Page 10 of Promised Cowboy

“I never really thought you meant it,” I whisper.

He leans in slightly, voice even lower now. “I meant every word.”

The distance between us feels smaller now, though neither of us has moved. My heart hammers in my chest, the pull between us growing stronger with every second that passes.

I break the stare first, glancing away to steady my breathing, but his presence remains firmly rooted beside me.

We finish the last few posts in a quiet, unspoken rhythm after that. The easy friendship we’ve always shared still lives here, but beneath it, something new grows. Something bigger.

When we finally head back toward the barn, my pulse still hasn’t slowed.

And for the first time since coming home, I’m not entirely sure whether I came back to help Wyatt—or for something else entirely.

Chapter 6 – Colton

The light’s fading by the time I get the last gate latched behind us. The sky is streaked with soft purples and deepening blue, that quiet stretch of evening when everything on the land seems to exhale. Lacey stands a few feet away, brushing dust off her jeans, her braid sliding over her shoulder as she glances up at the sky.

“You hungry?” I ask.

She looks over at me, a little surprised. “Are you offering?”

I smile. “Might have something cold in the fridge. Beer. Leftover ribs from Sunday. Unless you’re planning to rush back to Wyatt’s.”

She hesitates. “Rachel and the baby are probably already asleep. I told them I might stay late.”

I nod once, already turning toward the house. “Come on, then. You earned it.”

She follows me across the yard without another word.

Inside, I hold the door open and flick on the kitchen lights. It’s nothing fancy — old wood cabinets, a scuffed table, and a fridge that hums louder than it should — but it’s home. And for the first time in a long while, it feels fuller with her in it.

I pull out two beers, set one on the table in front of her. She takes it with a soft “thanks,” her fingers brushing mine again.

I swear, every touch we’ve shared in the last twenty-four hours has left a trail behind. This one’s no different.

She takes a slow sip, watching me over the rim of the bottle. “You always keep ribs in the fridge?”

“Only when Dad cooks more than he should,” I say. “Which is often.”

She laughs — a low, easy sound that wraps around my chest and holds tight. I don’t realize I’ve stepped closer until I’m leaning on the opposite side of the table, watching her like she might vanish if I blink.

“You’re quiet,” she says.

“Just thinking.”

“About?”

I study her for a second. Her lips are still curved from that last laugh, but there’s something searching in her eyes. Like she’s trying to figure me out. Or maybe trying not to.

“You,” I say.

Her smile fades just a little. “Me?”

“I’m still trying to decide if this is real.”

Her brow furrows.

“You, sitting here in my kitchen. Us, working together like no time’s passed.” I pause. “Feels like I’ve imagined this a thousand times.”