Page 36 of Wylder Ranch
Saylor wants me to have my happy ending given the last ten years, during which I lost my parents one after the other and paid off their debts. But because of what I’ve been through, I am doomed to focus on practicalities.
Caution is my best friend.
It’s why it took me so long to track down Alex in the first place. It’s why I never returned his calls and deleted the messages he left on the store machine. My heart’s already been broken too many times.
“He’s been really kind,” I say eventually. “He didn’t have to do anything at all. I had four months to get used to Everly coming, and it wasn’t enough. He’s handled it way better than I did.”
“I still think it’s super romantic. But promise if you move over, you’ll bring me with you. The guys in Aspen are dull.”
I laugh. “That isn’t happening.”
It’s one thing I know for sure. I am never leaving Aspen. My parents lived there, and they built their house there. My life is there. I want Everly to grow up there like I did. Ski in the winter, hike in the summer.
Aspen is my home, and that’s not changing. Not forone hundred million dollars, not foranything.
Alex and I will have to figure things out when it comes to travel.
“Are you sure? It’s got to be more exciting than this place.” She laughs. “And there’s no Mike in England.”
I groan, dropping my face in my hand. “Oh no.”
“Nothing I can’t handle,” she replies without hesitation.
Mike is a guy I dated for a couple of weeks. He works for Joe at the Old Saloon, and we would often share shifts. After Alex left Aspen last Christmas and flew back to England, I threw myself into work. I told myself it was to clear the final few thousand dollars of my parents’ debt, but if I’m honest, it was mostly to forget Alex.
Part of that plan was dating Mike after he asked me out on New Year’s. It didn’t last long, and we made out once, after which I threw up. In hindsight, it was early morning sickness, but as my nausea increased, my desire to leave the house decreased, and I ended things.
Given nothing happened, I thought we’d laugh about it and stay friends. But once I discovered I was pregnant, things changed. His fragile ego had been dented, and since then, any chance he gets, he passes a comment about me, none of them complimentary.
“I’m sorry, Saylor.”
“Don’t worry about it, all I’m saying is maybe staying in England isn’t a bad idea.”
I don’t reply because the throb in my chest brings me back to reality, and I know I need to feed Everly before I get too sore. I started using a pump in Aspen, but since I had only planned to stay here for a few days, I packed light.
I’m tempted to ask Saylor to send it over, but it would probably be cheaper to buy one. When I catch her yawning, we say good night, then I go and see my daughter.
She’s staring up at the mobile above her crib, letting out happy gurgling sounds. I switch on the little ducks, and they spin around as a lullaby plays softly. Her big blue eyes widen, and the bottom of her sleep sack kicks out.
“You like that? You like these little ducks Alex bought you?”
Daddy.Daddy.I guess I have to get used to calling him that.
Lifting her out, I head back through and make quick work of unwrapping the swaddling, then change her diaper before she gets grouchy, before settling back into the rocking chair.
As she eats, I hear the floorboards creak in the hallway outside, which means Alex is awake.
From the brief house tour yesterday, I know his room is at the end. I wait to see if he comes to join us, but I’m kind of glad when he walks on by because after catching sight of myself in the mirror, I know I need to run a brush through my hair.
When I switch sides for Everly, the scent of coffee permeates under the door, and my saliva glands fill. I haven’t had much coffee since she came along. I’m a person who could happily hook themselves up to a caffeine drip, and I didn’t want to pass that along. I’ve somehow managed to limit myself to two small cups. But I can tell this is good coffee, and after Everly finishes feeding, I hurry to clean us both up.
And all the while I’m washing my face, brushing my hair, and cleaning my teeth, I tell myself it has nothing todo with Alex, before I head downstairs.
I stop short at the sight I’m greeted with and, in case I forgot, every memory of exactly why I was attracted to Alex the first time hits me like a Mack truck.
His back is to me, and he’s wearing nothing but a pair of pajama pants that sit so low on his narrow waist I can see the last of his summer tan line. In my deepest dreams of the past year, I thought my brain had exaggerated his incredible body—smooth skin, taut muscles, broad shoulders, and the deep crevasse of his spine, which I remember scratching my nails along—but standing before me, I have proof that I didn’t.
I’m quiet, so he doesn’t notice me as he follows a large black cat and a yellow Labrador into the pantry off the kitchen.
