The kindergarten building loomed ahead, brick and white trim. I parked in the visitor lot and helped each child out, straightening collars and smoothing hair.
"Listen to me." I knelt to meet their eyes. "You're going to have a wonderful day. You're going to make friends and learn new things and come home with stories I can't wait to hear. I'm so proud of all three of you."
I kissed each forehead in turn. Lily first, then Luke, then Levi. They smelled like the new shampoo I'd bought them, sweet and clean.
"I love you, Mama," Lily whispered.
"I love you too, baby. All of you. Now go show those teachers how amazing you are."
I watched them walk to the front doors, three small figures swallowed by the crowd of children and parents.
Pride swelled in my chest alongside something that ached like loss. My babies were growing up. Starting kindergarten. Taking steps into a world I couldn't protect them from.
A few moments later after they disappeared behind the front door with their teacher, I climbed back into my truck and turned the key.
Nothing happened.
My heart sank. I tried again, gripping the steering wheel hard enough to hurt. The engine gave a pathetic, dying wheeze that sounded like defeat.
"Come on, please, not today…" I whispered desperately to the dashboard, trying a third time.
Only clicking sounds answered—the death rattle of a vehicle finally giving up.
I sat behind the wheel, mortified, watching other parents leave in their functioning vehicles while my truck refused to cooperate.
Then I saw a familiar black truck pulling up beside me, and my humiliation crystallized into dread.
Of course. Of fucking course.
Kameron climbed out, that infuriating grin already spreading across his face like he'd won the lottery.
"Don't say it," I warned through my open window.
"I was worried about those engine sounds you dismissed. Looks like I was right to worry." He leaned against my door, clearly enjoying my predicament. "What was it you said? 'It runs fine, Kam. Mind your own business, Kam.' Or something like that."
"I hate you…" But the words came out breathless, not angry.
His proximity was scrambling my brain, making it hard to maintain the irritation I desperately needed as armor.
"No, you don't." That smile turned predatory, paired with a wink. "Come on, get out of that death trap. Tow truck's already on the way."
"You already called?"
Something fluttered in my chest—he'd been watching out for me, anticipating my needs before I even knew them.
Stop it. Don't read into this.
I climbed out, hyperaware of his eyes tracking my movements. He led me to his tailgate and sat close enough that our thighs almost touched.
"You need something reliable," he said after a moment, his voice losing its teasing edge. "Not just for you—for them. What if Luke gets sick again? What if there's an emergency?"
The genuine concern in his voice made my chest ache. This was worse than his flirting—this caring version of Kameron that made me remember why I'd fallen for him at sixteen.
"There's a dealership in Marysville with a blue truck that would be perfect for you." His enthusiasm turned boyish, eyes lighting up. "Saw it last week when I was picking up parts. Thought of you the second I spotted it."
"You thought of me?"
The question escaped before I could stop it, soft and revealing. My cheeks burned.
Kameron went quiet and when I turned, he was watching me with that intensity that made my insides liquify. The playful cowboy was gone, replaced by something rawer, hungrier.
"I think about you all the time, Ivory."
He reached up slowly, giving me time to pull away. I didn't. Couldn't.
His fingers brushed a strand of hair from my face, then lingered at my jaw. The calluses on his palm were rough against my skin, sending shivers down my spine.
"Kam..." His name came out like a plea. For what, I didn't know.
The parking lot was nearly empty now. No one’s looking our way.
He leaned closer, and my body betrayed me completely—tilting toward him like a flower to the sun. His breath ghosted across my lips. His thumb traced my jawline, making me tremble.
"Been wanting to kiss you since I saw you that first day," he murmured, his voice rough velvet. "Been going crazy remembering how you taste."
My eyes fluttered closed. Every cell in my body screamed for contact. Six years of hunger, of lonely nights, of remembering these hands on my skin—it all crashed over me at once.
His lips were a breath away—
A car door slammed like a gunshot.
I jerked back so fast I nearly fell off the tailgate. Reality crashed in—we were in public, at my children's kindergarten, where any gossip would spread like wildfire.
"People are watching." My voice came out shaky, desperate. "We can't... someone might see."
Kameron's smile was slow. Knowing. "That's the only reason I'm stopping, firecracker. But when we're alone—when there's no audience to interrupt—I won't be so patient. And you won't want me to be."
The threat—no, the promise—sent liquid heat straight to my core. My thighs clenched involuntarily, and from his knowing look, he'd noticed.
The tow truck rumbled into the lot before I could respond. Then I watched my broken vehicle get hauled away, grateful for the distraction from whatever had just passed between us.
"Let me drive you home," Kameron said.
It wasn't a question.
Well, pride wouldn't get me back to the ranch and some traitorous part of me wanted to be in that enclosed space with him. Surrounded by his scent, sitting close enough to touch.
I climbed into his truck without argument, my body still thrumming with frustrated desire and the terrifying realization that my resistance was crumbling faster than my old truck's engine.
The afternoon blurred into ranch work. I threw myself into examining cattle, grateful for tasks that kept my hands busy and my mind occupied.
Kameron and Colt moved through their own duties and I caught glimpses of them across pastures, heard their voices carried in the wind.
The distance felt safer than proximity.
I'd been successfully avoiding Colt since our moment in the stable. He seemed to understand, keeping his distance, conducting ranch business through carefully neutral interactions.
Part of me wanted to bridge that gap—to see if the connection I'd felt while we tucked the children into bed was real or just nostalgia playing tricks.
But I was terrified of what it might mean. For both of us.
The kindergarten bus rumbled up the drive late that afternoon, interrupting my spiraling thoughts.
The children spilled out overflowing with stories.
Luke clung to my waist, breathlessly describing his teacher and the classroom fish tank and the boy who shared his crayons. Lily thrust a drawing into my hands, already talking about the girl who sat beside her and wore the same purple shirt.
And Levi announced he'd befriended a boy named Miles who owned a pony and had promised to let Levi meet it someday.
What surprised me was Colt appearing beside us.
I hadn't expected him to be here for their return, not with the distance we'd been maintaining. But there he was, already kneeling to meet each child at eye level.
"Hey, buddy. Tell me about this pony," he said to Levi, his voice gentler than I'd ever heard it. "What's his name? Does Miles ride him?"
I watched them, something aching behind my ribs. This was a side of him I'd never seen. Patient. Natural with children. Completely present in a way that made my heart do dangerous things.
Then I thought of Kameron on the tailgate this morning, his boyish enthusiasm about trucks, the vulnerability beneath his charm when he'd apologized last night.
Both of them were trying. Really trying.
Both were good with my children in completely different ways—Kameron with his easy charm and playfulness, Colt with his quiet strength and focused attention.
They hurt me once. Both of them. The memories still stung when I let myself feel them. But standing here now, I couldn't deny what was in front of me.
They'd changed. They were good to me, good to the triplets.
Maybe I could allow myself to relax. To see where this leads.
The question was, could I trust either of them with our hearts? Because my children were already getting attached, already looking for these men when they thought I wasn't watching.
Which one was the safe choice? Which one wouldn't betray my trust again? Which one wouldn't disappear when things got hard?
I didn't know.
And that uncertainty terrified me more than the wanting ever could.