Chestnut Ridge

Kershaw Ranch

Sun wasn’t even all the way up yet, just smearing gold across the ridge like it was tryin’ to wake the world gentle. I’d been out since before dawn — reins in one hand, coffee in the other — checking the south fence line and pretending the quiet didn’t feel like a blessing.

Then I heard it.

Gravel crunchin’. Too smooth an engine. Too damn shiny a sound for my land.

Didn’t look up. Didn’t have to. That kind of SUV don’t belong out here unless trouble’s ridin’ shotgun.

One of my ranch hands whistled low behind me. “Uh… boss? You see that?”

I didn’t bother hiding the irritation. “’Course I see it. I ain’t blind.”

The SUV rolled to a stop like it was afraid to get dirty. Door opened.

And out stepped Briar Rose.

My whole damn spine went tight.

She looked like she always does — gorgeous and perfect, like she belonged everywhere and nowhere, but mostly on big stages and red carpets. What were we thinkin’, believin’ we should ever have been a couple? Damn fools, both of us. Me, the ranch boy who never wanted to be anything else. Her, the woman who could walk into a storm and come out dry. Clothes too clean for this land. Eyes too bright for someone who’s broken my heart a hundred times and tried again more times than either of us will admit.

My kryptonite since we were kids. My undoing once we were grown. Well… until Amy. Now I’m mostly immune. I love my wife — Amy, who changed my whole damn life. She and I just fit, like peas in a pod, in a way Bri and I never could. Amy and I don’t fight. We don’t always agree, sure, but we talk it out — sometimes a little hotter than we mean to, mostly me with my damn temper — but it never turns ugly.

With Bri… when it was good, it was great. When it was bad, it was nuclear. Explosive. Really, really bad.

And look — I’d never hit a woman, mind ya — but we sure as hell did our share of pushin’ and pullin’, shovin’ and swattin’. Two firecrackers with short fuses and no brakes. We loved each other hard and fought even harder, and that ain’t a way to live, not for either of us. Folks were shocked when we finally called it quits for good, but truth is, we both finally pulled our heads outta our rears and smelled the damn roses. I know we’re both glad we did. No more standin’ in our own ways.

Bri never could love this land, this ranch, this horse business the way I do. It’s in my blood — always has been — and she never understood why I couldn’t just up and leave it all behind.

Amy… now Amy was born and raised in the city, but she became a horse rancher’s wife better than most women born into it. She took to it all just natural. Couldn’t cook worth a damn at first, barely knew which way to face on a horse, and now she’s one of us in every way — knows all a person needs to know and then some. She’s a damn good cook, a great mother, and the best wife and partner and lover a man could ever wish for.

Gawd, I love my Amy. She’s everythin’ I ever wanted, everythin’ I ever needed — and all the things I didn’t even know I wanted or needed ‘til she went and gave ’em to me.

Funny thing is, life don’t ever let you stay in that soft place long. Not mine, anyway. Soon as I get to thinkin’ about how good I got it now, somethin’ always comes along to remind me of the parts that still rub me raw. And in this case, of course it had to be Dr. Bradford Goddamn Cunningham.

Brad now stepped out behind Briar Rose — the doctor, the good man. Mr. Perfect. Mr. Big & Rich. Mr. Fingernails‑on‑Chalkboard. I don’t hate him. Don’t like him either. Mostly tolerate him on account of the kids. Still bothers me that my daughter Briony loves him so much. She’s my little girl, my daughter, not his. He’s got his own stable full of kids — why’s he need one of mine?

Speakin’ of his stable worth of kids — his youngest three, all of ’em teens now, spilled outta that damn SUV like clowns out a circus car.

Nathaniel first — tall, handsome in that Brindleton‑Bay‑affluent‑kid way, blond curls just like his mama’s warm honey shade, still a bit lanky but startin’ to fill out. And those eyes — that real light seaglass green — all Bri, through and through.

Then Charley — the middle one, from that wife Brad had wedged between his two rounds with Bri — earbuds in, attitude set to permanent “don’t,” not hearin’ a damn thing unless she wanted to.

And Eden — the baby at thirteen — already lookin’ offended by the dust in the air. Just like her mother. All Bri. Even looked like Bri more than Brad.

Nate’s the only one who even halfway favors Brad — mostly the height — but the rest? That boy’s his mama’s son, no denyin’ it. Got the curls from Brad, sure, but other than that, a man has to wonder if Brad was even present at the conception of any of this brood.

I muttered, “Lord help me. The whole damn parade.”

Hoofbeats behind me. Beau.

“Pa… ya see that?”

I shot him a look sharp enough to cut wire. “Boy, if one more person asks me that, I’m liable to start swingin’. Y’all think I’m blind?! ’Course I see yer mother and her whole fam‑damn‑ily, and I know that ain’t good. We both know they don’t come here just to visit with us.”

Beau snorted, pushing his hat back as he shifted his grip on Patches’ reins — the big white‑and‑patched stallion pawing at the dirt like he felt the tension too. “Reckon they’re here for somethin’.”

Well, yeah. Bri, Brad, and that whole crowd didn’t like this place enough to show up unless it was important. So I braced for it.

I nudged Maverick forward — my dark bay stallion tossing his head once before settling — Beau falling in beside me with Patches. We rode slow toward the SUV, dust curling around us, the morning light catching on the chrome like it didn’t belong in this world. When we reached it, we both swung down — boots hitting dirt in perfect unison — and waited, reins in hand, the horses shifting behind us.

