Page 23 of Ride Me Reckless (Millionaire Cowboys of Lucky Ranch #1)

Chapter Twenty-Three

Just Like Mama Said

Tessa

T he sky had gone that dusky lavender color, the kind that slips over the mountains like a hush before night falls. Colt drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the console between us, his fingers drumming a slow rhythm that matched the quiet tension in the cab.

I leaned my forehead against the cool window, watching the roadside blur past in a wash of pine trees and old wire fences.

We hadn’t said much since pulling out of the driveway.

The silence stretched long enough that my thoughts started to rise to the surface, like pebbles dropped in still water finally hitting bottom.

“What if she doesn’t remember the trailer?” I said softly, not turning my head.

Colt’s fingers paused mid-tap. “You mean the double-wide?”

“Yeah.” I straightened up and looked over at him. “I mean, it’s been years since she was there. And even then, her memory was already going. We changed everything—new furniture, new layout, new smell, even. What if it just... confuses her more?”

Colt glanced at me, his eyes thoughtful beneath the brim of his hat. “You don’t think it might comfort her? Being in a familiar place?”

I sighed. “Maybe. Maybe not. And what about the house? When do we tell her that it’s gone? What if she asks to go home?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just flicked the turn signal as we came up on the last stretch before the hospital road. The rhythmic clicking filled the truck cab.

“I keep running that moment over in my head,” I added, quieter now. “The fire. Seeing her like that. It’s like she’s already lost so much—how do we take more from her?”

Colt shifted in his seat, glancing at me again. “We don’t take anything, Tess. We tell her what she needs to know, in the kindest way we can. And if tonight’s not the night, then we wait.”

I nodded, grateful for his calm disposition when mine was all over the place.

“But you know evenings are harder,” I murmured. “Sundowning. It’s a real thing. She used to get so agitated when the light started to fade. Like her brain couldn’t sort out the pieces anymore.”

“Then we don’t expect too much,” he said. “We just bring her home.”

I looked down at my hands folded in my lap. My belly pressed tight against Colt’s old flannel shirt, which I’d pulled on before we left. It didn’t even feel like my body anymore—like I was watching all this from a step, looking through a window at myself.

“She might not even know who you are,” I whispered. “She used to love you, you know. Said you had the kindest eyes.”

Colt chuckled under his breath. “Let’s hope she still thinks so.”

I glanced at him, and in that moment, something settled. The way his jaw was set, the lines around his eyes soft in the twilight, reminded me of every reason I’d ever trusted him. Of every time I’d felt safe just because he was near.

He reached out and took my hand across the console, weaving his fingers through mine.

“Whatever happens,” he said, his voice low and sure, “we’ll face it together.”

And somehow, that was enough—for now.

The automatic doors slid open with a soft whoosh, and the sterile scent of floor cleaner and hand sanitizer hit me like a wall. I braced myself—emotionally, mentally, in every way a daughter can when she doesn’t know what kind of mother she’s going to get.

But then I spotted her.

There, parked at the front desk in a hospital-issued wheelchair, sat Mama—upright, alert, and dressed head-to-toe in one of the floral blouses and khaki pants I’d picked out for her last week at the outlet store.

Her suitcase sat neatly by her side, zipped and ready to go.

She had her hair combed; lipstick carefully applied in the way she always used to do it—just a touch of coral pink. And she looked... good. Really good.

I stopped walking.

Colt nearly bumped into me, but I couldn’t move. I just stared.

“Mama?” I said cautiously, not wanting to break whatever spell had settled over her.

She turned her head, those warm brown eyes searching my face—and for a heartbeat, I saw it. Recognition. Clear as day.

“Well, it’s about time,” she said, lips twitching into a smile. “I was starting to think you forgot about me.”

I hurried forward, nearly tripping over my own feet as I crouched beside her. “Mama, we didn’t forget. They told us six.”

“They told me five-thirty,” she sniffed, like it was the greatest of indignities. “But that’s all right. I kept myself busy.”

The nurse behind the desk handed me a small paper bag and a clipboard with forms. “Here are her prescriptions—memory medication, same dosage. No notable improvements, but no major declines either. Some lucid moments, some fog. Standard for her stage.”

I nodded, heart thumping. “Thank you.”

Mama turned her head slightly, and her face lit up when she saw Colt standing there. “Well, Bob,” she said warmly, reaching for his hand. “You always were polite. Mowed my yard every Tuesday without fail, even in the heat.”

I sucked in a breath, trying not to laugh. Colt didn’t flinch—he just bent down, gently squeezed her hand, and said, “Yes, ma’am. Always happy to help.”

I bit my lip to keep from smiling too big. He didn’t correct her. Didn’t even blink. Just went along with it like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Mama beamed. “Such nice manners.”

As we gathered her things, I glanced over at Colt. His eyes met mine, and he winked.

It was such a small gesture, but it carved a warm space into my chest. After all the unknowns I’d braced for over the last weeks, this little flicker of clarity felt like a gift.

“Let’s get you home, Mama,” I whispered.

She patted my cheek. “I thought you’d never ask.”

The ride home was quiet, but not tense—just soft, like the hush that falls over the world when the sun begins to slide behind the hills.

Mama hummed a little to herself, some old hymn I hadn’t heard in years.

