Page 9 of Marrying the Billboard Cowboy

“Ezekiel?” Her voice was a whisper, barely audible above the din of Flapjacks’ lunchtime rush. Her eyes flicked down to the table.

In the silence that hovered between them, Zeke’s gaze followed hers to the booth across from her, where a pair of dark eyes mirrored hers, wide and curious as they stared up at him with awe. A coloring book and crayons scattered across the table like a rainbow in disarray. The resemblance was uncanny, and Zeke’s heart skipped a beat as realization dawned on him.

“Hello,” he managed to say, though his voice betrayed a hint of the shock that rippled through him.

Zeke took a deep, steadying breath, feeling the weight of this unforeseen revelation. But the protective urge that had brought him here, that had pushed him past his own reluctance, now anchored him in place. He couldn’t simply walk away; not from Kaitlyn, and certainly not from the little boy who shared her eyes.

“Who’s this?” he asked, voice steady despite the rapid drumming of his heart against his ribs.

“This is Stetson,” she replied, her voice shaky. Her fingers brushed his, a tremor running through them as they clasped hands briefly. He noted the chill of her skin, the fragile grip that spoke volumes of her recent hardships.

His gaze flickered to the child, whose curiosity was piqued enough to draw dark eyes up from the crayon chaos. “Hi, Stetson. I’m Zeke.”

“Hi,” the little boy responded, his tone guarded yet polite, revealing an upbringing amidst uncertainty. “Are you a cowboy?” he asked, his voice an impressed whisper.

Zeke usually wrestled with the answer to that question, his reality warring with his dreams. But with the awe in the little boy’s eyes, there was only one right answer. “Yeah, I am.”

Zeke offered what he hoped was a reassuring smile to the boy before turning back to Kaitlyn. His eyes locked with hers, conveying a promise to delve into uncharted conversations later.For now, he shelved his questions along with the shock of her unmentioned son.

“Mind if I join you two for a bit?” Zeke motioned toward the empty seat next to Stetson. Without waiting for an objection, he slid into the seat, the leather creaking under his weight. “Let’s eat.”

Kaitlyn’s mouth opened, then closed, a silent war waging behind her eyes. In a place like Flapjacks, full of laughter and clinking cutlery, her vulnerability seemed soft and quiet. But she held his gaze, a flicker of gratitude shining through her wariness.

“That’s not necessary,” she murmured.

Zeke ignored her and flagged down a passing waitress with a practiced nod. “We’ll take a look at the menus. And coffee, lots of it.” He was going to need a cup or five to process the curveball she’d just thrown at him.

The waitress hurried off to fetch the menus, and Zeke leaned back, observing the pair. The boy’s attention had already returned to his coloring book, but he kept sneaking glances at Zeke. Kaitlyn’s eyes lingered on Zeke, studying him with hesitation.

“You like pancakes, Stetson?”

Stetson’s head popped up, a small smile playing on his lips. “With syrup and butter!”

“Then pancakes with syrup and butter, it is,” Zeke declared, his protective nature finding solace in the simple act of providing a meal. “What would you like, Kaitlyn?”

“Oh, I’m not hungry,” she protested.

The rumble of her stomach could be heard from his spot across the booth. His eyes dropped to her stomach and he raised an eyebrow. Kaitlyn’s cheeks flushed with a tinge of embarrassment, her hands tightening around the napkin she’d been fiddling with.

She was gorgeous.

She looked at Stetson, whose attention remained on the promise of pancakes, then back up at Zeke.

“Guess that settles it,” she said, with a small attempt at humor, though her voice barely rose above a hush.

6

Kaitlyn remained wordless as Zeke lifted his hand, a silent signal catching the waitress’s attention as she wove through the scattered tables of the diner. She approached with a ready smile, her pen poised over the notepad.

“What can I get you?” Her gaze flitted between Zeke and Kaitlyn, who hugged her arms around herself, as if she could use them to shield against the world that had let her down too often.

“Pancakes for him,” Kaitlyn said, pointing at Stet, her voice a soft murmur cloaked in the hum of morning chatter. “And just a side of toast for me, please.” She was already adding up the pennies. She’d gotten a couple hundred bucks from selling her car, but it wouldn’t last long.

“White or wheat?” the waitress asked, scribbling down the order.

“Wheat,” Kaitlyn replied, avoiding eye contact, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her thrift-store jacket.

“That’s not enough.” Zeke’s voice had that rough edge to it—not unkind, but laced with concern. “Order something else.”

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