My heart does a stupid little somersault. Enemies to lovers, huh? Who knew the grumpy cowboy trope came with hand-holding privileges? I’ll be adding that to my book later.
We slip into Callie’s stall. The big girl is lying on fresh straw, sides heaving, sweat darkening her coat. She’s beautiful even in labor, strong, focused, a little pissed off. I get it, girl. No judgement here.
Cole drops to his knees beside her head, murmuring low nonsense in that rough velvet voice that usually makes me weak in the knees for entirely different reasons.
“Easy, mama. You got this. We’re right here.”
I hover near the stall wall, trying not to look like the total city girl I am, but oh my god, there’s a tiny hoof emerging. A tiny, perfect, wet hoof.
I gasp loud enough that Luke glances over and smirks. “First time?”
“Shut up,” I whisper-hiss, but I’m grinning like an idiot. “This is insane. She’s actually having a baby. Right now.”
Cole shoots me a look over his shoulder half exasperated, half amused, one hundred percent hot. “Not a baby. A foal. And keep your voice down, city girl. You’ll scare her.”
I stick my tongue out at him. He rolls his eyes, but there’s a twitch at the corner of his mouth. Progress.
The next few minutes are equal parts gross and magical. Callie gives a deep, grunting push. Cole and the vet, who appeared out of nowhere like a horse-birth fairy, guiding the baby hor– I meanfoal’s– shoulders through. I’m biting my knuckles so hard I might leave marks. There’s a slippery whoosh, a gush of fluid, and suddenly—
There’s a foal.
A tiny, gangly, soaked little thing lying in the straw, blinking in confusion at the world it just got yeeted into. Its coat is dark and matted, ears flopped sideways like wet paper. It’s… it’s adorable. It’s disgusting. It’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.
Callie immediately starts licking it furiously, low nickers rumbling from her chest. The foal twitches, tries to lift its head, and flops right back down. I laugh, loud, delighted, a little watery.
Cole glances at me again, and this time his eyes soften in a way that should be illegal. “You okay?”
I nod, wiping under my eyes. “I’m fine. It’s just… wow. That was the most beautiful disgusting thing ever.”
He chuckles, quiet, real and goes back to work, rubbing the foal with clean towels, checking it over. The little one finally gets its front legs under it, wobbling like a drunk giraffe on stilts. It tries to stand. Falls. Tries again. Falls. I’m holding my breath with every attempt.
“Come on, baby,” I whisper. “You got this.”
On the third try, it makes it shaky, splay-legged, but upright. Callie nuzzles it, and it stumbles toward her udder like it already knows the drill.
I’m full-on beaming now, tears freely streaming because apparently I’m a crier at horse births. Cole stands, wipes his hands on his jeans, and walks straight to me. Doesn’t say anything—just cups my face in those big, calloused hands and kisses me soft and slow, right there in front of the entire barn crew.
Did he really just do that? I look at him sideways, shock buzzing through me like electricity under my skin. He just kissed me out in the open. In front of everyone. Ranch hands. Family. People who’ve known him his whole life. I know his brother saw us messing around at the creek — Luke, I mean, hell, practically saw me naked, so I know he knows something.
But this? This felt different.
Cole didn’t hesitate. Didn’t hide it. Didn’t look around first to see who was watching. He just leaned in and kissed me like he didn’t care who saw. Like he wanted them to see.
It’s not that I didn’t like it. I loved it. God, I loved it. It almost feels like he wants people to know that whatever this thing between us is — it’s not a secret anymore. Or maybe Cole just doesn’t know how to do anything halfway. Maybe when he feels something, he feels it all the way through, whether it scares him or not.
After watching the baby horse be born, I’m already emotionally wrecked. My chest feels tight, my eyes burn, and my heart feels too full for my body.
“What do you want to name her?” Cole asks me.
And suddenly everyone’s looking at me. I can practically feel the surprise in the air, the disbelief that Cole Marshall is letting the city girl name a foal born on his ranch.
“Sara,” I say without thinking.
The name just comes to me. Soft. Strong. Right. Cole smiles, not his usual guarded half-smile, but something bigger. Something proud.
“Sara it is,” he says.
Something in my chest shifts. Everyone gathers around, voices low and warm, watching little Sara wobble on unsteady legs and nurse from Callie. It’s… beautiful. Raw. Life happening right in front of us without asking permission.
