Page 63 of Owned By The Cowboy

Reggie gets the kids settled for bed while I’m tidying the living room. Folding blankets, putting the empty popcorn bowls in the kitchen, turning off the TV. House stuff that feels natural. When did I start thinking of this as my space to take care of?

Reggie comes back a few minutes later to find me loading the dishwasher.

She protests, coming my way, “Blayne, you don’t have to do that.”

“I don’t mind.” I look up, giving her a small smile.

“I know, but…”

“Reggie.” I turn to face her, taking in her tired eyes and soft smile. “I want to do it.”

“Why?” she insists, still grinning.

“Because.” I raise both eyebrows playfully.

“Very eloquent answer, Mr. Madison.”

She laughs, and the sound is warm and makes me want to pull her into my arms and never let go.

“Come here,” I say.

She steps into my space, and I wipe my hands before wrapping my arms around her, pulling her against my chest. She instantly melts into me, her arms going around my waist, her face pressed against my shoulder.

“Thank you,” she says.

“For what?”

“For tonight. For being here. For caring about us the way you do.”

“Thank you for letting me.”

We stand in her kitchen, holding each other in the quiet aftermath of a perfect evening, and I know I don’t want to go home. Don’t want to leave this warmth, this sense of belonging, this feeling that I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.

“Stay,” she says softly, like she’s reading my mind.

“The kids…”

“Are asleep. And they’re getting used to you being here.”

“Reggie…”

“Stay. Please. I don’t want you to go.”

So I stay. And when we finally make it to her bedroom, it’s not just about sex. It’s about holding her while she sleeps, about waking up to the sound of her kids getting ready for school, about feeling like I belong in this life she’s built. It’s about being home.

* * *

I’m holding her in my arms in the middle of the night, my face buried in her hair, her soft, warm body relaxed into mine.Surrounded by her scent, her tenderness. Her fingers gently threading through my hair. And my heart cracks wide open.

“Lost some guys overseas. Good men. Brothers.” The words come out rusty. “Came back fucked up. Angry. Couldn’t settle.” Reggie’s hand squeezes mine. “This friend, Andy…he runs a ranch. For vets. Gives us work, purpose. Time to get our heads straight.” I force myself to keep going. “Saved my life, probably. Definitely saved my soul.” She’s just listening, holding me, pressing herself deeper into my embrace. And I don’t know how I’ll ever let this woman go…

Eighteen

Reggie

I wake up feeling like someone ran me over with a truck, then backed up and did it again for good measure. My throat feels like sandpaper, my head is pounding, and when I try to sit up, the room spins in a way that’s definitely not normal.

“Shit,” I croak.