Page 91 of No Turning Back
I glance at him, the faint smile on his face as the road unwinds. The day is still heavy on us, but right now, with the car humming and the ranch waiting, I feel something close to steady too.
I smirk. “How about this. I’ll ride a horse when you finally have a boys’ day with Aiden.”
Sam shoots me a look.
“Just the two of you,” I add before he can speak. “No Mike. No Kole. No backup.”
He works his jaw, eyes on the road. “Maybe you just watch from your chair instead.”
I burst out laughing, the heaviness from earlier cracking wide open. “Why are the two of you so awkward when it’s just you? It makes no sense.”
Sam shrugs. “I don’t know. He’s weird.”
I raise an eyebrow.
Sam slips into a high-pitched imitation, nasal and prim. “‘I’m an architect. I wear tailored pants. My wine rack is alphabetical.’”
I snort so hard it hurts. “Stop! You’re terrible.”
“Tell me I’m wrong.”
I shake my head, grinning at him. “He’s probably intimidated by you.”
Sam’s head snaps toward me, eyes wide. “What?”
“Babe,” I say, still smiling. “You’re amazing with me and the kids. But with other people? You’re awful.”
He gives me a long side-eye, then turns back to the road.
I reach over, sliding my fingers through his hair, soft at the ends from the sun. “It’s true. You terrify poor Aiden without even trying.”
Sam huffs, but there’s the faintest curl of a smile tugging at his mouth.
“Fine,” Sam says after a beat. “Next time he comes over, I won’t lock him in the barn.”
My jaw drops. “I knew you did that on purpose!”
He smirks, not denying it.
I shake my head, still laughing, as we turn onto the backroads. His arm slides around my waist, pulling me in until I’m flush against him. I tuck myself under his shoulder, the rumble of the truck steady beneath us.
If there’s one thing I love about this old truck, it’s this, the way it always leaves room for us to fit together, no matter how heavy the day’s been.
Epilogue
Sam wakes first.
Sunlight cuts through the curtains in thin lines, dust drifting in the beams. He stares at the ceiling, mind already ticking off the list: chores, animals, breakfast, kids. Too many people under one roof means too many things to do.
Quinn stirs beside him and rolls over, hair messy, eyes half-closed. She drags a finger along the crease in his forehead.
“You’re getting little lines,” she whispers. “Crow’s feet, old man.”
His mouth twitches. “Just worried. We got a lot of peop-”
Her lips cover his before he can finish. A kiss meant to silence him. She shifts, swinging a leg over his body, pressing herself down against him.
The list in his head blows apart.
