Page 19 of Ride Me Reckless (Millionaire Cowboys of Lucky Ranch #1)

Chapter Nineteen

Back to the Beginning

Tessa

“ I haven’t been down this road in a long time,” I said.

As soon as Colt flicked on his turn signal and veered off the main stretch, my heart stuttered. I knew these trees—knew the way they arched over the lane like a canopy in the fall, their leaves brushing gold across the windshield. But something was different.

The gravel was gone.

Instead, smooth black asphalt curved ahead of us, still crisp around the edges like it hadn’t been poured all that long ago.

I glanced at him. “This road’s paved now?”

He just gave a small, secret kind of smile and kept driving. No explanation. No teasing. He always wore just that infuriating calm when he was about to do something that knocked my breath out.

My throat tightened as the trees parted, and the house came into view.

It looked nothing like I remembered. And somehow… exactly the same.

The siding was fresh and clean. New gutters trimmed the roof, and the porch had been painted a soft cream color, making it look bigger and brighter.

Neat flower beds lined the walk, planted with mums and fall pansies.

The lawn had been cut recently—edges trimmed sharp, the kind of care that didn’t come from a rushed Saturday morning chore.

But what really got me—the part that made my breath catch—was the old porch swing. Still there. Hanging from new chains on that familiar beam. The cinder blocks we’d used to prop it up when the post started sagging had been replaced with real supports, solid and level.

I opened my mouth, but the words caught in my throat.

The barn had a new corral around it, and white fencing stood out bright against the green pasture beyond. Everything was cleaner, neater, and steadier.

He pulled into the driveway, parked, and shut off the engine. The truck went quiet, and I could only hear the wind rustling through the trees.

“I… I don’t understand.” I turned to him slowly. “What is this?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just looked out at the house, hands resting on the wheel like he wasn’t in any rush.

“This place needed a little love,” he finally said. “Figured I owed it to the land.”

I gave him a side-eye. “Colt, this isn’t just ‘a little love.’ This is a damn renovation. You didn’t just mow the yard. You overhauled it.”

That smirk twitched again. “Come on. Let me show you.”

He opened his door, hopped out, and rounded the truck before I could even undo my seatbelt.

I stepped out slowly, my boots hitting the fresh gravel edging the drive.

The air smelled like cut grass and warm cedar, and suddenly my head was spinning with old memories—nights on that swing with a blanket across our legs, Colt fixing that busted gutter with a splint and duct tape, the fight we had in the kitchen over his muddy boots.

This place had been ours once. And now it looked like someone had taken the bones of that life and rebuilt it with purpose.

But why?

“Colt…” I said softly, walking toward the porch, my fingers brushing the smooth railing. “You planning to rent this out? Sell it?”

He stopped beside me, then turned to face me full on.

“No.” His voice was gentle, but steady. “It’s not for that.”

I searched his face, but he didn’t flinch. Didn’t look away.

“It’s for you,” he said simply. “And your mama.”

A lump rose in my throat, sharp and sudden. I looked back at the house. At the porch. The barn. The fresh welcome mat at the front door.

“You did all this… for me?”

He didn’t answer with words. Just held my gaze, quiet and sure.

That’s when I knew—this wasn’t just about giving me a place to land. This was about giving me a soft place to fall. Even if I didn’t stay forever. Even if he wasn’t sure what came next.

But something in his eyes told me he might be hoping I’d stay longer than just a little while.

Colt didn’t say a word as he led me toward the barn. The sun slanted through the trees now, casting golden light across the fresh white fencing and long shadows on the stone path.

It wasn’t just the house he’d fixed. The barn, too—fresh paint, new gate latches, the air clean and sweet like cedar shavings and hay. The kind of barn that didn’t just house animals. It welcomed them home.

And then I heard it.

That soft nicker. Low, familiar.

I froze.

He opened the stall door, stepped back, and out she came—Biscuit.

My Biscuit.

She trotted right toward me, ears forward, her dusty coat gleaming in the last rays of sun. And just like that, I was gone.

I opened my arms. “Oh my God… girl—hey, hey—look at you. You’re back home,” I choked out, burying my face in her neck as she came right up and nudged me like she did the last time I saw her not long ago.

She smelled the same. Felt the same. Warm and steady and safe.

I pressed my cheek against her mane and just let the tears come.

It wasn’t graceful. It wasn’t pretty. But it was real. And I didn’t care that Colt was standing there, probably watching me fall apart.

I stroked Biscuit’s neck, my words barely making sense. “Thank you. Thank you.”

“One of the reasons I kept her close was that I hoped she’d be back with you one day.”

I turned slowly and my vision blurred with tears. Then, I crossed the space between us without thinking. I threw my arms around his neck, pulling him in like I needed his heartbeat next to mine, like it was the only thing holding me together.

He caught me easily, his arms sliding around my waist. One hand went up to cradle the back of my head like he used to, fingers tangled in my hair.

We just stood there for a moment, the barn behind us, Biscuit snorting softly nearby, the world going still.

