Page 152 of Knotting the Cowboys

And lying there in his arms, wearing his shirt and marked by his mouth, I almost believe him.

Twinkling Acceptance Of Us

~WILLA~

The ranch house swallows us in darkness and silence, a stark contrast to the hotel room we left behind with its tangled sheets and the echo of my cries still hanging in the air.

My bare feet whisper against the wooden floors, and I have to concentrate on each step because my body feels like it's been taken apart and reassembled by someone who lost the instruction manual halfway through. Everything aches in that delicious way that makes me want to both collapse and do it all over again.

A yawn cracks my jaw wide, the third one since we pulled into the driveway, and I lean heavily against the doorframe while Mavi locks up behind us. His flannel hangs to mid-thigh on me, soft and worn and carrying his scent so strongly I feel wrapped in him even though he's three feet away.

My dress is somewhere in his truck, probably crumpled beyond salvation, along with my dignity and any pretense that I'm not completely, utterly wrecked by what just happened.

"This is your fault," I mumble through another jaw-popping yawn, rubbing at my eyes with the heel of my hand. "Every bit of it."

Mavi huffs, a sound caught between amusement and indignation as he pockets his keys.

"You ain't blaming the alcohol but me. That's not nice." His voice carries that particular rough edge it gets when he's tired but trying to stay alert, probably from years of late-night surveillance or whatever mysterious things occupied his time before fate dumped me on his doorstep.

"The alcohol was also your fault," I point out, though the words come out slurred with exhaustion. "You bought it. You let me drink it. You..." Another yawn interrupts my litany of accusations. "You did things that made me very, very tired."

Even in the darkness, I can feel his smirk.

"Things, huh? That what we're calling it?"

Heat floods my cheeks despite my exhaustion.

"Shut up. I'm too tired to be embarrassed right now. Ask me again in the morning when my brain works."

His hand finds mine in the darkness, fingers threading through mine with a certainty that makes my chest tight.

"Come on, troublemaker. Let's get you to bed before you fall asleep standing up."

I shuffle along beside him, my body operating on muscle memory more than conscious thought.

The house wraps around us like a living thing, all creaking boards and settling wood, the particular silence that comes from multiple people sleeping under one roof. It's different from the aggressive quiet of Iron Ridge, where silence meant someone was angry or planning something. This is peaceful, protective, like the house itself is standing guard while its occupants rest.

My nose picks up the familiar scents as we move through the living room—Cole's leather and pine lingering on his favoritechair, the faint sweetness of the formula Austin mixed earlier for Luna, River's earthier scent clinging to the couch where he probably fell asleep watching one of those nature documentaries he pretends he doesn't love.

Each scent is a thread in the tapestry of this place, and I'm beginning to realize my own is weaving in among them, becoming part of the whole.

"Careful," Mavi murmurs, steering me around the coffee table I'd definitely have walked into. His thumb strokes over my knuckles, a absent gesture that sends warmth spreading up my arm. "Three more steps to the hallway."

I count them off in my head, one-two-three, like a child learning to walk.

Which isn't far from the truth—I'm learning to walk through this new life, to navigate spaces where I'm wanted rather than tolerated. My free hand trails along the wall, fingers finding the edge of picture frames I can't see but have memorized. Cole and River at some rodeo years ago. Austin's nursing school graduation. A candid shot of all four men with Luna that makes my heart squeeze every time I look at it.

"Do you think everyone's asleep?" I whisper, though I'm not sure why I'm whispering. Something about the darkness makes raised voices feel sacrilegious.

"Probably," Mavi answers just as quietly. "Cole passes out by eleven like clockwork. River might be up reading, but he uses those noise-canceling headphones. Austin..." He pauses, considering. "Actually, Austin's probably up with Luna. She's been fussy at night lately."

The mention of Luna sends an unexpected pang through my chest. I've been gone less than six hours, but I miss her weight in my arms, the way she smells like baby powder and innocence, how her tiny fingers curl around mine with absolute trust.

When did I become someone who misses a baby? Or thinks of this place, these people, as home?

"I miss her," I admit, the words surprising me with their truth. "Is that weird? Missing a baby I've known for less than a week?"

Mavi's hand tightens around mine.

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