Page 91 of Promised to the Cowboy

He gives a small nod. “If she starts pacing once we begin, we stop.”

Evie studies him for a beat. Then she nods back. “Exactly.”

It is a small exchange, but I see the trust in it.

Evie trusts few people with frightened horses. Fewer still with this mare.

Falcon leaves us in the stall and heads toward the bunkhouse as the dinner bell carries across the yard. Chance tracks him with her ears but stays where she is.

Evie rests her head against my chest. “She went in.”

“She did.”

“On her own.”

“Like somebody else I know.”

She tilts her face up. “Are you comparing me to a traumatized horse?”

“I’m saying you both needed a little convincing to stay.”

Her eyes narrow. “Careful, cowboy.”

I smile and slide one hand over the curve of her stomach. Our daughter moves beneath my palm, a faint rolling pressure. I hold my hand still.

The old stall surrounds us. Morning light comes through the dusty window. Chance stands a few feet away, breathing quietly in a space she’s decided might be safe.

Evie covers my hand with hers. “We could really do this.”

“The stall?”

“All of it.”

I look down at her.

“The horses. The baby. This place.” Her gaze searches mine, though I don’t know what she expects to find anymore. “A life.”

There’s no fear in the words. No question now about whether she’s staying. Just the quiet wonder of a shared future—whatever it brings.

“Yeah.” My voice comes out rough. “We could.”

She leans into me again.

I hold her and our daughter in the morning light while Chance lowers her head to the bedding, and I let myself believe in every part of it.

By six that evening, both branches of the family are at Stoneridge.

Nobody seems to know why.

Maggie summoned them, which means nobody asked whether they were free. She made a roast large enough to feed a cavalry unit, added two chickens when Henry called to say Havenridge was bringing everybody, and set the long table with the good plates she claims are too precious to use except when she decides they aren’t.

The house fills the way it always does when both sides come together.

Too many boots by the door. Too many voices crossing over one another. Max protesting from his high chair because Shay has committed the unforgivable crime of cutting his potatoes in half. Tom insisting Cheese Puff could have attended if everyone weren’t so prejudiced against goats in dining rooms.

“He ate one of my curtains,” Kitty says.

“One curtain,” Tom replies. “Months ago. People change.”