POV Colt

Ivory’s taxi taillights disappeared down the drive, and I turned back to face three pairs of expectant eyes.

“So.” I crouched to their level, keeping my voice conspiratorial. “Your mama said bedtime’s at eight. But I happen to know there’s ice cream in the freezer, and I’m willing to take full blame if she finds out.”

Lily’s face lit up like Christmas morning. “You mean it? Real ice cream before bed?”

“Chocolate?” Luke asked, already bouncing on his heels.

Levi studied me with that quiet intensity that reminded me so much of myself at his age. “Mama will be mad if she finds out. She says sugar before sleep gives us bad dreams.”

“Then we keep it between us.” I held out my hand, pinky extended. “Deal?”

Three small pinkies wrapped around mine in solemn promise. We raided the freezer together, and I doled out modest portions despite their protests for more.

Bedtime went smoother than expected and by eight-thirty they were tucked beneath quilts that had probably covered their mother as a child, breathing deep and even.

I stood in the doorway, watching them sleep, and felt something crack open in my chest. A want so fierce it stole my breath.

Not just for Ivory, but for this—bedtime stories and goodnight kisses and the trust of small hearts.

The cottage felt different without Ivory’s presence. More intimate. Her scent lingered everywhere—that vanilla perfume that had haunted me for years, mixed with something uniquely her.

A photo album on the living room shelf caught my attention. Worn leather cover, edges soft from years of handling. I settled onto the couch and opened it across my lap.

The first pages showed three wrinkled infants, impossibly small. Ivory appeared in the next photograph, dark circles beneath her eyes, exhaustion carved into every line of her face.

But she was smiling. Holding all three babies against her chest like they were the most precious things in the world.

I turned page after page. The triplets grew before my eyes—first steps captured in blurry motion, birthday cakes with increasing numbers of candles, gap-toothed grins and scraped knees and first Halloween costumes.

Ryan also appeared in several photographs.

His arm around his sister. His nephews climbing over him like a jungle gym. Pride softening the stern features I remembered from our days working this ranch together.

My chest tightened at the images and Hank’s confession echoed through my memory.

How he and Ryan had pressured Ivory to terminate the pregnancy. How they’d told her she was ruining her life, throwing away her future for children she couldn’t even name a father for.

Seeing Ryan’s genuine affection for those children now complicated everything I thought I knew about the man.

People changed. Mistakes could be forgiven. But the knowledge of what Ivory had faced alone—the judgment, the pressure, the isolation—burned in my gut. Made me want to punch something.

Preferably Kameron, for leaving. Or myself, for doing the same.

“Colt?”

Small footsteps interrupted my thoughts and I saw Luke standing in the hallway entrance. His face pale in the dim light and hands twisted in the hem of his pajama shirt.

“Hey there, little man.” I set the album aside and kept my voice gentle. “What’s got you out of bed?”

“Bad dream.” His voice came out small and shaky. “Can’t go back to sleep.”

“Want to tell me about it?” I patted the cushion beside me, offering without demanding.

He shook his head and climbed onto the couch, pressing close to my side. His small body trembled against mine.

I didn’t push. Some fears couldn’t be spoken aloud without giving them more power.

Instead, I wrapped an arm around his shoulders and let the silence hold us both.

“When’s Mama coming home?” The anxiety threading through his question made my chest ache. “She’s been gone a long time. What if something happened? What if she doesn’t come back?”

“Your mama’s at Marisol’s birthday party, remember? She’s having fun with her friend, eating cake, probably laughing at stories about all the trouble they got into when they were young. She’ll be home before you know it.”

This could be my son. Mine.

When did she last let loose? When did she last get to be young instead of responsible?

My body responded instantly. Every nerve ending screamed at me to give her what she wanted. To lay her back on that bed and F**k her the way I’d been dreaming about for weeks.

But I remembered another night.

Another kiss fueled by alcohol and poor judgment. I remembered waking and finding myself consumed with shame for taking what she might not have offered sober.

I broke the kiss with effort that cost me everything.

“Not like this.” My voice came out rough, strained with the control it took to refuse her. “When we do this again, I want you clear-headed. I want you choosing me in daylight, not reaching for me because wine lowered your defenses.”

“But I want you now…” Her hands found my chest, sliding beneath my shirt to touch bare skin. “Please, Colt. I know what I want.”

“And I want to believe that. But we’ll talk about this when you’re sober. When you can look me in the eye without wine blurring the edges.”

She wouldn’t settle. Her body pressed against mine, warm and willing and impossible to resist. So I guided her to the bed and lay down beside her, pulling her close without taking what she offered.

Just holding her, feeling her breath against my neck, her body slowly relaxing into sleep.

“Wanted you for so long…” she mumbled against my chest. “Both of you…”

My blood went cold. Both. Kameron.

Even now, even reaching for me, she wanted him too.

I lay awake for hours, holding her while she slept, tortured by questions. Did she still want him? Had she already been with him again? Was I fighting for something I’d already lost?

When dawn finally came, I eased away from her sleeping form. But I couldn’t leave. Not again. So I returned to the couch, to the photo album, to the evidence of everything I’d missed.

The children found me there when they woke, and their easy acceptance of my presence was both balm and torture.

Because I was starting to realize the truth—I didn’t just want Ivory. I wanted all of it. The morning chaos, the bedtime stories, the bad dreams and ice cream secrets.

I wanted the family I’d walked away from before I even knew it existed.