Page 138 of Knotting the Cowboys

Cole: You coming home? Just pulled in with the feed

Cole: Austin said you left with Willa

Cole: If that fucker Blake followed you I swear to god

Cole: Mav answer your fucking phone

I can practically hear the growl in that last text.

My thumb moves across the screen, typing one-handed while my other arm stays wrapped around Willa, keeping her secure against my shoulder.

Me: Relax mother hen. We're fine. Stopping for dinner but she's out cold

The three dots appear immediately—Cole was waiting for my response.

Cole: Let her sleep. Our Girl hasn't been getting proper rest

*

Me: How do you know that?

Cole:

Because I have fucking eyes? Also, she told me those Iron Ridge douches didn't teach her anything about nesting. Can you believe that shit?

I frown, the expression pulling at my face as I glance down at Willa.

Now that Cole mentions it, the signs are obvious.

Beyond the dark circles, there's a hollow quality to her cheeks I hadn't noticed before, the kind that comes from running on caffeine and stubbornness instead of actual rest.

Her breathing hitches again—not quite a snore but close—and she burrows deeper into my shoulder like she's trying to crawl inside my skin.

The angle of light from the setting sun highlights things I missed earlier:the way her fingers twitch in her sleep, restless even in exhaustion.

When the faint tension in her shoulders doesn't fully release, even when unconscious. The way she's clutching my shirt now, fabric twisted in her grip like I might disappear if she lets go.

**Me**: Jesus. How long has she been like this?

Cole: My guess? Years. That kind of bone-deep tired doesn't happen overnight

Me: What are you doing about it?

Cole:

What do you think? We're setting up the best damn nest in all of Sweetwater Falls

The mental image of Cole—gruff, practical Cole—arranging pillows and blankets makes me bite back a laugh that would definitely wake Willa. He's probably standing in the middle of her room right now, hands on his hips, surveying his work like it's a tactical operation.

Which, knowing Cole, it probably is.

Me: Better add extra of my shit or I'm conning all of you

Cole: Already raided your closet. That green henley you never wear? It's hers now

Me: The fuck it is. That's my favorite shirt

Cole: You literally haven't touched it in six months

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