She walked toward me slow, careful — like she knew I was a skittish horse liable to bolt or bite.

But the second her eyes landed on Beau, her whole face lit up.

“Baby!” she said, arms already open as she veered right past me. “Get over here and hug your mama.”

Beau froze like a deer in headlights — big, grown ranch man or not, he never quite knew what to do with Bri’s full‑force affection — but he stepped into her arms anyway. She squeezed him like she was tryin’ to make up for every weekend she didn’t get with him growin’ up.

“Ma… you’re squeezin’ the life outta me,” he muttered, but he didn’t pull away.

Only after she’d kissed his cheek and smoothed his hair like he was still ten did she turn back to me.

“Jackson,” she said, soft as a memory.

I didn’t answer. Didn’t trust my voice not to betray somethin’ I’d spent years buryin’.

Brad stepped forward — all calm, polished, steady, like he was the damn mayor of common sense.

“We came to talk to you and Beau.”

My jaw tightened on instinct. Man couldn’t walk onto my land without my hackles goin’ up. Too put‑together. Too sure of himself. Too… Brad.

“Yeah, I figured that much. Talk about what?” I asked, already offended. Did he think I was dumb? Like I couldn’t count to three or somethin’?

Briar Rose swallowed, glancing at Beau, then back at me.

“It’s Briony,” she said. “She’s gettin’ married. To Luc. In Bellacorde. And she wants you there. Both of you. Everyone else has RSVP’d except you two. Since we were already in the area, we figured we’d come talk to you. Jackson… I know all your reasons not to go, but for this? You have to.”

Everything in me went still.

Briony. My girl. My baby. My oldest daughter. And while I had three now, she’d always be special — same as her brother, the kid who first made me a father. But sweet Briony… the twin I didn’t get to raise. Her mama’s spittin’ image. The one who grew up in San Sequoia while Beau stayed here with me.

She was gettin’ married. I knew it was comin’, but hearin’ it like this — dust on my boots, sweat on my back, her mother standin’ there makin’ too much damn sense — made guilt settle heavy in my chest.

I wasn’t palace material. Hell, I wasn’t even nice‑restaurant material most days.

And while I’d met her groom a few times — and had to admit I didn’t dislike him, good handshake, looked at my daughter like she hung the moon — I didn’t wanna embarrass either of them by not knowin’ some rule. Some bow. Some title. Some fancy‑ass protocol.

Among all that aristocracy, my family would stick out like a longhorn in a china shop.

Beau let out a low whistle. “Well, damn.”

My throat worked once, twice. “…Bellacorde? I don’t know, Bri…”

“It’s important to her,” Bri said. “She wants you there. She wants her daddy to walk her down the aisle. She’s independent as hell — so if she WANTS the old tradition, you better listen.”

Those words hit harder than any punch I’d ever taken. And Brad nodding along like he was the authority on fatherhood made my jaw clench.

“Jackson,” he said, all calm and righteous. “If either of my daughters asked me that, I’d move mountains. You’d break Briony’s heart if you don’t show up.”

There it was. That Brad tone. Like he was the sheriff of good decisions and I was some half‑wild dim-witted ranch mutt who needed correctin’.

And the worst part? Briony adored him. Always had. He understood her world — the travel, the etiquette, the city life — all the things I couldn’t give her. All the things I didn’t even know how to talk about without feelin’ like a damn fool.

She’d run to him with questions she never asked me. Looked at him like he had all the answers all the time. And every time, it twisted somethin’ sharp in my gut.

I muttered, “Why? Why me? You both know I ain’t right for that job. She’s marryin’ into damn royalty — ya really think they wanna see me struttin’ down that aisle with her? Nah. I’m thinkin’ they’d rather pretend I didn’t even exist than go flauntin’ me in front of all them fancy folks.”

Briar Rose stepped closer — slow, soft, careful — the way she always did when she was about to cut deeper than she meant to.

“And that is where you’re wrong,” she whispered. “She wants you there. And Luc… Luc wants whatever makes Briony happy. Jackson, you’re her father. She loves you — even if you don’t always see it.”

She stepped a little closer, voice low, careful, like she was handling something breakable. “This is a once‑in‑a‑lifetime moment for her. And yes, I know — everyone here except Beau has been married more times than we care to admit — but Briony isn’t like that. She loves Luc. Luc loves her. And there’s none of the mess or interference we all had to deal with. They’re solid. They’re steady. The way it should be. And she wants you to be part of that.”

I swallowed hard.

She kept goin’, voice steady. “We spoke to the young couple. Neither of them care if you screw up. Luc’s at the top of the food chain in Bellacorde — hell, all of Ondarion. If he wants you there and anyone has a problem with anything you do, it’ll be a problem for them, not him or you or any of us. He made that very clear already.”

I looked away, jaw working.

Damn woman. Damn truth. Damn heart.

Beau and I stood there a moment, both of us processing — Maverick and Patches shifting behind us, snorting like they felt the tension too. Briony. Gettin’ married. In Bellacorde of all places. Shit was gettin’ real.

Then Bri planted her hands on her hips, eyes bright with mischief.

“And by the way, hello Jackson, nice to see you. What’s that? Nice to see me too? I look good, you say? Why thank you. How about a hug?”

I huffed out a laugh. “Count me out. I ain’t startin’ trouble with the husband.”

Bri arched a brow. “Since when?”

