Page 10 of The Rancher's Runaway Bride
“Cal,” she whispers, her voice shaky but sure. “What just happened?”
I chuckle, low and rough, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Hell if I know.”
Her laugh is soft, but it’s enough to ease the tension, to remind me that maybe, just maybe, this could work.
But then the weight of reality crashes back down, and I step back, the distance between us suddenly feeling like a chasm.
“I should get to repairin’ that fence this guy tried to jump through,” I mutter, my voice gruff. “The storm last night really had him worked up.”
“Cal—”
“I’ll see you back at the house later,” I say, cutting her off. I don’t look back as I leave the barn, my heart pounding and my thoughts a mess.
Because I know, deep down, that no matter how much I want her, she deserves better than a broken cowboy with more baggage than he knows what to do with. But something tells me she might just be stubborn enough to prove me wrong.
Chapter Five
Layla
The sun pours into the kitchen, golden and warm, as Carson and I roll dough for cookies a few hours after the kiss between Cal and me. Carson’s little hands are dusted with flour, and his cheeks flush with the effort of pressing cookie cutters into the dough. I bite back a smile, watching him carefully arrange each star and heart-shaped piece on the tray.
“You’re a natural, Carson,” I tease, nudging his shoulder lightly. “We might have to open a bakery.”
He grins up at me, a smudge of flour on his nose. “Do we get to eat them all?”
“Of course. That’s the best part.”
A deep voice cuts through the moment, startling me. “You spoiling my boy?”
I glance over my shoulder to find Cal leaning in the doorway, his broad frame nearly filling the space, a grin on his face. His arms are crossed, but there’s a flicker of something softer in his eyes as he looks at Carson.
“You bet I am,” I counter, turning back to the tray. “Cookies are a requirement.”
Cal grunts, stepping into the room, his boots heavy against the wood floor. “Cookies before dinner, hmm? What’s next, ice cream for breakfast?”
Carson giggles, filling the air with joy. “Mommy Layla says I can,” he chirps, completely unaware of the bomb he’s just dropped.
My hands freeze mid-air. Time seems to stop as I look at Carson, my heart pounding. “What did you just call me?”
Carson blinks up at me, completely unfazed. “Mommy Layla.”
Heat rushes to my face. My gaze darts to Cal, who’s now standing stock-still, his expression a mixture of shock and something deeper—something raw. I can’t tell if it’s anger, confusion, or longing.
“Well,” I manage to say, my voice shaky. “That’s a first.”
Carson shrugs, oblivious. “You feel like a mommy.”
The words hit me like a freight train. I force a smile and ruffle his hair. “You’re sweet, kiddo. Now go wash up while these bake.”
Carson scampers off, leaving me alone with Cal. The room feels too small, the silence pressing in on me like a weight. I turn to face him, bracing for his reaction.
“I didn’t tell him to say that,” I start, my voice defensive. “It just?—”
“He’s a kid,” Cal interrupts, his tone low, almost gruff. “He doesn’t understand what he’s saying.”
“I know that…” I fold my arms. “But maybe–”
“What?” Cal’s frown deepens. But then I see a flicker of vulnerability, a crack in his tough exterior.
