Page 113 of The One Who Never Left: Colter

“One step,” Rea corrected gently.

“One night,” Sutton repeated.

Lie number ten.

CHAPTER 42

Bath time had wiped out the last of Lynlee’s energy. Now she was tucked into a queen-size guest bed, swallowed whole by one of Colter’s soft cotton T-shirts with a faded University of California Davis written across the chest, and sleeves hanging past her elbows. She looked like a baby bird nesting in a pile of borrowed fabric.

Sutton wasn’t much better in her own oversized loaner—the shirt draped down to mid-thigh, smelling faintly of detergent and some woodsy aftershave that made her hormones misbehave.

She smoothed damp curls off Lynlee’s forehead. “Special day, huh?”

Lynlee nodded, eyelids drooping. “My favoritest part was da horse ride with Colter.”

Of course it was.

“Yeah? You liked that?”

“He held me so I wouldn’t fall,” Lynlee said, voice syrup-thick with sleep. “And he said I was brave and that Posey would be proud. And he’s comin’ to my play.”

That one pierced.

“That was very nice of him.”

Lynlee hummed in sleepy agreement. “I love him.”

Sutton’s heart tripped. Kids handed out love like stickers—but still. Hearing it was a whole different weight.

She kissed Lynlee’s temple. “He’s easy to love.”

A tiny yawn. “Mommy?”

“Mm?”

“You had fun too?”

Sutton hesitated because fun wasn’t the word.

Her favorite part hadn’t been the ponies or cupcakes. It was the stolen moments—glances over ice buckets, the warm scrape of his eyes against hers, the way his smile kept sneaking out like he didn’t mean to show it.

It was noticing him notice her. Again and again and again.

She brushed her hand along Lynlee’s back. “Yeah, pumpkin. I had fun too.”

Lynlee nodded once, then went fully boneless, asleep in an instant—just a tiny breathing bundle wrapped in borrowed cotton and cowboy magic.

Sutton lingered another beat, watching her daughter exhale peace. Then she turned toward the hallway—toward the awareness waiting in the next door.

There were three guestrooms and yet Lady Rea and Vivi had made up the one next to Colter’s bedroom. It was a setup, plain and simple. They were plotting against her.

She closed Lynlee’s door with a soft click, dim hallway light spilling across her bare knees and the hem of Colter’s T-shirt. The ranch was quiet—kids gone, parents gone, Eli in the bunkhouse, Boone and Vivi somewhere downstairs raiding the leftover queso.

Sutton leaned against the door for a breath, pressing a palm flat over her chest.

Guilt clawed up first.

She needed to tell him about Lynlee’s conception. About how that sweet, sleeping five-year-old was his. He deserved the truth now, before this went any further. No matter what the outcome for Sutton, he deserved to know the truth and Lynlee deserved to know him as her father.