“Since Amy.”

Beau snorted. “Pa’s scared of Amy.”

I flipped him off without lookin’, which made Bri laugh loud enough to echo off the barn. Behind us, Maverick tossed his head at the noise, snorting sharp, and Patches sidestepped once like he wasn’t sure whether to spook or show off.

Briar Rose’s eyes flicked to the horses — old habits — and she reached out without thinkin’, fingers brushing Maverick’s neck in that soft, practiced way she used to calm her thoroughbreds. Brad did the same beside her, slow and steady, palm glidin’ down Patches’ shoulder like he’d been born doing it.

Bri kept talkin’ while her hands worked, voice low and even, the horses settling under her touch.

“Now that I believe!” she said, brightening. “I liked her at first sight. Bring her. She’ll keep you straight.”

She paused, squintin’ at Beau like she was tryin’ to see through his skull.

“And you bring… what was her name again? That girl you’ve been datin’ since high school — the one I have still not met, even though I asked — begged — a million times?”

Beau’s face fell, all the light drainin’ out of him at once.

“Cheyenne,” he said quietly. “And no need to bother. We’re… through.”

Briar Rose gasped like someone shot her. “Oh, Beau! No. I’m so sorry, baby!”

She wrapped him up in one of those mama hugs that made grown men feel five years old again, kissing his temple. Beau stood there stiff as a fence post, ranch hands watchin’ from the distance, tryin’ not to grin.

“It’s fine, Mom,” he muttered. “Wasn’t anything sappy and sobby, was mutual. Just wasn’t feelin’ right anymore. Chey and I still talk, just ain’t… ya know… romantic no more.”

Bri cupped his face. “So… you will come to your sister’s wedding? Talk some sense into your father.”

Then she smiled — that sly, mother‑knows‑exactly‑what‑she’s-doing smile.
“And who knows, Beau… maybe we’ll find you a pretty girl while we’re there. The place will be full of elegant young women. Might be good for you.”

Beau snorted. “Yeah, right. Me? At a royal weddin’ to find myself a girl? I’m too poor to pay attention, Ma. Ain’t a single one of them fancy girls been sittin’ around waitin’ for somebody like me to come callin’.”

I rubbed the back of my neck, feelin’ the weight of it all.

“Bri, I ain’t nothin’ for a palace. Neither is Beau. And ya already know my dad and Izzy ain’t goin’. And I got the ranch. And no money for such trips. And I don’t want someone else payin’ for us. Tell Briony I love her and I’ll see her when she comes back in town. Or in San Sequoia.”

Briar Rose gave me that look — the one that meant she was thinkin’, schemin’, plottin’, and I was about to get steamrolled by a five‑foot‑seven hurricane in heels.

Then she turned on her heel.

“Okay,” she said. “I’ll talk to the one actually calling the shots here.”

She started walkin’ toward the house, hips swayin’.

Beau and I stared after her, then at each other, then back at her again — blank as two cows starin’ at a new gate.

Then it hit me.

“Amy. Ah hell no!”

I slapped Maverick’s reins into Beau’s chest hard enough to make him grunt. “Put up the horses — we clearly got guests and trouble incoming.”

Then I damn near tripped over my own boots takin’ off after her.

“Bri, come on — don’t ya bother her with such nonsense!”

She ignored me completely, marchin’ up the steps like she owned the place.

The cabin door swung open. I caught my ex‑wife by the arm, she tried to pull away, and we ended up wrestlin’ right there on the porch — two idiots tanglin’ like we were fifteen again, dust flyin’, boots slippin’, me tryin’ not to cuss loud enough for the whole damn county to hear.

And there stood Amy — hands on her hips, hair in a messy bun — lookin’ at us like we were two grade‑schoolers caught fightin’ behind the bleachers. Only difference was, back then I didn’t have a bad knee and a mortgage.

Before I could say a word, Bri pointed at me like she was tattlin’.

“Amy, tell your husband he needs to go to his oldest daughter’s wedding!”

I threw my hands up. “It’s in Bellacorde! We ain’t got the income for that, ya know that! Tell her, Ames!”

Bri shot back, “She will only get married once! To a Sovereign Prince! Amy, explain this to your husband!”

Amy blinked once. Twice. Then sighed — that long, city‑girl‑turned‑country‑woman sigh that meant she was about to solve the problem whether we liked it or not.

“Guys…” she said, stepping aside and motioning us in. “Let’s talk like adults before the neighbors think y’all are auditioning for a soap opera.”

And just like that, I knew I was doomed.

Because if Briar Rose was my kryptonite… Amy was the woman who could talk me into anything.

Before I could even get my boots over the threshold, Amy leaned past me and hollered toward the yard like she’d been runnin’ this ranch her whole life:

“Beau! Cunningham brood! Brad! Yes, you — over here, all of you, inside NOW!”

Beau didn’t hesitate — twenty‑one, built like a barn door, but still straightened up like a soldier. “Yes, ma’am,” he called, already headin’ for the porch.

Nate, Charley, and Eden froze mid‑whisper like they’d been caught sneakin’ out. Then, without a single complaint, they shuffled toward the cabin in a neat little line. Even Charley didn’t sass — which told me Amy had hit her serious tone.

Brad, though… Brad had to try.

He lifted a hand, polite as ever. “Amy, we really should be on our way. We’ve got a flight to catch, and—”

Amy didn’t even blink.

