Page 61 of Tempted By the Broken Cowboy
“Maybe,” Hank says, “but he needed someone to believe in him first.”
My throat tightens. Beck is watching me like I’m the only person in the room, and I can’t breathe for a second.
Then Jace breaks the silence, popping a grape into his mouth. “Well, before this turns into a Hallmark movie, can we remember that I’m coughing up fifty million dollars for his transformation?”
Groans circle the table. Ella shakes her head. “Jace, you’d talk business at a funeral.”
“It’s called efficiency.”
“It’s called insufferable,” Beck mutters, earning another ripple of laughter.
And just like that, the heaviness lifts. The Morgans go back to teasing, trading stories, filling the kitchen with warmth. I smile into my coffee, feeling that dangerous spark again—the one that whispers this isn’t just a job anymore. This is a life I could want.
And that realization both thrills and terrifies me.
“Careful, Quinn,” Ella says, sliding the fruit bowl toward me with a grin. “If you survive too many of these breakfasts, you might never want to leave.”
“Maybe that’s the plan,” Beck drawls, waggling his eyebrows at me.
“Smooth, little brother,” Jace says dryly. “Real smooth.”
I bite back a laugh, trying to focus on spooning melon onto my plate instead of how warm my cheeks feel.
“Don’t listen to them,” Hank chimes in, his deep voice cutting through the chatter. “We could use more level-headed folks around here. Someone’s gotta balance out these clowns.”
“Hey!” Jace protests.
“Accurate,” Beck says at the same time, earning himself a glare from his brother.
The table bursts into laughter again. I find myself laughing too, easier than I have in a long time. It’s strange how quickly this family has folded me into their orbit. I came here to keep Beck from imploding, to make sure the Morgans didn’t lose their precious heir to scandal, but somewhere along the way, it’s become more than that.
The meal winds down in a haze of chatter—Ella excusing herself to handle ranch calls, Jace leaving with a muttered promise to “save the ranch from itself,” and Hank heading out to check on the hands since Zane, the foreman, is away on his honeymoon, dragging Beck along with him.
He blows me a kiss on the way out, following it with a wink that leaves me a blushing mess.
One by one, the Morgans scatter, until the kitchen is quiet again, the last of the laughter fading into the morning air.
And that’s when it hits me. The quiet feels heavier than the noise.
I sit alone, fingers curled around my coffee cup, staring at the empty chairs. Two months. Two months of living here, of watching Beck transform from the reckless man everyone had written off into… this. A man who looks at me like I matter.
Our engagement is still technically fake, a convenient story spun to salvage my reputation with the committee. But sitting here, in the afterglow of breakfast and Hank’s rare praise, I can’t help but imagine what it would be like if it were real. If this family really became mine. If Beck wasn’t just a man I was hired to help, but the man I chose.
The thought makes my chest ache—equal parts joy and fear. Because love, real love, means risk. And I’ve never been one to gamble with my heart.
Still, as I hear Beck’s boots on the porch and feel that pull in my chest again, I know one thing for certain: I’m already in deeper than I planned. And there’s no turning back now.
I can still feel the weight of his words in my chest. I love you. He said it without hesitation or fear, like he had been waiting eons to let it loose. And the way he looked at me—God, I’ve never seen anyone so sure of something.
I wish I could be that brave.
Because I do love him. Every bone in my body knows it, every heartbeat gives me away. But the words sit like glass in mythroat—sharp and dangerous, ready to cut me open if I let them out.
It isn’t him I doubt. Not anymore. Beck has proven himself to me a thousand times over, in the little things and the big ones. The man who once seemed reckless and selfish now wakes up early just to make me coffee, or takes the long way back from the stables because he knows I love the view. He doesn’t hide from the hard conversations, not with his family or with me. He’s the most present version of himself I’ve ever seen.
No, it’s me I don’t trust. Me, and this gnawing fear that if I give in fully, I’ll lose myself. Love has never been safe. It’s messy, unpredictable, and it strips you bare. And I’ve spent so long building walls, carefully stacking brick after brick, that tearing them down feels like inviting disaster. I’ve always been career-oriented, never thinking about love or marriage, until Beck.
So instead of saying it back, I love him quietly. In the way I linger too long in his arms, the way I memorize the curve of his smile when he thinks I’m not looking, and the way my whole body softens when he calls me darlin’.
