Page 86 of Lost in the Reins

Wes presses his forehead to mine and sighs, but his voice is nothing but warmth. "Mmm," he murmurs. "I love you."

"I know," I whisper back, just to see the flash of amusement in his eyes. It's our little joke—a call and response that never fails to make him smile.

Outside, the cameras roll, the actors perform, and the tourists whisper about movie magic. Through the window, I see Dana finally give up on her hat, while Kevin struts triumphantly beside Bernard, their unlikely friendship one of the many miracles this ranch has produced.

But in here? In this kitchen with these people who have become my family?

This is the real magic.

Even if it does include a klepto goose with a thing for accessories.

Epilogue

Wes

Istand at the kitchen window, coffee cooling in my mug, watching them across the yard. My family. The sight still catches me off guard sometimes—Emma laughing as she tosses feed to Bernard, who's strutting about like the royalty he believes he is, and Paisley beside her, one hand resting on her swollen belly as she gestures animatedly with the other.

My wife. My daughter. My son on the way.

Paisley moves with that careful grace she's developed over the past nine months, her steps measured but still determined. Even with her due date less than a week away, she refuses to be sidelined."I'm pregnant, not broken,"she reminds me daily, usually while doing something that makes my heart stop.

Like now—she's attempting to demonstrate to Emma the proper way to stand up to Bernard's imperial demands. The goose has only grown more entitled since his rise to movie stardom, and Paisley insists we can't let him "become a diva." As if that ship hadn't sailed years ago.

Emma mimics Paisley's stance, hands on hips, chin lifted in challenge. Bernard considers this show of defiance for all of three seconds before honking indignantly and waddling away, clearly offended by their lack of proper reverence.

Their laughter carries across the yard, bright against the crisp morning air. Emma leans into Paisley's side, and Paisley's arm wraps around her shoulders, easy and natural, like they've always belonged together. Like we've always been a family.

I take a sip of my coffee, the familiar weight of worry settling between my shoulders. A different kind of worry than the one that used to keep me up at night—not about bank notices or failing fences, but about the kind of father I'll be. The kind I've tried to be for Emma. The kind I need to be for my son.

When Sarah died, I stepped into a role I never thought I'd have to fill. I was barely keeping my head above water most days, just trying to make sure Emma had what she needed. Food, shelter, love. I've never been sure if I was enough. If I am enough.

Now there'll be a boy looking to me for guidance, for protection, for all the things a father is supposed to provide. A son who'll watch everything I do and learn from everything I am—the good and the bad.

Paisley says I'm being ridiculous, of course. "You're already a father," she told me last night, guiding my hand to where our son was kicking up a storm. "And a good one."

I want to believe her. Most days I even do. But then fear creeps in during quiet moments like this, making me question everything I thought I knew.

Outside, Paisley says something that makes Emma throw her head back, her laugh carrying through the glass. She looks so much like Sarah sometimes it steals my breath. But there's something else there, too—a confidence, a joy that's all her own. Despite everything, she's thriving.

Maybe that's enough. Maybe that's everything.

Paisley glances toward the house, catching me watching. A smile spreads across her face—one of those real smiles that stillmakes my chest tighten, even after all this time. She raises a hand, wiggling her fingers in a small wave.

I lift my coffee mug in acknowledgment. She pats her belly, then points at me, a silent message:Your son is awake and energetic this morning.

I can't help but smile. Our son. Not just mine, not just hers. Ours. A boy who'll grow up here on this land, learning its rhythms, its stories. A Montgomery through and through.

I think about all the ways I've fought change over the years. How I nearly lost everything—the ranch, my family, Paisley—because I was too afraid to let go of how things had always been. Too afraid to believe in something bigger than my own fears.

And now, here we are. The ranch is thriving—not just surviving, but growing into something Sarah would have been proud of. Emma is flourishing, no longer that grief-stricken child clutching her mother's quilt. And Paisley... Paisley changed everything. Not by force, but by gentle persistence, by believing in me even when I didn't believe in myself.

Out in the yard, Bernard has apparently forgiven the earlier slight, as he's now following Emma and Paisley toward the barn, his neck extended like he's leading a royal procession. Kevin watches from his perch by the chicken coop, judging them all with his usual peacock superiority.

Some things don't change, I suppose.

Paisley stops suddenly, one hand going to her lower back, the other still resting on her belly. My heart lurches into my throat, coffee forgotten as I watch her take a deep breath.

She catches my eye again through the window, a reassuring smile telling me it's just the usual discomfort. Not time yet. I exhale slowly, trying to calm the instinctive panic that rises every time she winces or shifts uncomfortably.

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