asked. “Colter in those jeans? They were stitched for ascending.”
Sutton tried—really tried—to keep her gaze off Colter. But there he was, hauling a folding table with Boone, jaw tight with focus, biceps flexing under a T-shirt that had no moral reason to fit that well.
Sweet baby Jesus.
Jo crossed her arms. “They’re objects. Sexy, manly objects. This is our reparations era.”
“They’re also good men,” Sutton muttered before she could catch herself.
Both Vivi and Jo snapped their gazes to her like she’d just confessed to murder.
Vivi’s eyes narrowed. “Oh? Good men?”
Jo grinned slowly. “That sounds like someone who had a successful date.”
Sutton stared into her lemonade like she could drown in it. “It went well. Really well.”
Jo slapped a dramatic hand over her heart. “She admits it.”
“I’m not admitting anything,” Sutton said, committing to lie number nine. “I’m just—acknowledging stuff.”
Vivi bumped her shoulder. “Did the stuff involve kissing?”
“I don’t kiss and tell.”
“Says the woman who moaned her way through the memory,” Jo countered.
Sutton felt heat climb her cheeks. “Maybe a little kiss.”
“Under the porch light,” Vivi corrected.
“How do you know?”
“I was watching through the peephole.”
“Perv,” Jo said. “I like it.”
Sutton sighed—the soft, reluctant kind that gave her away. “It was sweet. He was sweet and thoughtful and so present in the moment it switched on a light had been dark for a long time.” Her voice lowered. “It might’ve shifted things.”
Vivi made a triumphant noise. “It sure as hell shifted Colter. He’s the happiest I’ve ever seen him.”
“The man’s practically floating. His boots haven’t even touched dirt today,” Jo agreed.
“That’s impossible.”
Jo pointed. “Look at him.”
Colter was laughing—actual smiling, teeth-showing laughing—as Boone pretended to spray him with the hose. The man who usually carried responsibility like armor looked loose and easy now—open and animated, almost carefree.
His gaze swung her way and held—the kind of look that didn’t ask for anything but still felt like an invitation. Sutton’s chest tightened.
Vivi nudged her again. “He looks at you like you’re the first warm day after a bad winter.”
“He’s looking at a woman with a child and baggage.”
“He’s looking at a woman who scares the shit out of him. In the best way possible, of course,” Jo corrected.
“I don’t know where this goes.”
“Baby steps.” Vivi looped her arm through Sutton’s. “You don’t have to know. Just don’t slam the door because you’re afraid.”
Jo raised her plastic cup. “To doors left cracked. And men who look like trouble with good manners. And can I add delectable asses?”
Sutton clinked cups with them, a smile tugging her mouth.
Maybe cracked doors weren’t so dangerous after all.
Turns out, the quickest way to break a grown man wasn’t with a fist—it was with a kid in pink cowgirl boots calling him her favorite cowboy.
He was on Bojangles with Lynlee sitting in front of him on the saddle—a tiny, vibrating ball of unfiltered excitement—her helmet slightly crooked because she’d insisted she could “Do it herself like a big girl.”
“Dis is the bestest day of my whole life!” Her squeal could’ve cracked glass.
Colter grinned into the top of her helmet. “That so?”
“Yup!” She bounced in the saddle like a hot popcorn kernel. “Because ponies are magic and I’m five nows and I gets cupcakes and Mommy said I can stay up until nine and that’s when big kids gos to bed.”
“Really pushing adulthood,” he teased.
“Uh-huh.” She sat taller, proud of herself. “And you have five horses. Five! That’s more than four.”
“Sharp math.”
“I’m very good at education,” she said solemnly.
Colter huffed a laugh. The horse walked a lazy loop around the paddock while he kept one arm snug around her middle. Her small body pressed against his forearm— with a fearless trust that made him feel like the person she believed he was.
She wasn’t bracing for the worst or waiting for him to mess it up. She was just there, as if she’d decided he was safe and never bothered to question it again.
Lynlee whipped around in her saddle and gasped. “Guess what?”
“What?”
“You’re invited to my play.”
“Your school play?”
“Ah huh.” She cleared her throat dramatically. “Friendship is magic, neigh!” She glanced up at him, seeking praise.
Colter swallowed around something thick. “That’s award-winning work right there.”
“I knows,” she said breezily, and then her voice softened to something shy. “You cans come with Mommy. If yous want. Yous can sit in the front because I want yous to see me.”
It caught him off guard—not like a blow, but like an unexpected hand closing around his ribs and holding on. He hadn’t realized how badly he’d wanted to be included until she offered.
“You want me there,” he said quietly.
Lynlee nodded so hard her helmet slid forward again. He fixed it without thinking.
“Parker’s mom and dad and grandma and grandpa will be there. Plus, his auntie and uncle. They gots the front row. But I gots the two center seats. So there’s Mommy and you. Maybe after we can ride Bojangles again and have a milkshake at Miss Kitty’s and—”
The ramble continued, a marathon of gratitude and sugar-drunk wonder. Colter barely kept up. But he heard the important part.
Not Bojangles.
Not milkshakes.
You. I want you there.
He gently tightened his arm around her. Somewhere between her tiny trust and Sutton’s shuttered hopes, he’d lost whatever distance he planned to keep. He was gone for this kid.
And maybe—god help him—he was gone for her mother too.
Three more slow circles around the corral, and two cupcakes later, the party finally wound down. Streamers sagged, ponies yawned, and the five-year-old crowd was deep into post-sugar existential crisis.
Lynlee hadn’t made it that far.
She was limp with exhaustion, head tucked under Colter’s chin, her sticky hands curled into the front of his T-shirt. He carried her like it was instinct—one big arm under her legs, the other cradling her back, rocking just slightly as if she weighed nothing.
Sutton swallowed around a knot that came out of nowhere. She should take her daughter home—bath, jammies, teeth, bed. The familiar steps that kept her world contained.
Rea materialized at her elbow, arms crossed, the picture of a British aristocracy meets Texas cattle baron.
“Darling,” Rea said, voice honey-sweet but firm. “Why don’t you stay.”
“We can’t. We’ve got her post-birthday Mommy-and-Me breakfast tomorrow. It’s a tradition.”
“Which you can still do. But that child is done for the night. We’ve a guest room made up and a perfectly good washing machine if she sleep-sweats frosting.”
“I don’t want to impose.”
“You’re not imposing,” Rea said. “You’re making a choice that spares your child a car seat meltdown.”
Sutton opened her mouth to argue—out of memory or defense she wasn’t sure—but then she glanced into the family room again, and saw Lynlee’s little face slack with sleep, cake-smeared and blissed out.
Colter glanced up, and a look of affection mixed with a kind of steady masculine protectiveness hit Sutton square in the sternum.
How do you say no to that?
Rea followed Sutton’s gaze and smirked. “You can fight me, darling. But you can’t fight that picture.”
The breath she released felt overdue. “It’s one night.”
“One step,” Rea corrected gently.
“One night,” Sutton repeated.
Lie number ten.