Page 149 of Promised to the Cowboy

Dad doesn’t say anything. His gaze goes to the bundle in my arms, then to my face.

“Evie?” he asks.

“She’s okay. They’re getting her settled.”

His shoulders drop.

Maggie presses one of the coffees into his hand without looking at him. He takes it automatically.

Dad’s eyes follow the movement as our daughter shifts beneath the blanket.

“You want to meet her?” I ask.

His throat moves. “I can wait until Evie’s ready.”

“She sent me out here to introduce her.”

Maggie turns away and dabs at her eyes with the corner of her cardigan.

Dad steps closer, slowly and carefully, as though one wrong movement might break the moment.

“This is your granddaughter, Caroline Ruth Sutton,” I say.

He looks at me for a full minute before his face folds. The worry disappears. Thirty years of it. He’s not the hard man who couldn’t look at his youngest son. He’s simply a father staring at new life.

“She has your hair,” he says gruffly.

“Poor kid.”

Dad’s gaze moves to me. “You doing all right?”

The question carries more than one meaning.

“Yeah.”

I am—terrified, overwhelmed, and so happy it hurts—but yes.

“Want to hold her?”

Dad goes still. His hands open, and I place my daughter in them.

He handles her with a care that surprises me until I remember he did this once before. With my brothers. With me before grief swallowed everything that came next.

Our daughter squirms, then settles against his chest.

Dad looks down at her. “Hello, sweetheart.”

He strokes one finger over the baby’s cheek, and she begins to cry.

Dad panics. “I think she wants you.”

He hands her back quickly, and I settle her against my chest.

Dad watches us, pride moving across his face without being hidden or swallowed. “You’re going to be a good father.”

I hold his gaze. “I plan to be.”

He nods. “I’m proud of you.”