Page 47 of Captured by the Billionaire Cowboy (The Secret Billionaires #7)

“ I never dreamed today would be so perfect.” Ciara snuggled into Rowan, nestling against his muscular form.

Moonbeams and starlight slanted through the window, illuminating their intertwined bodies, as they lay together in her soft bed.

She hadn’t stopped smiling for hours. The festival had been a roaring success, the interest in the rescue tremendous.

Soon the adopted horses would go to their new homes, and the first guests were now settled in the capable hands of Teara and her staff.

Their success had been replicated online, where thousands tuned in to learn the winners of the raffle and naming contests.

The horse rescue earned enough in donations to nearly repay the loan, and they had plenty to finance the ranch for months to come.

Of course, they would not constantly get the same level of donations, but the initial amount should allow them to sustain themselves until the adoption fees and retreat earnings became more regular.

Rowan rubbed her back, and she purred in contentment.

It was like a dream, a surreal fantasy where everything was perfect.

Well, almost everything. Their relationship was still undefined, the future uncertain.

But for tonight, she’d take the dream. “The children were so sweet with the horses. I can’t wait…

” The words drifted away, yet images rose to replace them, vibrant imaginings of squirming bundles, tumbling toddlers and little kids giggling with glee, her future hopes and dreams. Should she mention it, with a relationship as vulnerable as a newborn foal?

He’d already left once. Yet this time seemed different…

“You can’t wait to have your own children.”

His words stole her thoughts, wrought from his ever-present window into her mind.

Yet then again, she’d never been good at hiding her desires.

“I would love children,” she admitted quietly.

“They represent the future – my future.” Our future.

She caught the words before they escaped, yet they lingered in the air, and in her.

The images shifted to an adorable precocious imp with her eyes and his hair, her enthusiasm and his stoic kindness.

It begot an intense longing, not just for children, but for his children, their children. Was it possible?

Only… he hesitated.

She drew a deep breath, in a bed suddenly not nearly as warm, or as soft. Pretended it didn’t mean what it appeared.

“You always loved kids. Even when you were a child yourself, that was clear.” A subtle edge belied Rowan’s words, tightening her chest. “You will be an amazing mother.”

You. One word, three letters, a thousand implications. He had purposely excluded himself. Did this man, who loved his family so deeply, who cared for his horses, for strangers, for everyone, with such grace, responsibility and kindness, not see himself as a father?

Do not say anything. Do not venture into turbulent waters. And yet… “A child would be lucky to have you as a father.” The words were said lightly, a breath above a whisper, as if their quietness could hide their import, or their ramifications.

Shadows overtook his expression, hauntings from the past, as he broke her gaze. He studied the window beyond her, the pure blackness of night. A thousand moments of silence screamed, and then. “I won’t have children, Ciara.”

“What?” The word slipped through her lips, unable to be stopped. She could take it back, or at least temper it with a light, cavalier comment. Yet a thousand questions redefined her past, present and future. She had to ask at least one. “What are you saying?”

He froze, his nostrils flaring, as he took a steadying breath to rival hers. Was he searching for the answer – or how to share it? For a moment it seemed the former, yet then his features set, a twisting of resignation, sorrow and hollowness. “It is how it must be.”

“How it must be?” A chill traced her spine. “Do you mean you can’t–”

“No, nothing like that,” he interrupted sharply. He released a shuddering breath. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be curt. I have decided not to be a father.”

Oh.

She fisted the sheets under her, twisting their smoothness into dense wrinkles.

The fabric crinkled under her pale hands.

“I don’t understand. You’re so good with your brothers, I just assumed–” She allowed her voice to trail off, as her future skidded off the tracks, tumbling just before the finish line. He didn’t want kids.

She had never imagined a future without them.

“It is not that I don’t want kids.” His features were tight, taut, tortured . “I just can’t.”

What? “I don’t understand. You said it was your decision.”

“Yes, because it is the responsible decision.” His voice was calm, emotionless, yet an edge belied the even tone, a sliver of pain simmering just below the surface. “You know what my father was like… what I’m like. How could I have children?”

