Page 85 of Lost in the Reins

"Ice cream was Sarah's remedy for algebra frustration, too," Colt says quietly, a small offering of memory that warms the kitchen. These moments happen sometimes—little pieces of Sarah that they share, keeping her present in our daily lives. It doesn't hurt like it used to. Now it just feels like honoring someone who helped shape this family long before I was part of it.

Wes's expression softens at the mention of his sister. "She'd hide it in the back of the freezer, behind the frozen peas."

"As if Dad didn't know exactly what she was doing," Jake adds with a laugh.

"He did the same thing," Colt confesses. "Only he hid his behind the steaks."

"The freezer was basically an ice cream speakeasy," Emma says, perking up. "Can we start that tradition again?"

Wes mutters something about corrupting the youth, but he's already up, pulling bowls down from the cupboard. Jake heads for the freezer, extracting three different flavors while Colt grabs spoons. It's a choreographed dance they've been perfecting for months now—this blended family finding its rhythm together.

I watch Wes move through the kitchen, the easy way he fits into the rhythm of our life. For so long, Wes Montgomery was the gruff, no-nonsense cowboy who carried the weight of theworld on his shoulders, trying to hold together a ranch, raise his niece, and keep his own heart locked away in the process.

Now? He's a man who still takes things too seriously and still believes in hard work and discipline, but also, he’s a man who's learned how to share the burden.

One who's learned that life isn't just about survival. It's about the stolen moments. The laughter. The ridiculous bets over a goose with a penchant for grand larceny. The way love can show up, uninvited, and turn a once-lonely kitchen into a home filled with warmth.

"Remember when you wouldn't even let me use your coffee mug?" I ask him quietly as he passes behind me, his hand brushing my shoulder in that casual way that still gives me butterflies.

He pauses, leaning down so his words are just for me. "Remember when you fell in manure and ruined your designer jeans?"

"A classic meet-cute," I counter. "Martha's already commissioned an artist to paint that scene for the ranch museum."

"We don't have a ranch museum," he protests.

"Yet," Jake interjects, overhearing as he drops a massive scoop of chocolate into Emma's bowl. "But the tourism board thinks it would be a great addition to the property."

"Maybe in the old bunkhouse," Colt suggests. "We could display all the items Bernard's stolen over the years."

"That would require an entire wing," Wes mutters, but his hand is warm on my shoulder, grounding and steady.

I tilt my head back as he passes behind me, catching his sleeve and tugging him close. When he leans down, I kiss him—it’s soft and sweet and tastes like coffee. The kind of kiss that says this—this ranch, this family, this us—is the best thing I've ever written.

"Gross," Emma groans, making gagging noises while Jake pretends to cover her eyes. "You guys are worse than Kevin during mating season."

"Speaking of which," Colt says, glancing out the window, "I think Dana's trying to get her hat back."

"Good luck with that," Jake snorts. "Last time someone tried to retrieve something from Bernard, he led them on a three-hour chase across the property. Grant still hasn't found his designer sunglasses."

"They're probably in Bernard's secret stash," Emma says around a mouthful of ice cream. "The one behind the chicken coop."

We all turn to stare at her.

"You know where Bernard keeps his stolen treasures?" Wes asks, sounding equal parts impressed and concerned.

Emma shrugs. "He's not that sneaky once you figure out his pattern."

"And you didn't think to mention this... why?" Colt asks.

"Professional courtesy," Emma says with perfect seriousness. "Thieves have a code."

Wes looks at me accusingly. "This is definitely your influence."

"I write fiction for a living," I remind him. "She comes by her dramatic flair naturally. Pure Montgomery genes." I pop a spoonful of ice cream into my mouth, savoring the rich flavor. "However, I do respect her commitment to Bernard's constitutional rights. No illegal searches and seizures without probable cause."

"He's a goose," Wes says, exasperated but fond.

"A goose with rights," I counter. "And excellent taste in hats."

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