Page 16 of Ride Me Reckless (Millionaire Cowboys of Lucky Ranch #1)

Chapter Sixteen

Breathing

Colt

T he first thing I noticed was the quiet. That thick, early-morning kind of hush where the house hadn’t yet remembered to wake up.

The second thing was the warmth.

The sheets were heavy, and the faint scent of lavender clung to the pillow where her head was resting.

Tessa.

I didn’t open my eyes right away. Didn’t need to. The ache in my back was still there, low and persistent, but it was quelled by something—something bigger, like the world had tilted a little overnight and hadn’t quite settled back.

Then I heard it again. Not with my ears, but in that space just behind them.

“I’m pregnant with our child.”

The words rippled through me, soft as a breeze and sharp as a spade. I held still, like moving might shatter the memory. Or confirm it.

Had she really said it? Or was it just some dream stitched together from the leftovers of hope and pain?

But no—my chest knew before my brain caught up. Knew it in the way her body had curled into mine, the weight of that whisper brushing against my damn ear like it had been carried on a prayer. Or a dare.

I finally opened my eyes, blinking into the light spilling through the window. It cast long lines across the ceiling, golden and quiet. The kind of light that didn’t rush anything. The kind that waited for you to understand the moment you were in.

And I did.

I’ve always known, hadn’t I? Deep down, beyond logic, timing, and fear. Even when she left all those years ago, a part of me wondered. Even when she returned and I told myself not to expect anything.

But last night, everything I’d been pretending not to want became real in that one breath of truth.

I wasn’t scared.

I wasn’t running.

I was right here.

And this time, we were going to do it right.

The house was still wrapped in that lazy hush when I made my way to the kitchen, each step stiff but a little steadier than the day before. My back still had plenty to say, but I told it to hush up long enough for me to get the coffee started. Priorities.

The smell hit first—rich and warm, like the promise of a better morning. I leaned against the counter as it brewed, watching the pot drip with the kind of reverence some men reserved for holy things.

Behind me, the floor creaked, soft and sure.

She walked in barefoot, wearing my old T-shirt like it had been made for her. Hair still sleep-tousled, skin kissed with leftover dreams. She glanced around the room, squinting toward the empty hallway.

“Is Millie here?” she asked, voice still gravelly from sleep.

“Nah,” I said, pushing off the counter and crossing the kitchen. “Gave her the day off. Figured we’d earned a little peace and quiet.”

She raised a brow, suspicious. Just as I slipped my hand under the hem of the shirt—slow and easy, fingers finding the curve of her thigh—she swatted me with a smile.

“Pretty sure we’re safe,” I murmured, “with you wearin’ my scandalously short T-shirt.”

“Sit,” she ordered, shaking her head with mock exasperation. “Before your back revolts and I have to haul you to the ER.”

“Bossy,” I muttered, but I let her guide me to the chair.

She moved through the kitchen like she belonged here. No hesitance, no holding back. Watching her rummage through the cabinets, barefoot and beautiful in a shirt of mine from another life… it knocked something loose inside me. Some mix of ache and gratitude.

By the time she set a plate of scrambled eggs and toast in front of me, the coffee was hot, and the kitchen had taken on that glow—quiet and golden, like the world had finally stopped spinning long enough for us to breathe.

We ate in silence. Not awkward—just thick with expectation.

Then she set her fork down, barely touched her food, and looked at me like she was steadying herself on the inside.

“Do you remember what I told you last night?” she asked.

I nodded. “I do. And I ain’t stopped thinking about it since.”

She stared into her coffee like it might give her permission. Then, finally, she spoke so quietly I almost missed it, “That wasn’t the first time. I have a lot to tell you—get you caught up.”

I didn’t speak. Didn’t blink.

“After I left Lovelace,” she said, slow and raw, “I found out I was pregnant. Just a few weeks in. Barely long enough to get used to the idea.”

Her voice caught, but she didn’t stop.

“I didn’t tell you because I wasn’t sure what to do. And then… I lost it. Quiet. Alone. Like it was never even real.”

