Page 51 of Sweet Escape (Whispering Oaks Ranch #1)

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? I can’t make you love me - Bonn ie Raitt

Wilder

“I think I hate it,” she says. “No. Actually, I do hate it.”

I glance across the room to where Olivia is staring at the freshly painted light yellow wall with her head cocked to the side.

One of her hands absently glides over her rounded belly beneath her paint-splattered overalls.

Her hair is up in what she calls space buns, mirroring the ones she did for Emmy before we sent her off to spend the morning with my mom.

Toddlers and paint are a match made in hell.

Shaking my head, I respond, “This is the third time we’ve changed it.”

“It’s not right. It needs to be perfect for her.”

I place my paint roller on the tray and stride across the room, my palms sliding up and down her arms in a soothing motion. “For her? Or for you? Hate to break it to you, Cupcake, but she ’s a baby. She doesn’t care what her room looks like. Why don’t you tell me what’s really bothering you?”

Olivia exhales a long breath and rests her forehead against my sternum. I smooth a hand down her back, keeping her there.

“I’m—scared.” Her words are barely a whisper, but it pierces me all the same.

Threading my fingers through hers, I lead Olivia to the only piece of furniture in the room—a light oak rocking chair that belonged to my mother. I pluck off the drop cloth that’s protecting it from the possibility of paint splatters. Olivia sits, and I crouch before her.

“What are you afraid of?”I ask.

She hesitates for a long moment before she finally speaks. “I don’t know what I’m doing. Who thought it would be a good idea to give me a baby? I can barely take care of myself on a good day.”

“First of all, don’t talk about my baby mama that way.”

“Wilder—”

I stop her with a finger against her rosy-pink lips, my mind replaying the sensation of them trailing over my skin.“Just listen to me for a minute. If you still want to go off on one of your tangents after that, I’ll let you spiral until the cows come home.”

She rolls her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest. “By all means, mansplain motherhood to me.”

“If you wanna be a brat about it, I’d be happy to introduce you to my ropes, Pretty Girl.”

“Don’t tempt me with a good time.”

I grip her chin between my thumb and forefinger, pinning her with a hard stare.

“Any other time, I’d jump at the chance to tie you up, but not while you’re doubting yourself.

You’re going to be an amazing mom, Liv. Not because the nursery is imm aculately decorated.

Not because you’ve read every parenting book known to man.

Not even because you were raised by two incredible parents, but because you’re you .

There’s not a single doubt in my mind that you were born to be a mother, Olivia Sullivan.

The next time you doubt yourself, you come to me, and I’ll set you straight. Got it?”

She gives me a jerky nod, chewing on the inside of her cheek.

“Don’t cry, honey.”

“I don’t deserve you. You weren’t supposed to be—” She cuts her sentence off on a sharp inhale, but I already know what she was going to say.

You weren’t supposed to be mine.

“But I am. And you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.”Unable to resist the pull, I bring my lips to hers, soft and sweet, so different from our usually heated kisses. My heart gives a painful squeeze when I pull away. “Let me take over the nursery.”

“Why?”

“You’ve got enough on your plate, and I don’t want you going into labor before we’re ready to meet this little filly.”

I can tell she’s conflicted. Liv’s reluctant to put her faith in someone else after what Jake and Amber did, and I can’t say I blame her. They really put her through some shit, but I’m not them.

“Ok,” she says. “But call your mama for help.”

“You don’t trust me to do right by our little girl?”

“This from the man who spent the first few months in this house eating from divided toddler plates.”

“Alright. Fine. But no peeking. I’m locking this door until it’s done.”

“Oh, come on. That’s not fair!”

“This just became an Olivia free zone until further notice.” I tug o n her hands, helping to lift her from the chair. “Go on now, git.”

“I’m not a horse. You can’t just shoo me away.”

“Watch me.” My palm connects with her ass, and she squeaks, spurring into motion.

The door starts to close on an indignant Olivia, but she says, “Call your mom” over the threshold before the rest of her tirade is muffled.

As soon as the door snicks closed, I shoot off a text.

Wilder: I need your help.

Ivy: Hello to you too, Wilder Hayes. What can I do for you?

Wilder: I need some custom artwork. Can you make it happen?

Ivy: You know I can. Meet me at my place in an hour.

Olivia

Wilder’s hands cover my eyes as he guides me through the doorway to the nursery.

It took a full two weeks, but it’s finally finished, and I’m getting my first look as soon as this infuriating man releases me.

He’s kept me locked out of the room throughout the entire process, and the anticipation has been excruciating.

The room still smells faintly of paint mixed with something floral. Instead of hardwood, there’s something plush beneath my feet.

“Ready?” His breath fans over my cheek as he speaks .

Goose bumps erupt along my skin at his unexpected proximity.“Y-yes.”

“Nervous?”

“Wilder…” I grit out his name through clenched teeth, vowing to inflict my own form of torture on this man someday very soon.

His hands drop, and he takes a step back, the floor creaking with the movement. “Ok. You can open your eyes now.”

I blink a few times, my vision adjusting to the sudden brightness.

When the room comes into focus, I suck in a sharp breath, my hands flying up to cover my mouth.

Wilder has positioned me in front of a light wood crib framed by what can only be a hand-painted mural on the upper portion of the wall.

While the bottom half is covered with a light green wainscotting, the top is painted in muted florals, the most prominent of which are yellow and white daisies.

The meaning isn’t lost on me, and my heart leaps in my chest.

In the corner of the room sits his mother’s rocking chair, a near-perfect match to the crib, and there’s a small crochet daisy blanket draped over the back.

“Wilder is that…” The words come out strangled as I fight against the emotions threatening to spill over.

“From your mom? Yeah.”

I do a slow spin, taking in the rest of the details: a matching dresser with a changing pad, wall shelves with a collection of board books and natural wood toys, and the tiny pink cowboy boots I bought all those months ago.

There’s a small pink plush bunny, its ear embroidered with the words ‘little sister,’ and I’m certain the matching ‘big sister’ bunny already lives in Emmy’s room.

“It’s… perfect.”

“ She’s perfect,” he says, wrapping his arms around my waist from behind. “I know this was important to you, but none of it truly matters in the end.”

I sigh, leaning my head back against his chest. “I know it seems silly, but I feel better now that she has a permanent place here.”

I think maybe I was waiting for it to feel like I have a place here, and now I do—right over there, in the far corner of the room, in that beautiful antique rocking chair with Gracie in my arms. The vision soothes me, and I spin in Wilder’s hold, pulling him down for a chaste kiss. “Thank you.”

Wilder’s beard scratches against my neck as he buries his face there and inhales. His arms tighten around my waist, as much as they can with my belly between us, as he starts to rock us back and forth.

“What are you doing?”I ask.

“This is called dancing,” he says. “I know I'm not very good at it, but I thought that was obvious.”

“Very funny, Big Guy. Last time I checked, dancing requires music.”

“Hmm. Is that so?” Moments pass, our bodies swaying in the silence, then his gruff voice vibrates through me as he murmurs the lyrics to a popular country song.

It’s beautiful, soft like velvet, with the rough edge of someone who’s known deep love and intense heartache.

They’re the lyrics of a man desperate for the woman he loves to stay with him, promising to do anything to keep her.

For one achingly perfect moment, I let myself believe them.