Page 21 of Ride Me Reckless (Millionaire Cowboys of Lucky Ranch #1)

Chapter Twenty-One

No Easy Answers

Tessa

I woke to the sound of a spatula clinking against a skillet and Colt’s low whistling drifting in from the kitchen.

The smell of scrambled eggs filled the air.

Real ones, not the powered ones from a box that Callie and I used to eat.

I just lay there for a moment, wrapped in warm sheets and the unfamiliar sensation of feeling safe.

The morning light poured in through the thin curtains, soft and golden, warming the bedroom and my bare legs. I shifted to sit up, slowly, one hand automatically going to my stomach.

My belly had definitely changed.

I ran my palm over the little bump. It still felt strange. Not in a bad way, just… unexpected.

Was I showing already?

I didn’t think you were supposed to until later. But I had no frame of reference—this was my first time to get this far, and everything about my body felt like it had its own plan. Maybe I was bloated. Maybe I was just out of shape. Or maybe this little bean was growing faster than I expected.

I slid out of bed carefully and padded toward the kitchen, the floor cool against my feet.

Colt was barefoot too, in flannel pajama pants and a fitted T-shirt that hugged his shoulders just right.

He stood at the stove, spatula in hand, humming softly and off-key, like a man with nowhere else to go.

His hair was still tousled from sleep, and the way he looked over his shoulder the moment he heard me, like he was already smiling before he saw me, made my chest ache in the best way.

“Hey there, sleepy head,” he said. “Perfect timing. Breakfast’s almost ready.”

“Is that real food I smell?” I teased, rubbing at my eyes.

“Only the best for you. No more powdered eggs or drive-thru hash browns.”

He turned off the burner, scooped fluffy scrambled eggs onto two white plates, and carried them to the new dining nook—a wood table with clean lines, soft gray seat cushions, and chairs that didn’t wobble when you sat down.

The windows were framed with breezy curtains that Colt had probably pretended not to care about but chose anyway.

It didn’t feel like a rental or a stopgap.

It felt like he meant for me to stay.

Without a word, he grabbed my orange bottle of prescription prenatal vitamins from the windowsill, twisted the cap off, and set one next to a tall glass of milk at my place at the table like it was already part of his rhythm.

I took the pill, washed it down with a long sip, and eased into the chair. The air was warm, and the smell of eggs and toast was comforting and familiar. But even with the calm around me, something in my chest felt tight.

Colt sat across from me and picked up his fork, but he kept glancing at the clock on the microwave. I could feel it coming. “We should get a move on,” he said finally. “The adjuster said ten sharp at your mom’s place. And you know how guys like that are—always early when they’ve got bad news.”

I nodded, already feeling the weight of it. “You’re probably right.”

I picked at the edge of my eggs, not really tasting them now, just moving them around my plate while my mind replayed what the fire had left behind. The teacups. The staircase. The place I once called home.

Colt didn’t rush me, but I could tell he was watching, waiting for the moment I gave up trying to pretend we had time to linger.

“I’m almost ready,” I said, as I changed my clothes and grabbed my sweater from the hook by the door.

The morning had started softly domestic, almost sweet.

But now it was time to step into the ashes of the past.

The air around Mama’s property smelled like old smoke and wet earth.

Even after all this time, the ashes still clung to the ground in streaks, dark smudges where the foundation had cracked.

We stood near the truck, watching as the insurance adjuster—a square-shouldered man in khakis and wraparound sunglasses—took slow steps across what used to be my mother’s front porch.

Colt stood beside me, arms crossed, jaw tight. He hadn’t said much since we pulled in, and I appreciated that. I didn’t need words right now. Just presence.

I took a few steps away, my boots crunching over scorched gravel and bits of broken siding. The place was unrecognizable, and yet… I saw everything.

The outline of the living room was still visible in the concrete slab, the space where Mom’s old armchair used to sit.

The front window had collapsed inward during the fire, but the frame still stood, charred black.

I could almost picture her there on a Sunday morning, sipping coffee, her hair twisted up in a messy bun, the sunlight pouring in.

My chest tightened as I stepped through what used to be the front door.

The stairs had been there, just to the left. Now all that remained was a shadow in the soot where the wood had collapsed. At the top had been my room—the walls had been covered in magazine clippings and old ribbons from barrel races when I was just a kid.

I walked deeper into the skeleton of the house.

Here, the alcove where Mom kept her teacups—each one picked up from a flea market or garage sale, all mismatched and chipped, but displayed like fine china.

And there—the old window seat. I used to curl up there with a book and a blanket, pretending I lived somewhere more exciting.

Back then, I couldn’t wait to leave.

Now, all I wanted was to bring a piece of it back.

“You alright?” Colt’s voice broke through gently behind me.

I nodded without turning. “I just needed to see it.”

The adjuster called out that he was finished, and we walked back together to the truck.

He flipped through a thin stack of papers clipped to a metal clipboard. “Ms. Walker, I’ve submitted the final report to the office, but I wanted to go over the numbers with you in person.”

I braced myself.

“Your mother’s policy was significantly outdated. The coverage will fall short based on the square footage, current material costs, and location. I’d estimate you’ll receive a payout that’s maybe—maybe—half of what you’d need to rebuild something comparable.”