Her gaze lifted then, braver than I’d ever seen it. “I carried that guilt for a long time. For not telling you. For chasing something else instead. And yeah… for feeling relief that you didn’t have to know.”

I sat there, cup halfway to my mouth, fingers curled tight around the handle. Then I set it down and let the silence stretch, not to hurt her, but to hold it. All of it.

“I always wondered,” I said, my voice low. “And I wanted answers. So, there was this rodeo down in Billings… you know, a palm reader with a stand near the beer tent. The woman looked at me—dead serious—and said, ‘You left something breathing behind.’”

Tessa blinked, like she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

“I figured she meant the horses,” I went on. “Or one of the heifers I forgot to check on. But a part of me… a quiet part... it wondered.”

She reached across the table, fingertips brushing over mine before settling in the spaces like they’d never left.

“It’s weird how fate works, isn’t it?” Then, without waiting for an answer, she looked into my eyes and said, “I want this baby, Colt, but I need to make an appointment. I need to know everything’s okay this time.

I need to know I… I don’t have anything wrong with me. ”

Her voice cracked at the end, and I squeezed her hand tight enough to promise something without words.

“You won’t go through this alone,” I told her. “Not ever again.”

She let out a breath, and I could see it—the armor she always wore, softening.

“I always hoped,” I said, my thumb stroking across her knuckles. “Hell, we were always reckless. I mean, let’s be honest—our idea of birth control was mostly timing and cowboy optimism.”

That made her laugh, breathy and real, the sound of it soaking right into the bones of the house.

“I know,” she said. “But back then... I don’t know. I told myself if it happened, it happened. I wanted to believe fate would know better than I did.”

I leaned back, still anchored to her hand. “I love you, Tess. Always have. But I’m not gonna crowd you. Just don’t ever shut me out. Not from our kid. Not again.”

She stared at me for a long moment before nodding, something like hope flickering in her eyes.

“Would you come with me?” she asked. “To the doctor?”

“Damn right I would.”

She didn’t hesitate—not even for a second. She pulled out her phone right there at the table, scrolling for the clinic number with her thumb trembling slightly. “Done. Our appointment is set for next week.”

And I just sat there, memorizing her all over again—barefoot, determined, fierce in her softness—and I knew without a doubt:

This time, I wouldn’t miss a single heartbeat.

Tessa disappeared down the hallway, her hand trailing along the wall like she belonged there. The sound of water started a moment later, soft and steady behind the closed door.

I leaned back in the kitchen chair, still holding the mug she'd filled earlier. Coffee had gone cold, but I didn’t care. My body was tired, my heart full in that achey, stretched-out kind of way that didn’t hurt so much as hum.

That’s when my phone buzzed on the table. Carlos.

I swiped to answer.

“Mornin’, boss,” he said, wind whipping through the line behind him. “Double wide’s coming along nice. I should have the roof patched and the wiring done by Thursday, maybe sooner.”

“Good,” I said. “Appreciate it.”

“I was thinkin’... you want me to get started on furniture? It’s pretty bare bones in there. Figured I could pick up a few things—bed, couch, table. Nothin’ fancy unless you say so.”

I hesitated, my gaze drifting toward the hallway.

She hadn’t said anything about needing a place yet. But it didn’t take a genius to see where this was heading. Her mama would need care. The hospital bills would add up. And now, with a baby on the way... hell, she’d need a soft place to land.

And I could give her that. Quietly. Steadily. No strings, she wasn’t ready to get tied up with me yet.

“Yeah,” I said, voice low. “Get what you think it needs. Real livable. Comfortable. Nothin’ that’ll spook her or make her feel boxed in.”

“You got it,” Carlos said, no questions asked. “I’ll send some pics later today.”

When we hung up, I set the phone down slowly, carefully, like it was sacred. Then I looked around my kitchen—her mug still warm, the faint echo of her laughter still clinging to the air.

It wasn’t a proposal.

Not yet.

But it was a start.

And I’d never been one to leave a job half done.