Page 15 of Ride Me Reckless (Millionaire Cowboys of Lucky Ranch #1)

Chapter Fifteen

Just a Whisper

Tessa

I pulled up the long driveway just as the sun dipped behind the line of pines that rimmed the western edge of Colt’s property.

The place looked like something out of a country music daydream—wide porches, deep eaves, the stone chimney spilling smoke into the late afternoon chill.

I'd been here once before, weeks ago, when everything felt too raw to register. Back then, I was so busy trying to act fine and not fall apart that I hadn’t taken in a single detail.

But tonight, with a little more clarity and a whole lot more to carry, I really saw it.

The house was… beautiful.

I stepped onto the porch, where a pair of rocking chairs flanked an old whiskey barrel table and a lantern glowed low in the corner. When I knocked, I heard the sound of a boot heel and the soft click of a latch before the door swung open.

Colt stood there, leaning heavier on one side, but grinning like a man who hadn’t just staged a hospital escape.

“Come on in. Millie just pulled cornbread from the oven, and I swore I smelled butter beans.”

I laughed and stepped inside. “You do know how to tempt a girl.”

The air inside smelled like slow-cooked roast and sage.

The walls were a soft cream, the floors dark hardwood, and overhead beams gave the place a timeless, grounded feel.

Everything was warm and quiet, from the low hum of something classical playing in the background to the faint clinking of dishes in the kitchen. Millie, no doubt.

“Did you decorate all this yourself?” I asked, running my fingers along the curve of a carved banister that led to the upstairs loft.

He nodded, easing himself down onto the arm of the leather couch. It took many months. “Obviously, I had help with the structure, but I picked everything out. Every door frame, light fixture, and wood plank. You like it?”

“I love it,” I said honestly. “It feels like you. Solid. Lived in. Not trying too hard, but somehow perfect.”

He flashed me a crooked smile. “Well, I’ll take that.”

I moved farther in, trailing my hand along the back of the couch. A framed photo on the mantel caught my eye—Colt as a boy, wild-haired and barefoot, sitting on the back of a steer like he belonged there.

“Hard to imagine you not wanting to ride again,” I teased, nodding toward it.

“Harder to imagine my spine surviving it,” he said. “Which is why I struck a deal with Art Whitson this morning. Gonna consult on cattle for his bull riding program. Still get the dust without the damage.”

“You better not try to get back in the chute.”

He held up a hand. “Scout’s honor. I like walking too much these days.”

I laughed, but something inside me softened too. The man had finally figured out how to keep his boots in the dirt without breaking his own back in the process.

“You want the tour again?” he asked, rising slower than he used to. “Last time, you looked like you were seeing through a fog.”

He wasn’t wrong.

I nodded, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. “I’d like that.”

This time, I was ready to actually see it—not just the house but also the man who built it.

Millie had set the table with quiet grace, like she’d been doing it for decades.

The roast sat in the center, nestled in its pot with carrots and potatoes, steam curling into the air like an invitation to let go.

A basket of golden and warm cornbread rested nearby, along with a small dish of honey butter that looked like it had been whipped by hand.

Colt waited until she stepped back into the kitchen, then gave me a look. “Go ahead. I know you skipped lunch.”

He wasn’t wrong.

I spooned a little of everything onto my plate and took a bite of the roast. It melted in my mouth, rich and tender. Millie really was magic.

“This is…” I started.

“Yeah,” he said with a lazy smile. “Millie doesn’t miss.”

We ate quietly for a few moments. Not the awkward kind of quiet, but the kind that settles in when you don’t feel the need to fill every second with noise. I glanced up once and found Colt watching me—not in that old, fiery way, but in something softer. Curious, grounded. Present.

He reached for a slice of cornbread, then leaned back in his chair, wincing just a little as his back adjusted.

“You think you’ll rebuild your mother’s house?” he asked.

I wiped my fingers on my napkin and leaned back. The question had been floating in my mind for days, bumping up against all the others for which I didn’t have answers.

“I haven’t called the insurance company yet,” I admitted. “Feels like as soon as I do, it’s real. But… yeah. I hope we can rebuild. Something more modern. Safer for her. New wiring and safe stairs. Maybe something smaller, with a decent porch and no damn carpet.”

He smiled, and for a moment, I could almost see the blueprint forming in his mind.

“She’d like that,” he said. “Your mom deserves something solid.”

“She does,” I agreed, though I didn’t add that I wasn’t sure she’d accept it. Not yet. Not with how much of her life she’d already lost in the fire.

We fell into silence again, chewing slowly, the kind of meal where nothing’s rushed because everything matters.

Then Colt spoke again, gently this time, like he didn’t want to scare the words away.

“You never answered me the other day when I mentioned you starting to barrel race again.”

I didn’t look up right away. I just pushed a piece of roast around on my plate and watched the gravy trail behind it like a slow tide.

“Not yet,” I said quietly. “Maybe later. I’ve got other things to focus on.”

He didn’t argue. Didn’t try to sell me on it again. He just nodded and reached for another slice of cornbread, like he understood there were things I wasn’t ready to say out loud yet.

And there were. So many.

But somehow, sitting across from him like this, in the warm light of his kitchen, I didn’t feel quite so alone.

