Page 19 of The Rancher's Runaway Bride
“To new beginnings,” he says, raising his glass.
I hesitate, then clink mine against his. “To not running,” I add softly. “I was thinking–I’d like it if you’d still call me Layla. I was thinking of getting my name changed officially. I don’t feel like that girl anymore–Lisa.”
His lips curve into a faint smile, “I can do that, baby. But I likekitteneven better.”
“Me too.” I smile. We drink in comfortable silence, the tension from earlier easing into something softer, more intimate.
“Tell me about them,” he says after a while, his voice low.
I glance at him, surprised. “About who?”
“Your father. Your ex. The people you’re running from.”
I hesitate, the memories pressing against the edges of my mind. But the steady look in his eyes tells me he’s ready to hear it, ready to take on whatever I share with him.
And so, I do. I tell him about the gilded cage of my upbringing, the pressure to be perfect, to marry well, to secure alliances among my father’s business connections. I tell him about my father’s controlling nature, his willingness to sacrifice my happiness for his political ambition. And I tell him about my ex-fiancé, the charming exterior that hid a cold, calculating man who saw me as little more than an accessory.
By the time I finish, my glass is empty, and my heart feels lighter. Cal hasn’t said a word, but his jaw is tight, and his hands are clenched into fists.
“You deserved better,” he says finally, his voice rough. “And they’ll never lay a hand on you again. I’ll make damn sure of it.”
His words settle over me like a warm blanket, and I reach out, placing my hand over his. “Thank you,” I whisper.
He looks at me then, his eyes filled with something I can’t quite name. “You don’t have to thank me. You’re part of this family now. And we protect our own.”
The weight of his words sinks in, and for the first time in a long time, I allow myself to believe them.
Chapter Ten
Cal
The soft glow of the setting sun casts the world in shades of pink and gold as I lead the horses toward Layla. She’s waiting by the barn, her arms wrapped around herself in the cool February air, looking like she’s stepped straight out of a dream. Her cheeks are flushed from the cold, her eyes sparkling with curiosity.
“What’s this about?” she asks, tilting her head in that way she does when she’s trying to read me.
I don’t answer right away. Instead, I focus on helping her mount her horse. Her hands brush mine as she grabs the reins, and the electricity that always seems to hum between us crackles to life. She doesn’t pull away, but her lips twitch like she’s trying to decide whether to smile or sass me.
“You’ll see,” I say, keeping my tone intentionally vague. It drives her crazy, and I love it.
She narrows her eyes. “If this is some elaborate plan to get me to clean out the barn again, I’m leaving.”
“You’re not going anywhere,” I reply, swinging into my saddle. “Trust me, you’ll like this.”
“Trust you?” She raises a teasing eyebrow. “That’s a big ask.”
I smirk, urging my horse forward. “You already do, Layla. You just don’t like admitting it.”
Her scoff follows me as we start down the trail, but I don’t miss the way her lips curve into a smile.
The ride is quiet at first, the crunch of hooves against the snow-dusted ground filling the air. Layla eventually relaxes, falling into the rhythm of the horse beneath her. Every so often, I glance back to make sure she’s doing all right. She catches me once and rolls her eyes.
“I’m fine, cowboy. Stop babysitting me.”
“Just making sure you don’t fall off,” I tease. “Wouldn’t want to scrape you off the trail.”
“Your concern is heartwarming,” she deadpans, but there’s a flicker of amusement in her voice.
We reach the lake just as the sun dips below the horizon, leaving behind a sky streaked with orange and purple. I pull my horse to a stop and dismount, offering Layla a hand to help her down. She hesitates, her eyes darting between me and the picnic setup waiting by the water’s edge.
