Buck Me Cowboy

When the bus finally pulls into the station my stomach fills with butterflies as anxiety pumps through my frame. The terminal looks so much different from this perspective, and a part of me just wants to turn around and go back to Colorado, avoiding my problems again.

But I can’t.

I’ve come so far.

It wouldn’t be right.

So steeling myself, I force my feet forward

There’s the taxi stand, and like a robot, I get in, swinging my bag in the back.

It’s incredibly strange riding down the dirt road that leads to my farm in a hired car, but that’s nothing compared to the nerves running through spine. I’ve accepted that there are only one of two options – either the Morgan brothers have already razed the farm, or the place hasn’t been touched since I left.

While neither are great options, I’m hopeful that I’m left with the latter, and quietly vow to spend the rest of my life fixing the farm, if possible.

But as we veer into the drive, my eyes go wide, a gasp escaping my throat.

“Is everything okay?” the driver asks curiously, throwing me a look over the back seat.

I can’t answer, emotions choking my windpipe closed.

“Here,” comes my hoarse whisper before shoving a twenty dollar bill in his hand and grabbing my bags.

Because my childhood home’s there, sure. But it’s more than that. The Double H has been transformed into a fully-functioning ranch, shiny and sturdy. What used to be the broken steps leading to the front door are mended, leading to a wooden deck complete with a bench swing at the edge of the porch. The siding around the house has been replaced and painted a fresh beige color. Even the creaky front door has been removed, and now a red wooden one stands in its place, slightly open with a black screen.

But as I approach, the porch light flickers on, making my eyes blink in the sudden glare.

And I feel him, I literally feel the air shiver and shift even before he appears, that broad silhouette intimidating. My heart drops into my stomach as I peer upwards, and as Tyler’s face becomes more visible, it’s clear that the alpha’s glowering. Oh yeah, that handsome face is pulled into a mask of rage, blue eyes burning like the coldest ice.

Oh god, oh god. He hates me and wants me gone. Maybe Tyler was promised my farmhouse for closing the deal and he considers this his home now. Maybe this is squarely his turf, and I’m the intruder. Instinctively, my hand falls to the small bump of my belly.

The rancher’s expression becomes unreadable, a myriad of expressions crossing that handsome face. But then he grunts.

“You’re pregnant,” are the harsh words.

“I am,” I confirm softly, still rubbing my belly. “The baby’s yours, Tyler.”

And before I know it, the big man’s on me in an instant, swinging me into his arms, limbs flying, cradling my huge form against that broad chest. What in the world?

“Tyler, stop, stop!” I beat against the wall of muscle. He ignores my flailing fists, and grimly stalks up the stairs, before depositing me gently on the couch.

I sit up, smoothing my hair, trying to look dignified even while stealing a look at all he’s done. The interior looks familiar, just upgraded; everything is shiny and bright, clean as a whistle.

But Tyler doesn’t care about the house.

“What’s going on?” is his enraged growl, eyes piercing my soul. “Where the fuck have you been?”

I take a deep breath.

“Well, I’m pregnant, as you can see,” I say slowly, willing my courage to stay. “But we don’t need anything from you. This baby will be just fine. All I ask is that you help us through the pregnancy. It’s been hard to work long hours while I’m big, but I will. I will if that’s what it takes,” I say bravely, chin in the air.

A pause hangs in the air, those blue eyes boring into mine.

“You’ve been working while carrying my child?” he spits finally, gesturing furiously with those big hands. My pussy shivers, remembering where those hands have been, but I force myself to mentally repeat the mantra that he’s the enemy.

I take another deep breath.

“Yes. I had to make a living for myself, and for your child, Tyler, so I worked. But you don’t need to worry. I’m going to take care of this baby on my own. We won’t need your money or anything else,” come my brave words.

Oh god, I’m supposed to be demanding my farm back, I’m supposed to be making a play for the Double H. But instead, I’m just a wilting wallflower, and Tyler knows it, pressing his advantage.

“That’s my baby, Maisie. I’m going to be a father whether you like it or not,” he growls and I feel myself losing control.

“No,” I say tightly. “This child is mine.” My hands rub the bump reassuringly, possessive and maternal.