Page 5 of Cowboy Daddy
And God help me, I want her. Want her smiling up at me every morning. Want her quirky stories filling the silence. Want her under me, around me, mine.
I stretch out on the couch, one arm behind my head, and stare at the ceiling. The wind screams outside. Inside my cabin feels warmer than it has in years.
Sunny Caldwell is going to wreck me.
And the worst part is I’m not sure I mind one damn bit.
THREE
SUNNY
If someone had told me yesterday that I’d wake up in a grumpy cowboy’s bed feeling safer than I have in months, I’d have laughed them straight off Wedding Cake Mountain. Yet here I am.
I stretch under the heavy dark green comforter, breathing in that perfect pine-and-leather-and-Harlan scent that somehow wrapped itself around my dreams all night. My ankle throbs dully when I move it, but the rest of me feels warm and loose and ridiculously content. Sunlight filters through the cabin windows, soft and golden, painting everything in that perfect Montana morning glow. I burrow deeper into the pillow for one more greedy second, pretending I belong here. Pretending the big, protective man on the other side of the door is mine to wake up next to every day.
The bedroom door creaks open. Harlan stands there in fresh jeans and a worn black thermal that hugs every ridge of muscle like it was personally offended by the idea of loose fabric. His hair’s damp from a shower, and that scar through his eyebrow makes my fingers itch to trace it again. He looks rumpled andrugged and so unfairly gorgeous I have to remind my lungs how breathing works.
“Morning,” he rumbles. His voice is gravel and honey, the kind that should come with a warning label. “Coffee’s on. How’s the ankle?”
I sit up, curls probably doing their best impression of a bird’s nest, and beam at him like he hung the moon. “Better already, thanks to the world’s most comfortable bed and the world’s most competent rescuer. Did you sleep okay on the couch? Because if your back is wrecked, I’m officially offering to trade places tonight. I’m an excellent pretzel-curler.”
His mouth does that almost-smile thing that makes my stomach flip. “Stay in the bed, Sunny.” The way he says it, low and final, sends a warm shiver racing down my spine. Protective Harlan is my new favorite trope.
Before I can flirt back, a knock sounds at the front door. Harlan’s whole body shifts into alert mode, shoulders squaring, eyes narrowing. He disappears for a second, then returns with Eli and a pretty blonde carrying a big canvas tote bag.
“Morning, Sunny,” Eli says cheerfully, setting his medical bag on the nightstand. “This is Daisy, my better half. She heard we had a new arrival and insisted on coming along with supplies.”
Daisy waves, all bright eyes and warm energy. “Hi! I come bearing gifts. Clothes that aren’t covered in horse drama, toiletries, and the softest socks known to womankind. Welcome to Haven 7, Sunny. We take care of our own around here.”
Our own. The words wrap around me like Harlan’s quilt. I swallow the sudden lump in my throat and smile bigger to cover it. “You guys are actual angels. I showed up with one pink coatand a dream. This is the nicest thing anyone has done for me in… well, ever.”
While Eli unwraps my ankle and checks the swelling, Daisy unpacks the tote on the bed. Leggings, oversized sweaters, a pair of adorable fuzzy boots, travel-sized shampoo that smells like lavender, and even a new toothbrush still in its package. I blink back happy tears because no one has ever shown up for me like this. Not without strings. Not without expecting something in return.
“Swelling’s down a little,” Eli says, gently probing. “But I want you off it as much as possible for the next few days. Crutches are in the truck. Ice, elevation, the usual drill. No heroics. The storm’s supposed to be worse tonight.”
Daisy nods firmly. “Doctor’s orders. Which means you get to lounge around Harlan’s cabin like a princess while the big grump waits on you. Lucky girl.”
I glance toward the hallway where Harlan’s pretending not to listen, his broad back tense as he stands there. Lucky doesn’t even begin to cover it. My ex, Derek, is probably still tearing through Colorado looking for me after I finally filed the paperwork and ran. The surprise subpoenas, the late-night poundings on my door, the way he always found me no matter where I hid. Staying put for a few days sounds like the best idea I’ve heard in months. I’m not telling anyone the real reason. Not yet. But the relief that floods me at Eli’s orders is so strong I almost laugh out loud.
“Yes, sir,” I say, saluting Eli with a grin. “I’ll be the model patient. I promise not to chase any more spooked horses or attempt dramatic escapes. Scout’s honor.”
Harlan grunts from the kitchen. “Good.”
Daisy laughs softly and squeezes my hand. “We’ll check back in after the storm. If you need anything, just holler. The girls at the lodge are dying to meet you once you’re mobile. Movie nights, baking disasters, the works.”
They leave after Eli rewraps my ankle in a fresh bandage and gives me more pain meds. Daisy hugs me quick and warm before they go, and I hug her back just as tight. When the door clicks shut, the cabin feels quieter, cozier, more like ours than his.
I hobble to the couch, using the crutches Eli and Daisy left. Harlan moves to the kitchen to make breakfast. I really like this idea of having him wait on me. I’ve never had a man be this nice to me before.
A while later, Harlan holds a plate piled high with scrambled eggs, bacon, toast, and what looks like fresh fruit. The smell alone makes my stomach rumble loud enough to wake bears.
“Wow,” I whisper, eyes wide. “Harlan, I think I might cry. Happy tears. The best kind.”
He sets the plate on my lap with careful hands, then drags the armchair closer so he can sit beside the couch. “Eat. Need protein after yesterday.”
I take a bite of the eggs and moan like it’s the best thing I’ve ever tasted. “These are incredible. Did you put magic in them? Or is this another mountain man competence thing? Because I’m spoiled for life now. How am I supposed to go back to sad microwave meals after this?”
He watches me eat, storm-cloud eyes soft around the edges. That charged pull between us is back, crackling hotter than the fire hemust have stoked while I slept. Every time our gazes lock it feels like the air gets thicker, like he’s thinking about climbing onto this couch with me instead of sitting in that chair. I want him to. I want those big calloused hands on me again. I want to make that grumpy mouth smile for real.
