Jake's shock vanishes behind a mask I know too well. The practiced hospitality. The professional distance. The cowboy who knows how to handle difficult guests.
"Ladies." He tips his hat toward Violet and Paige, his voice carrying none of the fracture I saw moments ago. "Welcome, ladies. I’ll help you with those bags."
He moves toward the girls' luggage first. Deliberate. Calculated. Avoiding me with the precision of someone who's rehearsed exactly this moment.
Violet preens under his attention. "You're so kind. Mom said you were charming, but I didn't believe her."
"Your mother's generous with her compliments." Jake's response is polite. Empty. His eyes don't linger on Violet's obvious display.
Then he reaches for my bag.
Our fingers brush against the handle. The contact sends electricity through my skin, sharp and unwelcome and completely beyond my control. I inhale too quickly. He goes still for half a heartbeat.
Neither of us acknowledges it.
"This way." He leads us toward the truck, and I follow on legs that feel borrowed from someone else.
The drive to the ranch stretches endlessly. Texas sprawls in every direction—open sky, golden grass, the kind of vast emptiness that makes Manhattan feel like a fever dream.
"This is ridiculous." Violet slouches in the back seat, arms crossed, hostility radiating from every pore. "Two weeks in the middle of nowhere because my mother thinks manual labor builds character."
"It's beautiful." Paige presses her face to the window, genuine wonder in her voice. "Look at those hills. And the sky is so big."
"The sky is empty." Violet's dismissal cuts sharp. "Just like this whole stupid punishment."
I turn slightly, offering what reassurance I can manage. "The ranch has more to offer than you'd expect. Give it a chance."
My mind drifts to places these girls can never follow. The observatory Jake built instead of a bunkhouse. The telescope pointed toward infinity. The nights we spent wrapped in blankets, counting stars while the world slept.
Secrets they can never know. A history that belongs only to us.
Jake's hands tighten on the steering wheel. I wonder if he's remembering the same things.
The ranch house appears on the horizon, and my chest constricts. Home. Not home. Something in between that hurts either way.
Then I see him.
Tommy stands on the porch, taller than I remember, his grin splitting his face wide enough to light the whole property. The sight of him breaks something loose in my chest.
I'm out of the truck before Jake cuts the engine.
"Tommy." His name escapes with joy.
He catches me in his arms, lifting me off my feet, holding tight enough to hurt. I bury my face in his shoulder and breathe in the familiar scent of horses and sunshine and something like family.
"You're here." His voice cracks slightly. He sets me down but doesn't let go. "You're actually here."
"I'm here." The words scrape past the tightness in my throat.
Tommy pulls back, studying my face with those honest eyes that see too much. "You went silent on me, Addy. Weeks of nothing. Do you know how worried I was?"
"I know." Shame colors my cheeks. "Everything got so complicated. I should have called."
"Yeah." He doesn't let me off easy. "You should have." Then his expression softens, something gentle replacing the hurt. "I'm sorry about your dad. I wanted to be there, but Jake said—"
"It's okay." I squeeze his hands, not ready to unpack that conversation. "You're here now. That's what matters."
Jake's voice cuts through the moment. "Tommy, get the girls settled in the guest quarters. Show them the layout."
"Sure thing, boss." Tommy releases me reluctantly, gathering luggage with efficient movements. He shoots me one last look—we're talking later, that look says—before leading Violet and Paige toward the house.
Silence settles between Jake and me.
He moves toward the terrace, and I follow because I don't know what else to do. The wooden chairs wait exactly where I remember them. The view stretches toward mountains that don't care about human complications.
"Girls and you should eat something." Jake's voice is careful. Neutral. "We left food in the kitchen."
The thought of food makes my stomach revolt. "I'm not hungry."
"Coffee, then." He doesn't wait for agreement, disappearing inside and returning moments later with two steaming mugs.
I accept mine despite Dr. Ortega's warnings about caffeine. The warmth feels necessary. Grounding.
"Why did you agree to this?" The question escapes before I can stop it. "Hosting Victoria's daughter. You could have said no."
Jake settles into the chair beside me, his gaze fixed on the horizon. "Victoria has invested in the ranch this week. Significant money. Helped me hire more workers, expand the operation."
"So this is repayment." The realization sits heavy in my chest.
"Bills need paying." His voice carries something tired. Something resigned. "I didn't want to do it. But other people depend on this place now. Their livelihoods. Their families."
I understand that burden. The weight of being responsible for others. The choices you make when your wants stop mattering as much as their needs.
Then I notice the absence.
My heart stutters. I scan the property, searching for the familiar shape that should have greeted me the moment I arrived.
"Where's Bear?"
Jake's expression shifts. Falls. Something dark crosses his features.
Panic claws up my throat. "Jake. Where is he?"
"He's okay." The words come quickly, his hand raising to stop my spiral. "He's sick. Sarah has him at the clinic. Quarantined until the infection clears."
Sick. Not gone. Not dead.
The relief hits like a wave, and suddenly I can't hold anything back. Tears spill down my cheeks—hot, unstoppable, completely beyond my control. The pregnancy hormones I've been fighting for weeks finally win their war against my composure.
I'm crying over a dog. Crying over everything I've been carrying. Crying because the fear of losing Bear cracked open every other fear I've been stuffing down.
Jake moves without hesitation.
His arms wrap around me, pulling me against his chest, and my body freezes. The contact is so natural. So effortless. Like no time has passed at all. Like I didn't send him away. Like we haven't spent a lot of days in silence.
His heartbeat thuds against my cheek. Steady. Present. Real.
I should pull back. Should maintain the distance this situation demands.
Instead, I stay exactly where I am—stunned by how easily we've collapsed back into intimacy. Stunned by how much I've missed this. Stunned by the secret growing inside me that he still doesn't know.
His hand strokes my hair, gentle and sure.
And I let myself be held.