Page 17 of The Rancher's Runaway Bride
The teasing tension hangs between us for a beat too long, and I force myself to break eye contact, turning back to the horse. Carson, oblivious to the charged air, claps excitedly when the mustang finally comes to a stop near me.
“You’re so cool, Dad!” he shouts, and my chest tightens.
Layla grins, nudging Carson playfully. “I guess he’s not so bad, huh?”
“I’m better than not bad,” I mutter, shooting her a look. She laughs, and it’s like a damn melody, settling something restless inside me.
A soft noise pulls my attention toward the barn then, and my stomach twists when I realize one of the mares is in distress. “Stay here,” I tell Layla and Carson, my tone leaving no room for argument.
“What’s wrong?” Layla asks, concern etching her features.
“Think the mare’s about to foal,” I say, already heading for the stall. “I need to check on her.”
To my surprise, Layla follows, Carson’s hand still in hers. I open my mouth to tell her to stay put, but the determined look on her face stops me. “I can help,” she says simply, and I nod, not trusting myself to argue.
Inside the stall, the mare is restless, her sides heaving. I move carefully, murmuring soothing words as I check her over. Layla hangs back at first, but when I glance over my shoulder, she steps closer.
“What do you need me to do?” she asks, her voice steady despite the tension in the air.
I hand her a clean towel, meeting her gaze. “Just stay calm. She’ll pick up on it if you’re nervous.”
Layla nods, and to her credit, she does exactly as I say. Together, we guide the mare through the delivery, our hands brushing more than once as we work. Each touch sends a jolt through me, but I shove it down, focusing on the task at hand.
When the foal finally arrives—a healthy colt—I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. Layla’s face lights up with awe as the tiny creature struggles to its feet, and Carson cheers from behind the stall door.
“What should we name him?” Layla asks, looking down at Carson.
The boy’s face scrunches in concentration before a grin breaks through. “Cupid!” he announces. “Because Valentine’s Day!”
Layla laughs, ruffling his hair. “Cupid it is.”
I watch them, something warm and unfamiliar settling in my chest. Layla catches my eye, her smile softening. “You’re good at this,” she says quietly.
“At what?”
“Everything,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. “The ranch, the horses, Carson… this life.”
Her words hit me harder than I expect, and for a moment, I don’t know how to respond. So I just nod, reaching out to brush a stray strand of hair from her face. She doesn’t pull away, and the space between us feels smaller than ever.
“Come on,” I say finally, my voice rough. “Let’s get Cupid and his mama settled.”
Layla smiles, but there’s something in her eyes—something that tells me this moment isn’t just about the foal. It’s about us, too, and whatever the hell we’re building here on this ranch. For the first time, I think maybe—just maybe—it’s something real.
Chapter Nine
Layla
The scent of syrup and freshly brewed coffee fills the diner, mingling with the low hum of morning chatter and clinking silverware. Carson sits across from me, his face smeared with powdered sugar as he gleefully digs into a stack of Valentine’s Day pancakes topped with pink frosting and sprinkles. His laughter is a balm to my frayed nerves, and I force a smile, hoping it’ll mask the tension simmering in my chest.
“You like those, buddy?” I ask, tapping the edge of my coffee mug against the table.
Carson grins, a sprinkle stuck to his cheek. “These are the best pancakes ever, Mommy Layla!”
My heart clenches at his innocent declaration. He’s been calling me that more often, and every time he does, it feels like a secret wish granted. But today, the warmth it brings is overshadowed by the waitress’s voice drifting from the counter behind me.
“Yeah, a couple of guys were in here yesterday asking about a woman named Lisa. Seemed pretty serious, too. Dressed all sharp, like city men.”
The words hit me like a punch to the gut. Lisa. My real name. I grip the handle of the mug tighter, my stomach flipping. They’ve found me. I’ve only been here a few weeks and already I’ve been found. How?