“Oh, hush,” she said, sweet as honey but firm as barbed wire. “I made coffee. There’s fresh peach cobbler coolin’ on the counter. Y’all can’t spare an hour to sit yourselves down and visit? Because you will be late for your own damn private jet? Really? Is that what you are telling me?”

Brad opened his mouth again — and I swear I saw the exact moment he realized he’d lost.

“No, of course we have time for a brief visit,” he muttered, stepping inside like a man who’d just been out‑ranked by a five‑foot‑six general in worn denim.

I couldn’t help it. A grin tugged at my mouth.

Dr. Bradford Cunningham, shut down by my wife — cut down to size to fit easy into a matchbox. A gift straight from the heavens.

Then I caught Bri’s glare — hot enough to scorch paint. Lord, she was fumin’, eyes sparkin’ like she wanted to scalp me with a butter knife. And that just made my grin stretch wider. I lived for that look — her all riled up, me gettin’ under her skin without even tryin’.

And then Amy’s stare hit me — sharp as a spur, direct as a thrown horseshoe — the kind that said wipe that smirk off your face before I do it for you.

I straightened up so fast my spine popped.

Behind them everyone filed in, quiet as church mice, the smell of coffee and warm cobbler drifting through the cabin like a peace treaty.

And me?

I stood there knowin’ damn well I was about to get talked into somethin’ I’d sworn I wasn’t gonna do.

Because Amy had that tone. That calm, steady, unshakeable tone.

And when she used it?
Even the horses listened.

“Okay,” she said, wiping her hands on a towel after serving the coffee and cobbler. “Now someone tell me why my husband and his ex‑wife are wrestlin’ on the porch like two drunk raccoons.”

Bri pointed at me again. “He won’t come to Briony’s wedding!”

I threw my hands up. “It’s in Bellacorde! That’s halfway ’round the damn world! And we ain’t got the money for that kinda trip!”

Brad cleared his throat. “It’s not really halfway—”

I shot him a look. “Brad. Best shut yer mouth while ya still can.”

But Brad didn’t. Of course he didn’t.

“If she were one of my daughters,” he said, steady as a sermon, “I’d move heaven and earth to be there. To walk her down the aisle. To give her away. To support her.”

Everything in me went hot and sharp.

I stepped toward him so fast the air in the room changed. Chairs scraped. Briar Rose’s breath caught. Amy stiffened beside me, ready to grab my arm if she had to.

“Yeah, but ya see—she ain’t one of yours. Been tellin’ ya that for years now.” My voice dropped low, rough, the kind that makes a man rethink his next sentence. “She is my daughter. Mine.”

Brad opened his mouth — mistake.

I stepped in closer, eyes locked on him, heat rolling off me so strong the whole room felt tight around the edges.

“So don’t you dare talk like you know what it’s like bein’ her father. You don’t. You never have. But I do.”

I hit my chest with my fingertips — once, hard.

“I am here daddy.”

Another jab, sharper, right over my heart.

“Me.”

A third, full force, my voice scraping low.

“I am her father. Not you.”

I leaned in, eyes blazing.

“And you will never be.”

Brad blinked — surprised, steady — and that steadiness was the match to the fuse.

He opened his mouth again. “I never said I was her father. Only that I love her like my own daughter.”

That did it.

I shoved him — a hard, flat‑palmed push to the chest — not enough to hurt him, but enough to make him stumble a step back. Chairs rattled. Bri gasped. Amy’s hand flew to my arm.

“She don’t need you to love her!” I snapped, stepping right back into the space he’d lost, shoulders squared, breath tight. “I love her enough for the both of us! You think you’re the damn gold standard? You think you’re the one she needs? You think you get to judge me on what kinda father I am?”

“Jackson—” Bri warned, voice tight, stepping in and grabbing my arm like she meant to hold me back.

I shook her off without even lookin’, too locked on Brad to care. Heat crawled up my neck, that old jealousy I hated flarin’ up like dry brush in August.

But I wasn’t done.

“You got your own kids,” I barked. “A whole damn brood. So don’t you stand in my house and tell me how to love mine.”

Bri moved in front of me then — small but stubborn — palm on my chest like she could push me back. “Jackson, stop—”

I didn’t. I leaned right past her, shoulders squared, ready to take another step toward Brad—

—and that’s when Amy’s hands came up, firm and sure, catchin’ my face between her palms and turnin’ me toward her like she was redirectin’ a bull.

Her eyes locked on mine. Steady. Unshaken. The only thing in the room stronger than my temper.

“Okay,” she said, voice low but sharp enough to slice through the whole damn house. “Let’s breathe. One at a time. And Jackson, please remember to be a courteous host, especially when there are children around.”

She gestured at Brad’s brood, then nodded behind me.

I turned — and there they were.

Savannah, twelve years old, jeans torn and dirty, braid crooked, lookin’ at me like she was assessin’ whether her daddy had the sense God gave a fencepost. Arms crossed. Chin up. Pure ranch‑kid judgment.

And Laney, almost five, big blue eyes wide as saucers, thumb in her mouth — the way she still did when she was tired, no matter how gently we tried to wean her off it — starin’ up at me like I’d personally let the sun fall outta the sky.

My stomach dropped clean through the floorboards.

“Ah… shucks,” I muttered, hat sliding right off my damn head as I scrambled to pick it up. “Girls, uh… Daddy was just— we were just—”

Laney blinked slow, all wounded‑angel sweetness.

Savannah didn’t blink at all. She just squinted harder.