Colt pulled back slightly and gave me that sideways grin that always made my chest tighten. “Well,” he said, “I’m real glad to see where your true love lies. Didn’t even get a glance before you were off running to that horse.”

I laughed through the tears, wiping my cheeks. “That was the warm-up, cowboy.”

“Oh yeah?”

I leaned up and kissed his cheek—soft, slow, lingering. “I saved my best hugs…” Then another kiss, this one at the corner of his mouth. “…and kisses…”

I pressed my lips fully to his, finally, like I meant it. Like we were still standing in the ashes of everything we lost, but something new was growing there. “…for you,” I whispered.

He hummed against my lips, then stepped back just enough to let his gaze roam over my face.

“I knew you’d come home someday,” he said. “I just didn’t know if I’d be smart enough to fix it when you did.”

I didn’t have the words. I just nodded.

Because this wasn’t just a house.

This was a new beginning.

And I could finally feel it.

Colt reached for my hand as we stepped onto the porch, his thumb brushing gently across my knuckles like he couldn’t help himself. The wood beneath our boots felt smooth and new, but not cold, like it had been broken in just enough to feel familiar.

The screen door released a soft creak, and we were inside.

I stopped in my tracks.

It wasn’t just redone—it was reimagined. The place looked nothing like the scuffed-up double wide we’d once shared during those messy, passionate years when we were too stubborn to admit we didn’t have it all figured out.

Now, the space was warm and open, with cream-colored walls and woven rugs layered over dark wood floors.

A new leather sofa sat across from a stone-look electric fireplace, soft light flickering behind the glass.

The windows had real curtains—linen maybe—and the whole room smelled like fresh paint and vanilla.

And yet, some pieces tugged at my memory. A vintage lamp I’d once rescued from a flea market sat in the corner, its base still chipped in the exact same spot. The bookshelf Colt had built with crooked shelves—it was back, only now sanded and stained rich walnut.

But the real gut-punch was the photo on the mantle.

It was a picture of us. Young and sun-kissed, standing beside Biscuit after a barrel race, my arms around his waist, his hat cocked low as he smiled like he already knew the world belonged to him as long as I was in it.

I stepped closer, fingertips brushing the frame.

“You kept this?” I asked.

Colt stood behind me, hands in his pockets. “Couldn’t make myself toss it.”

I swallowed hard, blinking back a new wave of tears. “You renovated the whole house and didn’t even move the mantle.”

He gave a small smile. “Some things still work just fine the way they are.”

I turned away before I got too emotional again, eyeing the sofa. “Well… you might know how to fix a house, but your furniture placement still sucks.”

He barked a laugh. “Excuse me?”

I pointed. “The couch needs to be angled toward the window, not away from it. What’s the point of all that landscaping if you can’t enjoy it from inside? And the bed—let me guess—you shoved it in the corner like some bachelor cave.”

He raised a brow, like it was a dare. “You wanna come supervise?”

“Absolutely.”

We moved into the bedroom, and sure enough, he’d plunked the gorgeous new bed—soft quilt, wide headboard—against the wall that had always made the room feel boxed in. I gave him a look, then dropped my purse on the dresser.

“Let’s rotate it,” I said, already walking to the far end to grab a leg. “Window view, so I can watch the sunrise. Or the snow.”

Colt chuckled but followed my lead, gripping the other end of the frame. “Bossy.”

“You like it,” I said, grinning over my shoulder.

“Damn right I do.”

We got the bed moved, and he shifted the nightstand like he was taking mental notes. I could tell he was watching me—not in a lustful way, not yet—but like I was putting something back into place he didn’t realize he’d been missing.

Then I opened the door to the second bedroom and stopped.

A second bed—full-sized, neatly made with soft sage bedding and a fluffy pillow. A small oak dresser sat beneath the window, and a simple wooden frame was resting on top. I stepped closer, heart catching in my throat.

It was a photo of my mom on horseback, taken years ago at the county fairgrounds. She was laughing, reins in one hand, sunshine on her face, looking like she hadn’t a care in the world.

“I found that in that trunk you left behind,” Colt said from the doorway, voice low. “Figured she deserved a space of her own. Even if it’s just for now.”

I turned to face him, throat thick. “You made her a room.”

He gave a small shrug. “She’s part of the package. Always was.”

There wasn’t anything more to say—at least not out loud. So I didn’t try.

I just took one more slow turn around the room, fingers grazing the quilt, the frame, the smooth corner of the dresser. Every detail had been chosen with care. Not flash. Not pity. Just quiet, steady thoughtfulness.

This wasn’t just about fixing up an old house.

This was about Colt making room—for her. For me. For a new kind of life, however temporary it might be.

And even though he hadn’t said it outright, I felt it in the way he looked at me. In the way he’d brought me here without pressure or expectation.

He was hoping I might not just settle in.

He hoped I might stay until things were finalized with Mom before the baby came.

And deep down, even if I wasn’t ready to admit it yet…

I was starting to hope the same thing.