I swallowed hard. “What about the land?”

He shook his head. “It’s remote. No city utilities. No existing structures now. It holds some value, sure, but not a lot. You could try to sell it, but I doubt you’d get more than a few thousand.”

Colt asked a couple of practical questions—about additional paperwork, timeline for payments, things I couldn’t make my brain hold onto.

When the adjuster finally closed his folder and said he’d be in touch, I thanked him politely, nodding like a woman who hadn’t just been gut-punched.

He drove off in a puff of dust, and I stood there staring at the empty space where a home used to be.

“I thought it’d be more,” I said quietly.

Colt slipped his hand into mine. “You weren’t wrong to hope.”

I nodded, blinking hard. “But it doesn’t change anything, does it?”

He squeezed my hand. “No.”

I looked out across the land, flat and scrubby, with a few tired cottonwoods leaning against the sky. It wasn’t much. It never had been. But it was hers.

“It’s not about the house,” I whispered. “It’s about what she remembers. And what she’s already forgotten.”

Colt turned toward me then, his voice steady but quiet. “Tess… I know it’s not what you want to hear, but we could sell it. Put the money toward something she could use now. A place with care staff. Somewhere close. Comfortable.”

I shook my head slowly, not angry—just… not ready. “Not yet.”

He nodded, like he expected that answer. Then added, “If she does want to rebuild... I’ll cover the rest. Whatever the insurance doesn’t pay—I’ve got it.”

I blinked up at him, stunned for a moment. “Colt…”

“I mean it,” he said. “If it matters to her—if it matters to you —then that’s all I need to know.”

The tears hit faster this time. I threw my arms around his neck, holding on tight. “Thank you,” I whispered. Then I pulled back just enough to smile through the mess on my face. “Look at you. Flashing your millionaire card like it’s no big deal.”

He smirked. “You make it sound like I carry it in my boot.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “Still hard to believe. But honestly… I don’t even know if she’d remember it. The house. The rooms. The porch swing. Some days are better than others, we’ll see…” I trailed off, letting the words hang.

“Then we wait,” I said softly, threading my fingers through his. “No rush. We see what she needs. What she can handle.”

He nodded, and I leaned into him again, resting my forehead against his chest. His heartbeat was steady, grounding me.

“I missed you,” I whispered.

His hand slid up to cradle the back of my head, and for a second, we just breathed.

“Leaving might’ve been the best thing that ever happened to me,” I admitted.

“Because now I see what I didn’t before.

Who you are. What you were always trying to be.

And now, you’re not just some man with a checkbook or a fancy truck or a big spread.

But you are the same you . Colt Bennett.

With your big heart, stubborn loyalty, and eggs that always come out fluffy. ”

He chuckled into my hair.

“I love you more now,” I added quietly. “Millionaire or not.”

Colt just kissed the top of my head and held me a little tighter. “Let’s get our shopping done.”

After we finished shopping and stepped into the parking lot, heading toward the truck, my phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out, already guessing what it was before the screen lit up.

Upcoming Appointment – OB/GYN: Second Ultrasound Tuesday · 10:15 AM

My fingers hovered over the notification for a second before I dismissed it.

I knew the time. Hadn’t stopped thinking about it.

This was the appointment where they’d measure things.

Check development. Maybe even catch glimpses of little hands or a heartbeat stronger than the flutter we saw last time.

Colt was loading the last two grocery bags into the truck when his own phone rang.

“Yeah, this is Colt,” he answered, tucking the phone between his ear and shoulder as he arranged the bags on the back seat. He paused for a beat, listening, then pulled the phone back to glance at the screen. “Hang on—I’ll put you on speaker.”

He tapped the button and leaned against the truck.

“Colt? You there?” came a voice on the line—deep, a little rushed.

“I got you. What’s goin’ on, Art?”

“Look, I know it’s last minute, but I could use a favor,” Art Whitson said. “I’m flyin’ out to Dallas for the big fall sale this weekend. Couple bulls I’ve had my eye on. But I’m green as hell at cattle auctions, and you know how those guys are—fast talkers, full of show.”

Colt chuckled. “Yeah, and if you don’t know what to look for, they’ll saddle you with a problem and charge you like it’s a prizewinner.”

“Exactly,” Art said. “You’d be doing me a real solid. You’d just have to be there one day, Tuesday. I’ll have the plane back that night.”

Colt met my gaze, then gave a small nod I couldn’t quite read. “Yeah. Tuesday? I’ll let you know.”

“Appreciate it. I’ll text you the details for you to consider,” Art said, then hung up.

Colt slipped his phone into his back pocket and turned toward the cab.

“That’s the day of the ultrasound,” I said quietly, still standing by the open passenger door.

He stopped mid-step and looked at me. “It is?”

I nodded as I turned to grab a bottle of green tea, fingers grazing the paper bag like I needed something solid to hold onto. “It’s the one where they check… everything.”

The truck was quiet. The parking lot buzzed with the faint sound of tires and idle engines, but for a moment, I couldn’t hear anything but my pulse in my ears.

Colt didn’t speak right away.

And somehow, that silence told me more than any yes or no ever could.

I didn’t ask him to stay.

I just sat there, hoping he’d say it on his own.