Page 25 of The Cowboy and the Baby

“Yes.”

“The ranch went to Cade?”

“Uh huh.”

“The entire ranch went to Cade?”

I wondered if she’d believe it sooner if she kept repeating it.

“Yes. The ranch went to Cade in its entirety.”

I bit my bottom lip, twisting the honey spoon in the golden liquid before drizzling it on top of the chamomile. After I poured hot water into the mug, steam luffed from the saturated teabag. Marsha stumbled for words, and I thought I heard Bart in the background.

“Well . . . I . . . that is . . .”

When she spoke again, it was indiscernible and distant, as if she’d covered the phone with her hand. Movement drew my gaze to the doorway, where Cade leaned into the kitchen, an eyebrow lifted. He didn’t appear concerned, merely curious.

“Is Marsha upset?”

I shrugged, smiling uncertainly. Marsha’s response was kind of funny, highlighting her wild hopes set against cold reality. I felt for my aunt and uncle. To lose an inheritance with emotional ties wasn’t easy. But they already had enough wealth.

Marsha returned, her voice shrill. “Can we speak to Cade, honey?”

Her voice echoed into the room. She spoke loudly. Probably too many wine coolers. Cade straightened up, hand out held.

“Sure thing.”

He came to me, and I passed the phone over. His voice was calm and steady. Warm, even.

“Hello, Marsha.”

A tizzy of words followed. Cade leaned against the counter, kicked one leg in front of the other, tucked a hand in a pocket, stared at the floor, and waited for her storm to blow out. I sipped at my tea, trying not to appreciate his boots, his jeans, and the way they accented his body. Not to mention the generous and attractive fact that he assembled a bouncer for my daughter.

Put a cowboy hat on him and he’d be the complete picture.

Of dizzying bliss.

My face heated at the thought. The growing attraction I felt for him was almost obscene.

Marsha’s volume lowered, losing steam. After a full minute of listening to her diatribe, he spoke for the second time.

“I imagine this surprise is a difficult one to navigate, Marsha. Morgan made a lot of decisions that sometimes wouldn’t make sense to people who didn’t work here, but in the end, he knew he wanted the property to remain intact, as a working ranch. I’m sorry you were caught in the middle of this.”

His empathy turned my already gooey heart to utter mush. I had another sip of tea to hide my obvious ogling. Cripes, was he perfect? I may not survive. He’d distract me from the coordination work I’d agreed to, and I’d have to carry around a bucket to catch my drool.

But there was something else here.

In the ranch house, beyond the bones that had some hope and the disrepair that had none. Yes, this land and house were Cade’s, in the same way that Lily was mine. Gifted inheritance.

Yet, it was . . . more.

Memories remained alive in these walls, and I unlocked them every time I strode through the rooms. Ghosts called to me. Memories of Grandma, of happiness. Times when Naomi and I brushed each other's hair, and pounced after grasshoppers outside, and ate dinner around a table.

For all their faults, Grandma and Grandpa deeply loved the two of us. We received from them what our parents never gave.

Time.

I couldn’t recall a single meal we hadn’t eaten together at the ranch. Nor was there a time when Grandpa tried to get rid of us, or Grandma pawned us off to a babysitter, the way our busy-and-superficial parents had. Grandma sat next to us on the porch, watching butterflies. Grandpa was so pleased when we offered to help him paint the barn. We were filthy, delightful messes.