Page 50 of Taming the Billionaire Cowboy
“I wished that Oliver could be my dad,” he says. “Do you think it will come true?”
My heart jumps into my throat, and I’m too caught off guard to know how to respond. It takes me a moment to formulate an answer.
“Anything can happen,” I say. “That’s the beauty of life.”
He smiles, the smile I can’t say no to, the smile that got us here and keeps us here. “I think we’re really lucky, Mom.”
And just like that, he’s asleep, his breathing deep and even, his face relaxed and at peace.
Oliver knocks softly and opens the door. “Think he’s dreaming about cake?” he asks, coming to crouch next to me.
“I think he’s dreaming about you,” I say, and it doesn’t scare me like I thought it would.
Oliver takes my hand, the warmth of him spreading to me, the comfort and confidence and everything I never thought I’d feel again.
“We’re good, Carly,” he says, and he’s right.
I believe him more than I thought I could, more than I once thought I should. He smiles, a slow and easy smile that makes me feel like — no, makes me know — I’m the luckiest girl in the world.
CHAPTER 22
OLIVER
Aweight on my chest makes me hold my breath. At first, I think it’s panic, that familiar squeeze. But then I open my eyes.
It’s not panic. It’s not heavy or too hard. It’s her. Carly.
Carly in my arms and in my life, in this small bedroom.
She stirs from her sleep, lashes fluttering open. “Morning,” she murmurs.
“Morning,” I say, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
She looks good here, next to me, in this bed that I should have been in long before now. “I’ve been up for hours,” I tease. “You sure sleep a lot for a ranch hand.”
She laughs and buries her head against my neck. “A little sore, city boy?”
“Not at all,” I say. “Are you?”
“I’ve had rougher rides.” Her breath is warm, and her touch is softer than the sun spilling in through the windows.
“We have time today,” I tell her, glad I took her advice and hired another ranch hand. He has things covered this morning, which means I don’t have to rush back.
She pulls me closer. “For what?”
“Each other.”
“What do you want to do?” she asks.
I keep her hand in mine, not want to let go. “Stay here forever?”
“I like that plan. Unfortunately…”
She doesn’t have to finish the sentence. The sound of little feet running through the house does.
“Seven-year-olds wake up early, huh?” I ask.
“Yep.” She bites her bottom lip. “We locked the door last night, right?”