And just like that, every ounce of cowboy swagger I had evaporated like spit on a griddle.

Savannah tilted her head. “Daddy… why ya yellin’ at Brad again?”

Before I could answer, Laney’s face crumpled like a wet paper bag — and then she wailed. Loud. Heart‑stabbin’. The kind that made me feel like I’d kicked a puppy.

I reached for her. “C’mere, baby girl, Daddy didn’t mean—”

She jerked back, lip wobblin’, and shook her head.

And then — like pourin’ gasoline on a bonfire — Brad crouched down, gentle and soft‑voiced.

“Hey, sweetheart… you okay?”

Laney went straight to him. Right into his arms. Like it was the most natural damn thing in the world.

My jaw clenched so hard my molars squeaked. Heat crawled up my neck, fury and shame tanglin’ like barbed wire.

But then I caught Amy’s eyes — that quiet, razor‑sharp reminder glare — and I swallowed it all down.

Every spark. Every curse. Every damn thing I wanted to say. Not to mention all the things I wanted to do to that man right about now.

I stood there stiff as a fencepost, tryin’ real hard not to look like a man who’d just been out‑dadded in his own house.

Before anyone could speak, the front door creaked again.

Cody walked in — hat crooked, shirt wrinkled, lookin’ like he’d been dragged backward through a long night. The man had the permanent exhaustion of someone juggling a toddler and a relationship held together with duct tape and prayer. I swear he could just smell it whenever Amy made cobbler, every single time he would just suddenly appear. Another useless talent he had.

He stopped short. “Howdy y’all, ah I just knew ya made yer cobbler, Ames. Oh, hello there Bri and everyone. Damn, what kinda party invite did I miss?”

Briar Rose lit up like a Christmas tree. “Oh! Perfect timing. Cody, honey — you’re coming too. Briony would absolutely want you there.”

He blinked. “Comin’ where? What?”

“Bellacorde,” Bri said. “For your niece’s wedding.”

Cody rubbed his face. “Bri… I got a toddler. And Tansy and I ain’t exactly… y’know… stable right now. I’m still workin’ on all that. Can’t exactly just up and leave.”

Charley Cunningham muttered without looking up from her phone, “A few days away might make the heart grow fonder. Might land with her then, cowboy.”

Eden piped up, bright as ever. “Or bring them! You won’t strike out at a royal palace, right?”

Nate groaned. “Please don’t bring them. We already got the adult toddlers — add the real toddlers and it’s over.” He added his teen snark, barely dodging Cody’s swat with his cowboy hat.

Amy stepped in before the whole room caught fire.

“Alright,” she said, calm as a saint. “Let’s talk sense. Jackson — you love your daughter. You want to be there. Money’s the issue, not the want.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but she hit me with a look that’d stop a raging stallion mid‑buck. I ain’t the brightest bulb in the barn, but I ain’t stupid enough to step into that trap.

“And Bri,” Amy continued, “you know Jackson’s pride is bigger than this ranch. Don’t poke it unless you’re ready for him to dig his heels in.”

Briar Rose huffed. “I’m not pokin’ anything. I’m stating facts.”

“Uh‑huh,” Amy said. “And I’m stating that we’re gonna figure this out without y’all reenacting your teenage years.”

Beau snorted. “Too late.”

I flipped him off again. Amy smacked my hand without lookin’.

Then she turned to Bri, voice softening.

“Bri… Briony deserves her daddy there. And Jackson deserves to see his girl get married — and to walk her down the aisle, if that’s even on the table. I know girls nowadays don’t want to feel like property, yada yada. So let’s figure out the logistics before we start throwin’ punches, verbal or otherwise.”

She shifted her gaze.

“And Brad, I love how great you are with kids, and I adore you, but can you please put my kid down before my husband’s head blows off? You know better than to out‑dad a dad in his own home. And we both know you know. So as much as I appreciate clever and subtle digs, can we be done now?”

Brad nodded. Didn’t argue. Just gently set Laney on the floor. Amy scooped her up and placed her in my arms.

I’ll never know if that was her sidin’ with me, takin’ a stand against the enemy… or if she just knew I wouldn’t lose my temper while holdin’ my kid.

I sighed, rubbing the back of my neck.

“Look… I ain’t sayin’ I don’t wanna go. I’m sayin’ I don’t want charity. And I ain’t lettin’ nobody pay my way.”

Amy stepped closer, eyes warm and steady.

“Baby… nobody said charity. We said family. I hope nobody here takes this the wrong way, but we have a bunch of rich bitches in this house right now, and Jackson, Cody, and I are not it. Briony is marrying into one of the smallest but wealthiest kingdoms, so I think a little financial aid would be acceptable. Right?”

And damn it all… that hit harder than anything Briar Rose ever threw at me.

Cody leaned against the doorframe, lookin’ like he’d been through a war. Briar Rose clapped her hands like she’d won a prize.

“Yes! I always liked you, Amy. Jackson hit the damn lottery when he found you — or you him. Listen to your wife. And you too, Cody.”

“She ain’t my wife,” Cody muttered.

I groaned. “Shut up, Cody. Y’all are railroadin’ me.”

Amy smiled sweet as honey. “No, Jackson. We’re helpin’ you do what you already want to do. What we’re doing is taking your damn foolish pride out of the equation.”

And damn it… she was right.

