POV Ivory

Morning light cut through my curtains.

I lay still, piecing together the fragments of last night. Wine-loose tongue. Throwing myself at Colt. Begging him to touch me. My hands fumbling with his shirt like some desperate, touch-starved creature.

The shame burned so hot I wanted to crawl out of my own skin.

Kameron’s hands were still fresh in my memory from days ago. Yet last night I’d reached for Colt without hesitation, my body betraying me completely.

What kind of woman does this make me?

The house sat quiet when I forced myself from bed. A note on the counter—Dad apparently had taken the triplets to town for breakfast. Thank God. I needed the silence to piece together what remained of my dignity.

I found Colt on the main house porch, coffee in hand and morning sun painting him golden.

“About last night…” The words tasted like sawdust. “I owe you an apology. I was out of line, and I’m mortified by my behavior.”

Colt turned, his hazel eyes soft. “Nothing to apologize for, Ivory.”

“I literally threw myself at you.” Heat crawled up my neck. “Begged you to… God, you must think I’m pathetic.”

“Stop right there.” He set down his mug. “I turned you away not because I didn’t want you. I turned you away because I want you fully present when we’re together. Truly together. Not wine talking. Not loneliness reaching.”

“That’s generous of you to say, but we both know I made a fool of myself.” I blushed.

“You showed me you want me. That’s not foolish. That’s honest.” He stepped closer. “I’ve waited six years wondering if that night meant anything to you. Finding out it did? That’s not something I’ll ever hold against you.”

The gentleness undid something in my chest.

No judgment. No smugness.

“Why are you like this?” The question escaped before I could stop it. “After everything, after how I treated you when you first came back… Why are you so patient with me?”

“Because I understand carrying hurt that doesn’t belong to you.” He leaned against the railing, studying me. “You’ve been angry at me from the moment we bought this ranch. What did I do to earn that, Ivory? I feel that there’s something else too.”

The old wound throbbed, but maybe it was time to lance it.

Here we go.

“I heard you. In the kitchen, when I was sixteen. You were talking to Ryan about some girl following you around. You called her pathetic. Said her little crush made your skin crawl.”

Recognition flickered across his features. “And you thought I meant you…”

“Who else would you have meant? I followed you around like a lost puppy that whole summer. Made myself ridiculous trying to get your attention.”

“Daphne Boyd.” His voice carried no hesitation. “She was in your grade at school. Showed up everywhere I went, left notes in my truck, called my aunt’s house at all hours. She scared me, honestly, and I was venting to Ryan because I didn’t know how to handle her.”

“But I… I followed you around that summer.”

“You were sixteen and had a crush. That’s normal.” His voice gentled. “Daphne was different. Obsessive. I tried explaining once, remember? That day by the barn? You told me where to shove my explanations.”

The memory surfaced—me, seventeen and furious, cutting him off mid-sentence. All these years of resentment over a misunderstanding.

“Twelve years…” I whispered. “I hated you for twelve years over words that weren’t even about… me.”

“I’m sorry you carried that hurt for so long.” His hand found my cheek, thumb brushing away a tear I hadn’t realized had fallen. “But I need you to hear this—I never thought you were pathetic. Never.”

Relief flooded through me, tangled with shame for the wasted years. The tenderness in his touch made me lean into his palm despite myself.

“There you are.”

Silence stretched tight and Kameron’s gaze found mine, a question burning in those ice-blue depths.

“Some folks just share coloring, baby,” I managed. “Doesn’t mean anything special.”

“But they’re exactly the same,” she pressed. “Even the little dark part around the edge.”

“Coincidence, sweetheart. The world’s full of them.”

But Kameron’s expression said he wasn’t buying it anymore.

Luke attached himself to Colt’s shadow. Every morning he waited on the porch, eager to learn whatever Colt would teach—fence mending, cattle checking, reading weather in the clouds.

Levi demanded additional riding lessons, his competitive streak pushing him to master what his siblings couldn’t.

I watched these attachments form and felt the trap tightening. Not contracts binding me to this ranch anymore, but something far more dangerous.

My children were falling in love with men who might be their fathers, and the men were starting to piece together the truth.

Thursday evening, Marisol called with a command, not a request:

“You’re going out with me this weekend. No arguments. No excuses. You’ve been drowning in cowboy drama, and you need a night where the only men involved are pouring drinks.”

“I can’t just leave the kids—”

“Already handled.” My father appeared in the doorway. “I’ll watch them. Lord knows I don’t see my grandchildren enough with you hovering constantly.”

Resistance proved futile against their combined assault.

But as Saturday approached, all I could think about was which cowboy would be waiting when I got home—and whether I’d have the strength to resist either of them.