Page 14 of Curvy Girl and the Protector Cowboy

I point to a gap in the photos. "Notice anything? Four years, hardly any pictures. That was our dark period. Almost lost the ranch, almost lost each other."

She looks at me questioningly.

"When I feel lost or uncertain," I continue, "I come here. I look at these walls and see how far we've come. Each of those photos represents a time when one of us thought we couldn't go on, but somehow, we did."

Her eyes soften as she understands what I'm trying to say.

"This one," I point to a photo of me at fifteen, trophy in hand but eyes downcast, "was two weeks after Mom died. I almost didn't compete. Thought it was disrespectful somehow."

"What changed your mind?"

"Jackson. He said Mom would've kicked my ass if I quit something I loved because I was grieving her." The memory brings a smile to my face. "He was right. I won that day, crying the whole time."

Luisa's hand brushes mine as she reaches toward another photo—me in a hospital bed, leg in a cast, giving a thumbs up.

"First major injury," I explain. "Seventeen, thought my career was over before it began."

"But it wasn't."

"No. It just took a different path." I turn to face her fully. "That's what I'm trying to say, Luisa. Sometimes what feels like the end is just a bend in the road."

She meets my gaze, something vulnerable and hopeful flickering in her eyes. "And you think Cedar Falls could be my bend in the road?"

"I think," I say carefully, "that you deserve the chance to catch your breath and find out."

Her lips part slightly, and for a wild moment, I think about kissing her—this beautiful, brave woman who ran away from her own wedding to protect her son. But it's too soon, too complicated. Instead, I step back, giving her space.

"Sarah's got therapy sessions after lunch," I say. "But I could show you and Miguel around town after lunch if you want. Give you a feel for the place."

"Why are you doing this, Cole? Really? You’ve told me why, but I still don’t get it. No one can be this nice"

“I admire you, you know?" I say simply. "And your son deserves stability. And because—" I hesitate, then decide on the truth. "Because from the moment you appeared in that torn wedding dress, I haven't been able to stop thinking about how to help you stay."

Color rises in her cheeks, but she doesn't look away. "I don't know if I can trust this. Trust you."

"I know," I acknowledge. "But I'm hoping you'll give me—give Cedar Falls—the chance to prove you can."

Outside, we hear the distant sound of children's laughter drifting from the stables. Luisa turns toward it instinctively, like a flower seeking sun.

"A few days," she says again, more to herself than to me. "Just to see."

Relief washes through me. It's not a commitment, but it's a start—a far cry from the woman who was determined to catch the first bus out of town just hours ago. One step at a time.

"We can figure out the details later," I say, not wanting to overwhelm her with logistics. "There's a small guest cottage behind Aaron's house that no one's using. It's nothing fancy, but it's private and still inside the ranch."

She nods, still staring at the photos on the wall. Her finger traces the frame of a Christmas picture—all of us in ridiculous sweaters Mom knitted.

"My mother died too," she says unexpectedly. "Cancer. I was sixteen."

"I'm sorry," I say, meaning it. "That's a hard age to lose a parent."

"It was just me and my dad after that." Her voice takes on a distant quality. "He was... traditional. Had very specific ideas about how a daughter should behave."

I stay quiet, sensing she needs to tell this story her way.

"When I got pregnant with Miguel, he said I'd made my bed and had to lie in it." Her laugh holds no humor. "Threw me out when I told him Ricardo and I weren't getting married right away."

Understanding dawns. "So you had no one else."

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