Billionaire and the Cowgirl

“I’m sorry, babe.” He reaches over, tangling our fingers together. Mom would be so disappointed in my dad for the way he continues to act.

“No, I’m glad you told me. He’s out of his damn mind. He must have hit his head too when that horse threw him.” Cane squeezes my hand. Do I think my dad would have followed through with this stupid cow thing? No, but this was him throwing a fit about me being with Cane. He knows that he no longer has control over me, and he’s having trouble accepting it. I think what hurts the most is his lack of caring when it comes to what I want. “That ranch is mine one way or another, and he knows it. He can do this the hard way with us or the easy way.”

“With us,” Cane repeats, pulling up outside the front of the big house on the Justice ranch. “I love hearing you say that. It’s us. You and me.”

“Well, maybe not you and me so much anymore.”

“Astor?” His eyes are almost pleading, and damn do I love that I get to give him this.

“I’m pregnant, Cane. That test was mine. Birdie was covering for me.” Cane sits there for a long second. “Cane?”

He jumps from the truck, coming around to my side, flings the door open, and pulls me into his arms. I wrap around him as he carries me into the house. He doesn’t stop until we’re in his room, where he places me down on the bed gently before bolting toward his closet. “What are you…” I trail off when he comes back out with a small box in his hand. He opens it, tossing the box behind him as he drops to his knee in front of me.

“Hand, Astor, give me your hand,” he demands, making me laugh. I laugh harder when I see how giant the stone is.

“Cane, this is ridiculous.”

“I’ll get you a simpler band that you can wear on a daily basis. This one is for when you go out where other men can be and while I fuck you.” I laugh more. While the stone is giant in the shape of a pear, it is still beautiful. I might be a cowgirl, but I enjoy getting dolled up from time to time.

“All right,” I give. “I’ll wear it when you have your way with me.”

“I couldn’t help myself when I went ring shopping. I got carried away, but maybe it will be a family ring.” He places his hand against my stomach.

“Oh, Cane,” I breathe, falling in love with the ring more. With him on his knees beside the bed, I can easily place my hands on his cheeks as I rest my forehead to his. “I love that idea. I love you.”

“Love you, Astor. You’ve always been my cowgirl.”

“And you’ve always been my cowboy.” He kisses me, pressing me back into the bed.

With all the things Cane and I have already had to face together, I know nothing in this world will ever stop our love. Not my father and definitely no damn curse.

EPILOGUE

CANE

“Grandpa Hollis, can you help me with my heart? It’s lopsided.”

“Let me see what you got here.” Astor’s daddy picks up my five-year-old, Jewel, and sets her on his knee. He inspects the red construction paper heart and then fits his fingers into her small pink safety scissors. A couple clips, and the heart is perfectly symmetrical. “There you go, Pip.”

“My name is Jewel, Grandpa.” The little girl scowls.

Hollis tweaks her nose. “You’re a pipsqueak, and that’s why I call you Pip.”

Jewel’s frown deepens.

I intervene before she and her grandpa can get into a fight. “It means you’re extra special to Grandpa Hollis.”

Jewel considers this, and, like the savvy five-year-old she is, turns to the source. “Is that true?” she demands.

Hollis opens his mouth, and I know he’s about to wind Jewel up. Before he can get a word out, Astor shouts from the kitchen, “It’s true. He’s always been like this. Used to call me runt because I was short when I was a kid.”

“And you ain’t now, are you? You would’ve remained tiny if I hadn’t said a thing. You grew to spite me,” Hollis replies defensively. He pats Jewel on the head. “I call you Pip because it’s a cute nickname for a cute little girl who is special to me.”

Jewel beams. “You’re my favorite grandpa, too,” she coos.

“I’m your only grandpa,” he replies.

Jewel gives him an impish smile and skips away, her red heart in hand.

“She got you there,” I observe.

“I let her win. If I hadn’t, Astor would’ve fed me chicken feet and gizzards while you all ate the breast.” He fields his arms across his chest and glares at his daughter who comes out of the kitchen with a tray of freshly baked biscuits in one hand and baby number two perched on her hip.