Page 134 of Promised to the Cowboy

“It's a decorative ribbon.”

“It has goat slobber on it.”

Tom catches Max’s hand at the last second as he reaches for the bowl of flour. “See? Perfectly under control.”

Max sneezes into his shoulder, and a cloud of white rises between them.

Maggie closes her eyes.

I step back toward the door a second too late.

Evie spots me.

She’s sitting at the table with one hand braced beneath her stomach and a pencil tucked into her hair. Seven months pregnant, barefoot, and somehow presiding over the chaos without lifting anything heavier than a list.

Her eyes narrow. “You look tired.”

“I’ve been inside for three seconds.”

“And you look tired.”

“I’m recovering.”

“That’s not the same as resting.”

Dad comes in behind me, carrying the board with Caleb.

Evie’s eyes move between them and me. “What did you try to lift?”

“Nothing.”

“Gabriel.”

“A board.”

She arches an eyebrow. “How heavy?”

“Not relevant.”

“Fifteen pounds,” Dad says.

I glare at him as he walks past me.

Caleb has the decency to study the ceiling.

Evie pats the chair beside her. “Sit.”

“I’m fine.”

She keeps her hand on the chair.

I look at Maggie, who continues to knead dough like it’s an Olympic sport.

“I’m staying out of it,” she says.

I sit, and Evie shifts closer immediately, her palm settling against the center of my chest, just below the device, as ifshe’s checking it. She does this sometimes without realizing. Or maybe she realizes every time.

My heart beats steadily beneath her hand, and her shoulders loosen.