Colt glanced down at his boots like they might suddenly rebel against him. “I know from the last time that walking is important. Keeps things loose.”

I pushed back from the table and smiled. “Then let’s walk.”

He gave me a look—half gratitude, half amusement—and stood with a slight grunt. I stepped beside him, our arms brushing as we made our way to the door. Millie handed him a jacket without a word, then disappeared again like a ghost with manners.

The air outside was crisp and golden, the kind of late-afternoon light that softened everything it touched. Hand-in-hand, we started down the long driveway, moving slowly, Colt leaning slightly to one side.

“I’m not gonna win any footraces,” he said with a crooked smile.

“You could always beat me even when you gave me a head start,” I teased.

He chuckled, and it was nice to hear. Real, low, warm.

We walked in silence for a few minutes, the kind that didn’t need filling. I could hear birds in the trees and see a hawk circling far off in the sky. It felt like Montana was breathing around us—steady, grounded, familiar.

“How’s Callie liking her job?” Colt asked, finally breaking the quiet.

“She called me on her lunch break and told me she likes it,” I said. “She explained how the manager’s already letting her shadow in a few different departments. And she’s got that sparkle back in her eyes, you know? Like she’s finding her rhythm.”

He nodded. “That’s good. She’s a strong gal.”

“Too strong sometimes,” I murmured.

We talked a bit more about my mom—how the doctors think her pneumonia is almost gone, and that the memory clinic Helen recommended had a spot open if we could act fast. But even that conversation faded into silence as we reached the end of the drive.

Colt stopped at the wooden fence post, resting his hand there as he took in the view.

The land sloped away in soft curves, golden fields stretching toward the horizon.

A few birds dipped low, wings catching the light just right.

It looked like the whole world was made of fire and forgiveness for a second.

I leaned beside him, both of us watching without speaking.

“I haven’t felt safe in a long time,” I said, not meaning to say it out loud.

But he didn’t flinch. Just reached down and laced his fingers through mine. “Me neither. Winning the Powerball made it worse. Had to tell if folks are your friends or just grifters,” he said softly.

We stood like that for a while, hand in hand, our shadows long across the driveway.

He took it a little slower on the walk back, and I didn’t rush him.

“You ever think about the old swing?” he asked.

I glanced at him, surprised. “All the time.”

“This swing just started creaking, too,” he said, giving the swing a light nudge as we approached. “Had this one made to match the old one. Couldn’t bring myself to leave those memories behind.”

I smiled, running my fingers along the smooth armrest. “It’s almost identical.”

He looked over at me, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. “Some things are worth keeping. Even if you have to rebuild ’em.”

I sank down onto the swing beside him, letting the silence settle around us like a blanket. “Yep, maybe even us,” I said after a long moment.

The porch swing creaked beneath us, the sound familiar and oddly soothing, like a lullaby wrapped in wood and rusted chains. The evening air had cooled just enough to make me grateful for the warmth of Colt’s shoulder brushing mine.

We didn’t say much at first. Just let the rhythm of the swing carry us, the breeze tugging softly at my hair, the hush of dusk folding around us like a secret.

Then he turned slightly, just enough for our eyes to meet in the half-light. “You could stay,” he said, voice low and steady. “Just tonight. Don’t expect a rodeo, though. My back’s all bark and no buck.”

I laughed, the sound catching in my throat. “We can take it easy,” I said softly, brushing a finger along the side of his cheek. “Let me do the work.”

His breath hitched—just a little—and I leaned in. The first kiss was gentle, testing. The second one wasn’t. It was slow, full, and lingering, like we’d both been hungry for it and finally stopped pretending otherwise.

When he pulled back, his lips hovered near mine. “You’ve always been the naughty one.”

I snickered and answered with another kiss.

Inside, our steps were slow and sure as I helped him toward his bedroom.

The lights were dim, the room smelling faintly of cedar and laundry soap.

I eased off his shirt, then his jeans, folding them over the chair without a word.

When I reached for the waistband of his boxer briefs, he caught my wrist gently.

“Not tonight,” he murmured. “I don’t want to push it. Not with my back—and not with us.”

Something tender and fierce bloomed in my chest. “Okay,” I said, nodding.

I pulled on one of his old T-shirts that hung loose over my hips and slid beneath the covers beside him. The fancy mattress dipped in just the right places to support Colt’s back, and I curled into him, one hand resting lightly over his chest.

We didn’t need more.

Not tonight.

We lay there in a tangle of quiet limbs, breaths synced, hearts open, the hush of the house folding around us like the swing had.

And in the silence, something new was beginning.

Something real.

His breathing slowed. I could tell he was drifting. The steady rise and fall of his chest had settled into that peaceful rhythm only sleep could bring.

But I stayed awake.

The words swelled behind my ribs, heavy with meaning and fear, but needing to be said. So I leaned in, close enough that my lips brushed the curve of his ear.

“I’m pregnant,” I whispered, barely louder than my breath. “With our child.”

He stirred slightly but didn’t respond, already deep in sleep. Maybe that was for the best.

I rested my forehead against his shoulder, letting my eyes slip shut at last.

Tomorrow, I’d say it again.

But tonight, just saying it out loud—to the dark, to him, to myself—was enough.

It had to be.