She opened and closed her fists, splaying her palms across the sheets. “What does your father have to do with you having children?”

“My father never should’ve had children.”

It was blunt, frank and inescapably true.

Rowan’s father hadn’t been fit to raise horses, much less children.

Yet Rowan was the antithesis of his sire, kindness to cruelty, graciousness to greediness.

“I will not argue that your father wasn’t difficult, or that he shouldn’t have been a dad, although I am forever grateful he was.

” A ghost of a smile appeared and disappeared.

“However, I’ve seen you interact with children. You’d be a fantastic father.”

For a moment, longing sparked in his features, an intense desire peeking out from behind the mask. In the next, it vanished, replaced by steel resolve. “You’ve seen how I am with my brothers, with the business, with everyone. I cannot just be one of them. I am like my father.”

Her heart lurched. How could this kind man believe he was anything like the heartless, cruel tyrant who raised him? If only he could see himself through her eyes. “Your actions prove otherwise. You give so much to everything and everyone. You are the literal opposite of that man.”

He broke her gaze. “You do not know the true me.”

“Clearly, I know you better than you know yourself,” she countered.

“You wear this facade, this picture of the perfect man, yet underneath you possess such strong emotions, and kindness. You are light to his darkness, kindness to his cruelty. You would treat children as you treat your horses, with affection and lo–”

“Don’t say it.” The harsh words chilled the air, the frigid despondency of hopelessness. “I am incapable of such feelings. I shouldn’t have allowed this to happen, and yet I couldn’t let you go, not again. You deserve a man who feels emotions, who can give you a dozen children. And I’m– I’m–”

“You’re an amazing man.” She grasped his hands. “Why can’t you see the truth? You can have everything you desire.”

“I’m sorry.” His voice was tightly controlled, yet anguish rumbled underneath, wrenching pain. “I cannot risk being a father.”

She jerked back. “That proves you are nothing like him. Your father didn’t care that he harmed others.

He did as he wished, no matter the consequences.

However misguided, you are willing to sacrifice yourself, yet it isn’t necessary.

You are already the man you need to be.” She peered into stubborn eyes, willed him to believe it.

“You have such strong emotions. Let yourself feel them.”

“I can’t.” The words were hollow this time, as if all emotion had been sucked away, forced from existence.

He was trying to prove it to himself, and give up what he deserved.

Was this the moment history repeated, when he once again broke her heart?

At least he’d told her a reason this time, yet it emerged from a fallacy, the result of a scarred childhood.

After all these years, his father still stole from him, and the cost had never been greater: His future.

What was she going to do? It would be different if he simply didn’t want children. If he made the decision they were not right for him. Yet he’d admitted he wanted them.

“You have to be a mother.”

She looked up sharply at the truth she could never deny.

Would they lose everything, not because of a difference of wants or needs, but because he couldn’t see beyond his own facade?

Wetness flooded her eyes, as she turned away.

She couldn’t be here, not now, not with him. She twisted to the edge of the bed.

Just as a frantic knock splintered the silence.

Ciara started at the banging, rapid and loud, against the bedroom door. It sounded again almost immediately, and then continuously. The clock showed after midnight, far too late for any visitors… except an emergency.

“Ciara, Rowan, I need you!”

Alarm flared at her uncail’s voice, raised and urgent with undisguised apprehension.

She jumped out of bed, not even bothering to don a robe over her nightgown as she sprinted to the door.

Rowan was still wearing jeans and quickly put on a shirt as she opened it to Frank, his clothing rumpled and dusty, his hair the same.

His typically calm serenity was nowhere to be seen, replaced by clear distress. Something was very, very wrong.

She didn’t bother with a greeting. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s Jasmine.”

No. Ciara swallowed, took a second, then forced the question out, “Is she…” She couldn’t say it.

Thankfully, he shook his head. “No, she’s alive, but sick. Very, very sick.”

“I need to get to her.” Ciara lunged through the doorway, her heart slamming against her ribs as she jogged and then ran thorough shadow-drenched hallways.

The earlier conversation faded, to be dealt with later, as she burst into the cool night, made a sharp turn towards the stables.

The men ran next to her. “What happened?”