Page 42 of Rockstar's Accidental Marriage

The living room is comfortable and well-loved, with sturdy furniture and a faded quilt draped over the back of the couch. It’s so different from the glitz and chaos of the band’s world, but it feels welcoming like a home should.

As I move into the small hallway, I notice more pictures lining the walls. Most are of Sam as a child, though there are a couple of Clay out in the field standing beside his tractor.

One picture catches my eye—a teenage Sam standing in front of the barn, his arm slung around a horse’s neck, a guitar strap slung over one shoulder. His smile is bright, full of youthful confidence, and something about the image tugs at my chest.

I close my eyes for a moment, trying to imagine what it must have been like for him growing up here. Did he love it, or was he always itching to leave?

I think back to the way Clay didn’t hug him or even shake his hand when we arrived. At first, I thought it was cold, almost distant, but now I realize it’s just his way. Clay’s love is in the details—in the way he cooks breakfast without asking if you’re hungry or how he allows you to help with the chores even though he insists he doesn’t need it.

Sam’s humor suddenly makes so much more sense. It’s probably how he learned to communicate affection, to fill the empty gaps his dad’s quiet nature left unfilled.

Back in the kitchen, I decide to brew some herbal tea. After I’ve poured myself a cup, I sit at the table, my thoughts drifting to Sam.

I’ve always known he had layers—he wouldn’t be Sam if he didn’t. But seeing him here, on this farm, with his dad, it’s like I’m discovering a whole new side of him.

The way he carries himself here, so comfortable and at ease, makes me realize just how much he loves this place. It’s not just where he grew up—it’s a part of him.

And the way he cares about his dad, it’s clear he feels responsible for him, even if Clay won’t let him do as much as he’d like. Sending money and offering to hire help are all Sam’s ways of showing that he cares and of trying to repay his dad for everything he sacrificed.

I think about the way Sam is with me, too—how he’s been protective without being overbearing, his concern for my health and for the tiny baby inside of me. It’s different from the Sam I initially met, the one who drove me crazy with his teasing and refusal to take anything seriously.

This Sam is still playful, still infuriatingly charming, but there’s a depth to him I hadn’t noticed before. Or maybe I just wouldn’t allow myself to see it.

And this Sam is slowly stealing my heart, whether I want him to or not.

I rest my hand over my abdomen. “I don’t know what the future holds for us, baby. But I know it’s something good,” I whisper softly, feeling a wave of love toward the tiny life growing inside me.

When Sam and Clay return, the sun is lower in the sky. Their voices carry through the open window as they approach thehouse. I step out onto the porch, shielding my eyes against the glare as they dismount their horses.

Sam looks every bit like a rugged, heart-stealing cowboy with his shirt sleeves rolled up and his jeans dusted with dirt. He flashes me a wide grin from under the brim of his cowboy hat, and my heart flutters. He turns to lead his horse to the barn, and a familiar warmth spreads through me as I watch him walk away in his tight jeans. His back view is as good on the eyes as his front view.

What is it about this man that is so irresistible? I determinedly pull my attention away just as his father approaches.

“We ran into Hank,” Clay says as he strides up the porch steps, pulling off his hat and wiping his brow.

“Hank?” I ask, curious.

“Neighbor who owns the property next to mine,” Clay explains. “He reminded me there’s a barn dance tonight over at the old Hampton place. Starts just after sundown.”

“A barn dance?” I repeat, glancing at Sam as he reappears from the barn.

“Don’t tell me you’ve never been to one,” Sam says, smiling.

I shake my head. “No, I’m a city girl.”

“Well then,” Clay says, a twinkle of amusement in his eyes, “tonight’s your lucky night.”

When we arrive, the Hampton Ranch is already buzzing with activity. Strings of lights crisscross above the open-air barn, looking festive. A live band is set up at one end of the barn, and the upbeat twang of country music spills out into the surrounding fields.

People mill about in boots and cowboy hats, their laughter mingling with the music. Sam leads me through the crowd, his hand warm against the small of my back.

“Relax,” he murmurs as we step into the barn. “You’re going to love this.”

The smell of hay and wood fills the air. It’s so different from anything I’ve experienced before—simple, unpolished, but full of life.

We’re barely inside when a tall blonde approaches us, her confident stride and tight jeans making her impossible to ignore.

“Sam Ryder,” she drawls, her voice dripping with familiarity. “As I live and breathe.”

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