Colt glanced over at me once, a question in his eyes, but I just nodded.

Let her have it. Let her be wherever her mind had taken her for now.

As we turned down the road toward the double-wide, the last bit of pink sun streaked across the mountains like a fading promise. The porch light was already on—Colt must’ve set the timer before we left.

When he parked and hopped out to open her door, Mama squinted through the windshield at the house, shielding her eyes with one trembling hand.

Then she whispered it, with a breath so full of conviction it made my heart ache.

“Praise the Lord. I’m finally home.”

Colt and I exchanged glances, but neither of us said a word. We didn’t want to disrupt the moment. We just wanted to get her inside while that spark was still burning bright.

Mama stood in the center of her new bedroom, one hand resting lightly on the edge of the dresser like she wasn’t quite sure if it was real. She scanned the space slowly, thoughtfully, like her memories were reaching out and brushing across every surface.

Her gaze settled on the framed photo Colt had set out earlier. A picture of her from years ago—healthy, bright-eyed, grinning, sitting on Methuselah, her horse, after winning an event at the county fair.

She reached for it with trembling fingers. “That’s me…” she whispered, eyes glistening. “I remember this day.”

She turned toward me, her voice still soft but steadier than I expected. “You and Colt used to live here… but…”

I stepped forward and gently touched her shoulder. “And now all three of us will live here again. Just for a while. Until you’re strong enough to do whatever you want next.”

She blinked at Colt then. Really looked at him.

Her brows drew together as something clicked behind her eyes. “It was you,” she murmured. “It was you that pulled me from the fire.”

Colt didn’t say a word, just nodded once. Solid. Quiet.

Mama’s shoulders sagged a little. Her eyes filled again. “My house is gone, isn’t it?”

I reached for her hand, squeezed it, then looked at Colt.

“Tell her the truth.”

He stepped closer, his voice low and gentle, the way he spoke to horses when they were spooked. “Yes, ma’am. It was a total loss. But you’re here. You’re safe. And we’re gonna take care of you. All of us.”

Mama nodded, slowly. A tear slipped down one cheek, and she brushed it away without a word.

Then, after a long pause, she lifted her chin.

“Well,” she sighed, “I could use some sweet tea.”

I stood at the counter, pouring the boiling water through the loose tea leaves and over the sugar like Mama always used to do. Colt hovered nearby, pretending to organize something on the kitchen island, but I could feel his eyes on me. He wasn’t fooling anyone.

The house felt warm, not just from the heat of the water, but from Mama’s presence in it. She was humming faintly from her seat at the table, the same tune she used to sing when folding laundry or shelling peas. I hadn't heard it in years, and it almost broke me in two.

I turned to open the fridge to get some ice when I felt her behind me.

Her hand settled on my stomach, gentle and certain.

I froze.

“Well,” Mama said, her voice dry but amused, “did you forget to tell me something, sweetheart?”

Heat rushed to my cheeks. I fumbled for words, completely caught off guard. “Mama, I—I didn’t know how to?—”

Her gaze drifted to my left hand. Bare. Her brow furrowed. “And when exactly is that cowboy planning to marry you?”

I opened my mouth, then closed it again, utterly flustered.

“We’re… sort of engaged,” I said, lamely.

Mama didn’t look convinced.

Then Colt disappeared down the hallway without a word.

“Mama, I didn’t tell you because I wasn’t sure you’d—” I stopped, swallowing the rest of the sentence. Because what I meant was: I wasn’t sure you’d remember. And if you did, I wasn’t sure you’d approve.

Colt came back holding a small box. The leather was cracked along the edges like he’d carried it for a long time. He walked straight up to me, knelt on one knee in front of the sink, and looked up with that crooked, hopeful smile that used to undo me back when we were just kids.

“Figured it was time I made it official,” he said.

I opened the box.

Inside was a simple, delicate ring—just a small diamond set in a band that was clearly chosen with care. Not flashy. Not trendy. Just right.

My throat tightened.

“You had this?” I whispered, blinking down at him.

He nodded. “Had it for years. I bought it soon after you moved in but kept putting off closing the deal. After you left, I kept hoping that maybe I’d get the chance to use it someday.”

I burst into tears.

“Yes,” I managed, choking on the word. “Of course, yes.”

Colt slid the ring onto my finger, his touch shaking just enough to make my heart ache. Mama clapped once and grinned, looking entirely too pleased with herself.

“Took you long enough,” she said. “Now, get me that tea, Tessa Rae. You should’ve married that boy years ago.”

As she sipped her tea, calm and content, Colt leaned into me at the counter. His shoulder bumped mine, and I rested my head against it.

I looked down at the little diamond glittering on my finger, twisting it slowly, memorizing how it felt.

Maybe this wasn’t the big, fireworks-in-the-sky engagement I used to dream about. No candlelight or perfect dress or sweeping speeches.

But it was honest. It was real.

It was us.

“You know,” I murmured, still admiring the ring, “you’ve got excellent taste, cowboy.”

He grinned. “I’ll buy you a bigger one later.”

I shook my head. “No way. This is the one. This is ours.”

And in that small kitchen, with Mama sipping sweet tea and Colt beside me, I knew I didn’t need anything more.