Page 8 of Promised Cowboy
“And you still like it?” The question feels stupid the moment it leaves my mouth. Of course he does.
But he humors me. “I do. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”
The unsaid hangs between us: Where do you belong, Lacey?
I don’t have an answer. Not yet.
For a while now, I’ve told myself this visit was temporary. Just a break to catch my breath, to help Wyatt and Rachel adjust to the new baby. But standing here, in this kitchen where I spent half my childhood, with Colton standing across from me looking like that…
…it’s harder to believe I can simply pack up and leave again.
“You staying long?” he asks finally.
I lift one shoulder in a half-shrug. “I don’t know yet. A few months maybe. See how things go.”
His jaw tightens, just for a second, before he masks it with a nod. “Well, you know where to find me if you need anything.”
I smile softly, feeling the warmth of his words settle into me. “I always have.”
The kitchen falls quiet again, but this time it’s not uncomfortable. It’s charged. Familiar and foreign all at once.
I glance down at my empty glass and back up at him. His eyes haven’t moved. Still locked on mine.
This man.
This man who knows me better than anyone.
Who’s seen me at my best and my worst.
Who promised, once upon a time, that if we were still single at thirty, we’d end up together.
We’re not kids anymore.
And I’m suddenly very aware of just how close thirty really is.
Chapter 5 – Lacey
The late morning sun warms my shoulders as I cross the paddock, the scent of fresh hay and leather thick in the air. A soft breeze stirs my hair, carrying with it the sounds of cattle lowing in the distance and the occasional bark of one of Mason’s dogs near the barn.
This feels familiar in a way nothing back in the city ever did.
Wyatt had only half-jokingly handed me a list of small tasks this morning, grateful for any extra help while Rachel caught up on some much-needed sleep. Nothing complicated. Just a few repairs, some fence line checks, and moving supplies around for Mason. Work I didn’t mind at all.
The rhythm of it settles something inside me that’s been restless for months.
I’m focused on hauling a bag of feed toward the storage shed when I hear the crunch of tires on gravel behind me.
I turn just as the truck door swings open.
Colton steps out, and my heart jumps before I can stop it.
He’s traded his road-worn clothes from last night for a clean button-up, sleeves rolled to his forearms, jeans that fit him far too well, and his well-worn hat shading his eyes. His boots hit the dirt with easy confidence, the kind that only comes from years of working land like this.
“Morning,” he calls, voice smooth and warm.
“Morning,” I reply, hoping my smile looks casual.
He crosses toward me, the distance closing fast. The sun catches on the faint stubble along his jaw, and I feel a flicker low in my stomach. I’m not prepared for how different he feels today. Last night had been a surprise. This morning, it’s something else entirely.