Bri turned to me. Her face wasn’t gleeful anymore — she looked so much like that sixteen‑year‑old girl who once stood outside this very cabin, eyes wellin’ up when she told me she’d had surgery that might keep her from ever bein’ a mama. Brad’s father was breakin’ them up over it, and they were losin’ the fight in a landslide. That girl I’d already fallen for — and who wasn’t ready to admit she’d fallen for me too.

Same look now, tugging on my heartstrings as she leaned in.

“Listen, Jackson. Brad and I need some good news. Some happy moments. You know his son died. He left a widow and twin boys. We’ve been helping — our whole family has — but… without going into details, something happened, and now we may end up raising the twins, at least for the foreseeable future. Brad and I can take time off as we need. Lauren’s been helping while doing her ER residency — which is brutal — but it helped her reconnect with Blaine. That’s why we’re here. Lauren overdid it and collapsed. Brad and I talked Blaine into asking her to move in with him in DSV. She needs to be young now, after all that trauma. We just dropped her off at Blaine’s mansion, spent a few days there, saw Iris and Jas, but now we have to fly home to a home which feel emptier again. You are a father so you do understand that, right?”

She took a breath, steady but tired.

“The other grandparents are watching the twins right now and will when we fly to Briony’s wedding, but we would very much like to attend, celebrate and be happy for them and forget all the tragedy for a few days. Can you do that for all of us — and for Briony?”

“Pa!” Beau gave me that look — the one that said c’mon now, don’t screw this up. I also knew that his loyalty to me was flawless and if I didn’t go, he wouldn’t either, even though it would kill him.

I glanced around at all their faces and could read the only right answer in every single one of them. I looked at Amy last and the longest, then closed my eyes and nodded.

“Alright. If y’all can help us out financially a bit, I’ll make sure the ranch is looked after while we’re gone.”

Bri lit up like a damn Christmas tree, lunged forward, pulled me into a bear hug, planted a big kiss on my cheek, then spun on her heel and bolted for the door with her phone already in hand.

“Jackson! Come on, let’s tell your daughter!”

Amy nodded toward the door, winked, and smiled as I followed.

Passing Cody, I jabbed a finger in his face. “Quit grinnin’. Yer comin’. Dig out that fancy clothin’ Briony bought ya years back and see if yer rear still fits in it, fancy pants.”

Later that same day

The house was finally quiet.

The uninvited guests gone. Dishes done. Lights low. The kind of silence that only settles after a long day full of too many people and too many emotions.

I’d just kicked off my boots in the bedroom, toes grateful to be free, when Amy slipped in and closed the door behind her with a soft click.

“They’re down,” she whispered. “Savannah’s out cold, and even Laney finally gave up trying to set a new record on staying awake through every bedtime story I read her.”

I let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holdin’. “Thank God.”

She smiled — that slow, knowing smile that always hit me right in the ribs — and crossed the room toward me. Her hands slid up my chest, warm and sure, fingers curling into my shirt like she’d been waiting all damn day to touch me.

“Long day,” she murmured.

“Longest,” I said, voice low.

She rose onto her toes and kissed me — soft at first, then deeper, her mouth warm and hungry against mine. My hands found her waist, then her hips, then the small of her back, pulling her closer until there wasn’t a breath between us.

She pressed against me, slow and deliberate, and I felt her wanting me — not rushed, not frantic, just that quiet, certain need that always undid me.

“Ames…” I breathed against her mouth.

“Mm‑hmm,” she whispered, lips brushing mine, “don’t think. Just come here.”

We didn’t talk after that.

Didn’t need to.

Clothes found their way off in that lazy, familiar way of two people who know each other’s bodies like home. We made out slow, deep, unhurried — the kind of kissing that felt like sinking into warm water after a long day. And when we finally came together, it wasn’t wild or frantic — just right, the kind of heat that builds steady and sure until it crests and breaks like a wave.

Later, we lay tangled in the quiet, her head on my chest, my hand tracing slow circles along her spine. The window was cracked open, letting in the cool night air and the distant sound of crickets.

For a long time, neither of us spoke.

Then Amy whispered, soft as a secret:

“You did the right thing today.”

I swallowed, thumb brushing her shoulder. “Didn’t feel like it at the time. Felt like I was forced at gunpoint. Still don’t feel quite right.”

“It will,” she said. “This is gonna mean the world to your daughter. She’ll remember it for the rest of her life.”

I huffed out a breath. “I think nobody can help rememberin’ that mess. Ain’t made for no palaces. I’ll look like a monkey on a bicycle in all that fancy crap.”

She laughed quietly against my chest. “Maybe. But you’re her father and you will be there. And that’s what matters. She won’t give a shit about whether or not you fit in with the hoity-toities.”

I let the silence settle again, warm and heavy.

“Thank you,” I murmured. “For kickin’ me in the rear when I needed it. For remindin’ me what counts. I am such a damn fool sometimes, here I am rantin’ about how Briony always chooses Brad, and then almost lettin’ him be the one to give my daughter away because I am too damn proud to accept help. Damn me. If it were Beau it would’ve been bad, nobody walks their son down the aisle, but a daughter? Which father don’t walk their daughter down the aisle. Hell, me. And I got two more girls I’m gonna have to give away someday to some boy who ain’t got a chance in hell of livin’ up to my measures for them.”

She lifted her head, eyes soft in the dim light. “You love being a girl dad. Don’t you lie now. Beau is great, but your girls are sweet and make you smile like he never can.”

