Page 72 of Owned By The Cowboy

“Yeah,” I say, looking around the table and then at Reggie, who’s watching me with a “what the fuck” expression. “We are.” I just keep smiling at her.

The hostess leaves, and there’s a moment of silence at the table.

“So,” Nia says finally, “we’re married now?” Everyone laughs.

“Just seemed easier,” I say, chuckling.

“Plus,” Annalise adds, “it made her happy. Did you see how shesmiled when she said we were a beautiful family?”

The words hang in the air, loaded with meaning none of us is ready to unpack.

* * *

By the time we’re driving home, it’s past nine and Annalise is asleep in the backseat. Nia’s nodding off against the window, and Jaylen’s scrolling through his phone.

Reggie’s in the front passenger seat this time, her head leaning against the window, and in the dim light from the dashboard, she looks tired but happy.

“Not too tired?”

Reggie shakes her head. “I’m good.” Then she’s quiet for a beat before saying quietly, “Thank you. For today. All of it.”

“Stop thanking me, woman,” I grumble.

“I mean it. You made this day special.”

“It was special for me too.”

“Really?”

I nod, eyes fixed on the road. “I’ve never…” I pause, trying to find the right words. “I’ve never been part of a family, baby.”

“Do you like it?” Her voice is soft, almost hesitant.

“It’s everything,” I reply solemnly.

Reggie reaches over and takes my hand, lacing our fingerstogether. Her hands are soft and warm. The car is filled with love.

“For me too,” she whispers.

Twenty

Reggie

By the time we get home, I’m exhausted but in the best possible way. The kind of tired that comes from laughing too much, staying up past your bedtime, and having more fun than you thought possible at a place designed for eight-year-olds.

“Mom, do I have to brush my teeth?” Annalise asks as we pile out of Blayne’s truck. “I’m so tired.”

“Yes, you have to brush your teeth, baby. That’s not optional.”

“But we’re celebrating.”

“We can celebrate with clean teeth.” I poke her side and she giggles.

Blayne’s walking next to me toward the house, and I’m hyperaware of his presence. The way he moves, all big dickenergy. How he smells of soap and something purely Blayne Madison. Like a whole damn forest.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Yeah. Just tired.”