Page 64 of The Wrong Ride Home (Wildflower Canyon #1)

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T he house was quiet, but not the kind that came with emptiness—but the stillness that followed something big, something life-changing.

Upstairs, Elena was asleep, exhaustion pulling her under in the way only a new mother could understand. She’d been hell-bent on coming home as soon as the doctor gave the all-clear, stubborn as ever. But she wanted to be home. She belonged here, on this land.

And so did he.

Our son.

I looked down at the tiny bundle in my arms, wrapped snug in a soft blue blanket. He was looking around with his big eyes, completely unaware of the world he’d been born into or the weight of his name.

River Nash Wilder.

A legacy and a promise, all wrapped up in a baby who was barely a week old.

I stepped onto the porch, the air crisp and cool, carrying the scent of damp earth and pine. The land stretched out before us, dark and endless, the mountains standing guard in the distance.

This was my son’s birthright.

I adjusted him in my arms, holding him close. His tiny body radiated warmth, and the quiet rise and fall of his chest against mine almost undid me. Happiness, deep and overwhelming, pressed into my ribs, settling in a place I hadn’t even realized was hollow until now.

"This is yours, buddy," I murmured. "All of it."

His tiny fingers curled into a fist near his cheek, and his little nose scrunched like he had something important to be mad about.

I swallowed hard, my throat tight.

"I didn’t always know if I wanted this," I admitted, my voice rough. "I didn’t deserve it either.”

The words came easier in the night, easier with him cradled in my arms, easier when the land stretched out before us like it had all been leading to this.

"But your granddaddy, he fought for this place. And your mama, she kept it safe for me, even when I was too damn stupid to see it."

A breeze rustled through the cottonwoods, stirring the grass and whispering as if Nash were here to see his grandson.

"And I’ll do the same for you," I vowed. "I’ll keep it whole, keep it wild, keep it yours."

The front door creaked behind me.

I turned as Elena stepped onto the porch, wrapped up in one of my old flannels, her hair loose around her shoulders, her eyes soft with sleep.

"He hungry?" she murmured.

I shook my head. "I wanted to show him."

She smiled, stepping closer, pressing her cheek against my shoulder, her arms coming around us both. She fit against me the way she always had—perfectly.

"He’s gonna love it here," she whispered, brushing a finger down River’s soft, round cheek.

I pressed a kiss to her hair, breathing her in, breathing all of it in.

"Yeah," I said, my heart full. "He is."

And standing there, holding my son, my woman, and my legacy, standing on the land that would outlive us, I knew I’d never been surer of anything in my whole damn life.