“Yeah… yer right. I do love havin’ girls. Ranchin’s rough enough — love comin’ home to sweetness. Even Savannah with all her tomboy ways is sweet sometimes. Havin’ kids is great. Me growin’ up in the system was hard. You know how it is — you grew up in an orphanage too. So havin’ kids and doin’ it right feels amazin’. Givin’ them all I was desperate for at their age… it almost undoes what all that did to me. Heals me, raisin’ healthy, good kids.”

Amy kissed my chest, slow and thoughtful, then pushed herself up.

“Come on,” she whispered. “Shower with me.”

I followed her, both of us slipping out of bed and padding across the floor. The bathroom filled with steam fast, warm and foggy, the kind of heat that loosened every tight place in my body. We stepped under the water together, her back against my chest, my hands on her hips, both of us quiet in that soft, intimate way that only comes after a long day and a long talk.

No rush. No heat this time. Just closeness. Just us.

When we stepped out, wrapped in towels, hair damp, skin warm, I started toward the bedroom — but Amy caught my wrist.

“Uh‑uh,” she murmured. “Kitchen.”

I blinked. “Ames… what—?”

“Just come.”

She tugged me along, bare feet soft on the floorboards. In the kitchen, she went straight to the cabinet, grabbed the whiskey, set a glass on the counter, and poured a generous amount. Then she turned and pressed it into my hand.

“Drink,” she said. “Just… drink it.”

I stared at her. “Amy, what the hell—”

“Jackson. Drink.”

So I did. The burn hit hard.

She didn’t say a word. Just reached into the drawer beside her, closed her hand around something, and set it on the counter between us.

A pregnancy test.

Positive.

My breath stopped clean in my throat.

I stared at it. Then at her. Then back at it.

My brain wasn’t braining.

I poured another drink. Downed it. Looked at the test again. Damn thing still said positive. Grabbed the bottle, set to pour — then thought better of it and drank straight from the damn bottle. Maybe that’ll change it to negative.

Amy plucked it out of my hand before I could finish half of it.

“Wow,” she said, one brow lifting. “Is that your reaction?”

“I am in shock,” I managed.

“Well, so was I,” she said, leaning her hip against the counter. “We talked about being done, but the surgeries are in San Sequoia and we kept puttin’ it off — work, kids, money, timing, all of it. Then my pill got delayed in the mail again, and I told you I was off it for a bit. And we both said a few times unprotected wouldn’t hurt — that at our age the odds were low.” She gave a helpless little shrug. “Turns out the odds weren’t that low. We kinda screwed ourselves here, honey, pun fully intended.”

Before I could answer, she reached for the bottle — not dainty, not hesitant — and took a long, bracing swallow like she was tryin’ to burn the shock out of her throat.

“Amy,” I said, stepping in, “hey—”

She went for another sip, but I caught her wrist gently, easing the bottle out of her hand.

“Uh‑uh,” I murmured, setting it aside. “No more of that. We may not exactly have planned for another kid, but we ain’t gonna hurt it now that it’s on the way.”

She opened her mouth — maybe to argue, maybe to laugh, maybe to cry — but I didn’t let her get a word out. I cupped her face and kissed her, deep and certain, the kind of kiss that said we’re in this together, no matter what. She melted into it, fingers curling in my towel, breath catching against my mouth like she’d been holding it since the moment she saw that test.

“How long… how long have you known?” I asked, staring at the test again.

She let out a slow breath. “This morning. I’ve just felt off for a few days — tired, queasy, not myself. Took the test right after my shower. I wasn’t hiding it, Jackson. I just… needed a minute to figure out how to tell you. Then the circus showed up, and honestly, I wasn’t sure I was gonna tell you yet at all after all that. But if we fly all the way to Ondarion for a wedding, not knowing how bad my morning sickness is gonna get this time around…I had to tell ya.”

When I finally pulled back, my forehead rested against hers.

“Ames… money’s tight, yeah, but we’ve kept everyone fed and clothed so far, we all got a roof over our heads. What’s one more mouth to feed, right? We both knew this could happen, we gambled on it and now we’re gettin’ the bill for being careless,” I brushed my thumb along her cheek, already running through the house in my head. “We’ll clear out the guest room. If folks come stay over, they can use the bunkhouse — it’s already fixed up from when Beau lived there. We’ll give that spare room to Laney, she’s gettin’ too big for the one we got her in and turn it back into a nursery. It’ll be tight, sure, but we’ll make it work.”

I let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding. “This ain’t bad. A surprise, definitely. Shock even. But… we’ll be okay.”

She softened at that — the kind of look that hits a man right in the ribs.

“I know,” she whispered. “We’ll figure it out. We always do.”

She hesitated then, eyes searching mine, voice quieter than before. “And Jackson… I wanted kids, plural. And I got them. Savannah may not be mine by blood, but she’s mine in every way that counts. And Laney… she made me a mama for real. But we’re stretched thin. Two little ones, a ranch, no money, barely enough time for us, as a couple… I’m happy. I’m grateful. But I’m also done.” She poked my chest lightly. “So, when we go in for the ultrasound, you are coming with me, by the way, I’m scheduling you to get snipped. This time for real.”

I blinked. “Snipped? Ames—”

Amy lifted a brow at me — that look that meant I was about to lose an argument I hadn’t even finished makin’.

