Page 108 of Dallas Rivals

I hear both women gasp behind us, sharp and scandalized, but I don’t care. I pull back just enough to meet Cala’s wide, startled eyes and smile at her, slow and calm—because that’s what love’s supposed to give you, peace, not fear. Then I look over at the two women. Lucien’s wife’s lips twitch with a knowing half-smile, while Eliza’s grinning from ear to ear.

“Anybody got an objection?” I ask. Both shake their heads quickly. “Good. Then I guess we’re all clear. Cala and I are together now. Lucien already knows, and I’d appreciate y’all accepting it with the same calm.”

Yeah… maybe I shouldn’t have used the word calm.

The two women start squealing like teenage girls and rush over with open arms. Cala finally relaxes her shoulders, laughter spilling out of her like sunlight as they hug her tight.

I just stand there, staring like a fool, because she’s mine. And when she looks back at me, I take her hand and hold it like it’s something holy.

“Now, if y’all excuse me,” I tell them, “I’ve got things to discuss with my girlfriend.”

We walk away hand in hand, for the first time not hiding, and it feels exactly the way I’d imagined—easy, right, real. Our fingers lock, our eyes meet, and it’s like the world finally makes sense.

“Your dad’s fine,” I reassure her gently. “He was a little startled at first, but I reminded him of my promise—I’ll always look out for your family. You’re all my family now. We may have a few cracks, a few scars, but that’s what makes it work for us. And I intend to keep it that way. Well… except when your folks move into their new place, and we stay into ours.”

I come to a stop, turning toward her and slipping my hands around her waist, drawing her close.

She teases, “Ours? That house is yours, Oliver.”

I shake my head, my voice soft but certain. “No, sweetheart. Not anymore. The second you moved in, the house changed. It feels different now—warmer. It wants you there. Honestly, it needs you there. Just like I do. And once the marriage papers are signed, it’ll officially be yours.”

Her lips part slightly. “Marriage?”

I swallow hard, feeling the weight of the moment settle between us. “I ain’t saying I’m dragging you down to the courthouse tomorrow, so don’t panic,” I say, my voice gentle but steady. “I’m just putting the thought out there—so you know I’m serious. This isn’t a fling for me, Cala. You’re it. And someday, I’m gonna make you mine the right way.”

Her cheeks flush pink, and she nods without a word. That small smile of hers feels like a promise all on its own.

“Now come on,” I say, lacing our fingers again. “There’s something’ in the barn I wanna show you.”

And with a slow, wicked grin, I lead my intruder inside.

A YEAR LATER.

Neither of us is really into TV but today was one of those I-might-actually-collapse kind of days on the ranch. So yeah, I’m giving myself permission to melt into the couch, drool a little, and let the brain-numbing box do its thing for a while.

First, we had an emergency—one of the cows couldn’t get up. The vet came out and said she’s probably pregnant.

Of course, everyone turned to stare at the new bull like he was the main suspect, and the bastard just looked away and walked off.

He walked away from the problem. Like one of those heartless guys who ghost you and then pretend you don’t exist. The poor cow looked at him like she was ready to file for child support.

It was a whole drama.

Then I found a bug problem in the garden. Nothing major, but the thought of anything hurting my plants makes me lose my mind. So, I threw myself into fixing it—like, full-on plant mom mode. Maybe I got a little obsessed, but not enough for Oliver to notice I’ve been spending less time inside the house just to babysit my veggies.

The thing is, he’s changed.

He doesn’t need to run outside anymore. Now he wants to spend time with me—usually locked away in our bedroom—but that restless energy he used to carry is gone.

And the nightmares? Haven’t seen them in months.

That alone makes me ridiculously happy.

I smell him before I feel him—his cologne, warm and woodsy, hits me first. Then his hands land gently on my shoulders, his lips brush the top of my head, and he walks around the couch to sit beside me.

The news is playing in the background, but I’m not really listening. My eyes are fixed on the fireplace, on the way the flames dance and curl like they have secrets to tell.

“Tired?” he asks, resting his arm across my shoulders and pulling me closer.