Page 112 of The One Who Never Left: Colter

“You’re invited to my play.”

“Your school play?”

“Ah huh.” She cleared her throat dramatically. “Friendship is magic, neigh!” She glanced up at him, seeking praise.

Colter swallowed around something thick. “That’s award-winning work right there.”

“I knows,” she said breezily, and then her voice softened to something shy. “You cans come with Mommy. If yous want. Yous can sit in the front because I want yous to see me.”

It caught him off guard—not like a blow, but like an unexpected hand closing around his ribs and holding on. He hadn’t realized how badly he’d wanted to be included until she offered.

“You want me there,” he said quietly.

Lynlee nodded so hard her helmet slid forward again. He fixed it without thinking.

“Parker’s mom and dad and grandma and grandpa will be there. Plus, his auntie and uncle. They gots the front row. But I gots the two center seats. So there’s Mommy and you. Maybe after we can ride Bojangles again and have a milkshake at Miss Kitty’s and⁠—”

The ramble continued, a marathon of gratitude and sugar-drunk wonder. Colter barely kept up. But he heard the important part.

Not Bojangles.

Not milkshakes.

You. I want you there.

He gently tightened his arm around her. Somewhere between her tiny trust and Sutton’s shuttered hopes, he’d lost whatever distance he planned to keep. He was gone for this kid.

And maybe—god help him—he was gone for her mother too.

Three more slow circles around the corral, and two cupcakes later, the party finally wound down. Streamers sagged, ponies yawned, and the five-year-old crowd was deep into post-sugar existential crisis.

Lynlee hadn’t made it that far.

She was limp with exhaustion, head tucked under Colter’s chin, her sticky hands curled into the front of his T-shirt. He carried her like it was instinct—one big arm under her legs, the other cradling her back, rocking just slightly as if she weighed nothing.

Sutton swallowed around a knot that came out of nowhere. She should take her daughter home—bath, jammies, teeth, bed. The familiar steps that kept her world contained.

Rea materialized at her elbow, arms crossed, the picture of a British aristocracy meets Texas cattle baron.

“Darling,” Rea said, voice honey-sweet but firm. “Why don’t you stay.”

“We can’t. We’ve got her post-birthday Mommy-and-Me breakfast tomorrow. It’s a tradition.”

“Which you can still do. But that child is done for the night. We’ve a guest room made up and a perfectly good washing machine if she sleep-sweats frosting.”

“I don’t want to impose.”

“You’re not imposing,” Rea said. “You’re making a choice that spares your child a car seat meltdown.”

Sutton opened her mouth to argue—out of memory or defense she wasn’t sure—but then she glanced into the family room again, and saw Lynlee’s little face slack with sleep, cake-smeared and blissed out.

Colter glanced up, and a look of affection mixed with a kind of steady masculine protectiveness hit Sutton square in the sternum.

How do you say no to that?

Rea followed Sutton’s gaze and smirked. “You can fight me, darling. But you can’t fight that picture.”

The breath she released felt overdue. “It’s one night.”