“Jackson. We are not doing this again,” she said, calm as a surgeon but sharp enough to cut me clean through. “I can’t get birth control locally. The mail’s been late so many times it’s almost a new schedule. We keep running out of condoms, and I hate the way Earl looks at us when we ask if he has a new shipment. And those stupid jokes he cracks when it’s delayed? I’m done with that.”

She gestured around the kitchen — the boots by the door, the bills on the counter, the stove and fridge lookin’ like they was barely holdin’ on.

“We can’t keep gambling on this. And we can’t just give up having sex either, no Sir! One more kid puts us right on the edge of what we can handle — financially, physically, and with the ranch the way it is. We’re barely keeping up with the two we’ve got. Ranchhands coming and going, needing to get paid, Beau helping where he can, your dad and Cody pitching in, Izzy saving us in the kitchen… we’re stretched thin, baby. We’re at capacity. I wanna be excited, but I am also concerned.”

She stepped in close, fingers brushing my chest, right over my heart — soft, but not soft enough to let me wiggle out of it.

“I can’t get my tubes tied right now, and not for a while after givin’ birth. But I will. I promise. So, until then?” Her eyes locked on mine, steady as a fencepost. “You’ve got to take one for the team, babe. Snip, snip or there won’t be any more of what we just had.”

And there I was — a grown man, a rancher, a father, a man who’d stared down raging stallions, cougars, coyotes, rattlers and wildfires — suddenly feelin’ like the walls were closing in because my wife had just told me, in the gentlest voice imaginable, that my number was up.

I opened my mouth — ready with every typical male protest in the book — then shut it again. Rubbed the back of my neck. Let out a long breath.

“…yeah,” I muttered. “Guess I should, shouldn’t I?”

Her smile turned warm and triumphant. “Mm‑hmm. You absolutely should.”

I stared at her — still towel‑wrapped, still damp from the shower, looking like the most beautiful curveball life had ever thrown at me.

Then I laughed — a low, stunned, disbelievin’ sound — and pulled her into my arms, liftin’ her clean off the floor.

“Hell, Amy… I thought the only thing I was good at breedin’ was horses. Turns out I’m runnin’ a whole damn Kershaw stud program.”

She laughed into my shoulder, arms tight around my neck.

San Sequoia Medical Center

Connor had that look — the one he got when a chart didn’t match the labs or a resident had done something stupid. He leaned closer to the monitor, squintin’, then adjusted the angle, zoomed in, zoomed out, frowned. Then he checked Amy’s chart again — the one with the extra boxes they flagged for pregnancies past thirty‑five — and his mouth tightened just a fraction.

I’d known Connor since I was fifteen — man was already a damn doctor back then, some kinda genius who blew through high school and college like they were speed bumps, runnin’ around with my dad, Jack, patchin’ folks up and lookin’ way too young to be bossin’ grown men around — so I knew every damn version of that man’s face. And the one he was wearin’ now? That wasn’t “routine checkup.” That was “brace yourself, guys.”

None of it looked like the face of a man about to give me simple news. I mean, Amy and I knew we wasn’t spring chickens and this was gonna be one of those risk pregnancies — the lady at check‑in called it “geriatric,” which had Amy damn near go through the roof, so I ain’t touchin’ that with a ten‑foot pole — but all this to say, we both knew this was gonna be a bit on the rougher side compared to last time.

Hell, I already had two kids pushin’ twenty‑two, a preteen, and one stuck somewhere between toddler and grade‑school — and now here I was, about to have a baby again at forty‑eight with my thirty‑seven‑year‑old wife. Rough wasn’t waitin’ for the third trimester. Rough had already pulled up a chair and made itself right at home. Lord help me.

My arms were crossed so tight across my chest I could’ve cracked my own ribs. “Connor, why’re you lookin’ like that? Don’t look like that. Yer worryin’ Amy.”

“I’m not looking like anything,” he said — clean, clipped, West Coast neutral — which was a lie so bold it should’ve come with a malpractice disclaimer. “And Amy is fine.”

“I am not fine,” Amy shot back from the exam table, her voice already tremblin’. “You’re absolutely lookin’ like something. Just say it!”

Connor let out a long breath — the kind a man gives when he knows he’s about to change someone’s whole damn life.

“Jackson,” he said carefully, “you might wanna sit down.”

“I’m fine right here.”

“You sure? Because I strongly recommend you sit your ass down firmly. I don’t like you standing for this, buddy.”

“Connor!” I snapped, “dagnammit, jus’ spit it out.”

Amy’s voice cracked. “Connor! What is it!? Is the baby… ill? What is wrong with my baby?!”

He didn’t answer. Not right away. Instead he angled the monitor toward us, slow, like he was handling somethin’ fragile.

His finger tapped the screen once. Then again, a little lower.

“Amy,” he said gently, “nothing is wrong. It’s all fine. Everything looks healthy.”

He tapped again, off to the side. “And this,” he added, “isn’t uncommon for mothers in their late thirties.”

My stomach dropped. “What isn’t uncommon!? I don’t know what yer tappin’ at — all looks like a damn blur to me. Dammit, just give it to us straight already!”

Connor hesitated — and that hesitation was worse than anything he could’ve said. It was the kind of pause that meant whatever he was about to say was gonna rearrange my entire damn life.

He opened his mouth—

“What I was showing you… here, and here… is that there are two heartbeats and—”

—and I heard nothing more as the room tilted.

My knees gave out like someone’d unplugged me. I heard Amy scream as I hit the floor before I even knew I was fallin’ — and then I was gone into the comfortable numb.