Page 62 of Ride Me Reckless
“Bossy,” I muttered, but I let her guide me to the chair.
She moved through the kitchen like she belonged here. No hesitance, no holding back. Watching her rummage through the cabinets, barefoot and beautiful in a shirt of mine from another life… it knocked something loose inside me. Some mix of ache and gratitude.
By the time she set a plate of scrambled eggs and toast in front of me, the coffee was hot, and the kitchen had taken on that glow—quiet and golden, like the world had finally stopped spinning long enough for us to breathe.
We ate in silence. Not awkward—just thick with expectation.
Then she set her fork down, barely touched her food, and looked at me like she was steadying herself on the inside.
“Do you remember what I told you last night?” she asked.
I nodded. “I do. And I ain’t stopped thinking about it since.”
She stared into her coffee like it might give her permission. Then, finally, she spoke so quietly I almost missed it, “That wasn’t the first time. I have a lot to tell you—get you caught up.”
I didn’t speak. Didn’t blink.
“After I left Lovelace,” she said, slow and raw, “I found out I was pregnant. Just a few weeks in. Barely long enough to get used to the idea.”
Her voice caught, but she didn’t stop.
“I didn’t tell you because I wasn’t sure what to do. And then… I lost it. Quiet. Alone. Like it was never even real.”
Her gaze lifted then, braver than I’d ever seen it. “I carried that guilt for a long time. For not telling you. For chasing something else instead. And yeah… for feeling relief that you didn’t have to know.”
I sat there, cup halfway to my mouth, fingers curled tight around the handle. Then I set it down and let the silence stretch, not to hurt her, but to hold it. All of it.
“I always wondered,” I said, my voice low. “And I wanted answers. So, there was this rodeo down in Billings… you know, a palm reader with a stand near the beer tent. The woman looked at me—dead serious—and said, ‘You left something breathing behind.’”
Tessa blinked, like she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
“I figured she meant the horses,” I went on. “Or one of the heifers I forgot to check on. But a part of me… a quiet part... it wondered.”
She reached across the table, fingertips brushing over mine before settling in the spaces like they’d never left. “It’s weird how fate works, isn’t it?” Then, without waiting for an answer, she looked into my eyes and said, “I want this baby, Colt, but I need to make an appointment. I need to know everything’s okay this time. I need to know I… I don’t have anything wrong with me.”
Her voice cracked at the end, and I squeezed her hand tight enough to promise something without words.
“You won’t go through this alone,” I told her. “Not ever again.”
She let out a breath, and I could see it—the armor she always wore, softening.
“I always hoped,” I said, my thumb stroking across her knuckles. “Hell, we were always reckless. I mean, let’s be honest—our idea of birth control was mostly timing and cowboy optimism.”
That made her laugh, breathy and real, the sound of it soaking right into the bones of the house.
“I know,” she said. “But back then... I don’t know. I told myself if it happened, it happened. I wanted to believe fate would know better than I did.”
I leaned back, still anchored to her hand. “I love you, Tess. Always have. But I’m not gonna crowd you. Just don’t ever shut me out. Not from our kid. Not again.”
She stared at me for a long moment before nodding, something like hope flickering in her eyes.
“Would you come with me?” she asked. “To the doctor?”
“Damn right I would.”
She didn’t hesitate—not even for a second. She pulled out her phone right there at the table, scrolling for the clinic number with her thumb trembling slightly. “Done. Our appointment is set for next week.”
And I just sat there, memorizing her all over again—barefoot, determined, fierce in her softness—and I knew without a doubt:
