Page 54 of Kicking Up Dust

“I worked really hard on this. Was up at five this morning at Broken Spoke just to get the things I’d need for it,” he says, keeping his hand firmly in place, even when I try to shove at his arm.

“I am very excited, please show me.”

“Alright, alright. Don’t get your hopes up, it’s probably not even all that great,” he jokes.

But when he finally takes his hand away, I’m absolutely gobsmacked. It’s a swing, hanging from the roof of the covered front porch.

Or… well, to simply call it a swing is a massive insult. It’s much bigger than a swing, though it’s clearly not finished yet. It looks big enough to⁠—

“You said yesterday you wished you could sleep out here in the summer breeze and, fuck, I couldn’t get that mental picture out of my head. It sounded so perfect. I pictured coming home for lunch and seeing you all laid out and pretty, the swing rocking in the breeze… It’ll be big enough to fit a full-size mattress, but we’ve either gotta order one online or see if someone in Billings sells them because we need one that is made to stay outside,” he rambles as I walk closer to it.

It’s absolutely beautiful, and I can’t believe he built it with his own two hands, but there’s an extension cord plugged into the side of the cabin and connected to a small power tool in the yard with wood beside it, so I assume he must’ve. I follow the ropes up to the roof, where they’re anchored in with some sort of metal something-or-another. I’m not an expert on any of this, but I trust Colt’s handiness with everything in me. I know the swing will hold me. It’s probably strong enough to hold both of us and our future daughter, knowing him.

“Do you like it, mama? You’re not really saying anything.”

I feel horrible for causing the uncertainty in his voice, turning back to face him with a quickly crumbling face. His softens as well and he walks toward me, folding me into his arms.

“This is the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me,” I whisper against his chest, pointedly ignoring that I’m wetting the material of his shirt with my tears.

“I’m sure that’s not true,” he says, fingers in my hair. “Stephanie and Chelsey have probably done very nice things.”

That’s true and I appreciate everything they’ve done for me, but this is different. It’s born of a different sort of affection, and for someone who never even wanted to hope for that sort of love, it means the world.

I pull back and press a kiss to his lips before I can chicken out, winding my arms up around his neck, swallowing the noise of surprise he makes. It only takes him a second to catch up though, one hand framing my cheek, thumb along my jaw as he tilts my head where he wants it to deepen the kiss.

“Fuck, baby. If this is the thanks I’ll get every time I do something for you, you’re gonna have a hard time getting rid of me,” he says when he finally pulls away, pressing his forehead to mine.

“Are we gonna be able to have sex on this porch bed too, you think?” I whisper, just to give him a hard time.

He groans. “Might be a bit rocky, but I’ll make that happen. After you give birth though. I don’t want to take any chances of you falling off and getting hurt.”

“I’ll hold you to it.”

“I’d expect no less, pretty girl.”

TWENTY-NINE

COLT

“And why, do you think, neither of you have initiated the conversation? Surely, it would be better to make sure you’re both on the same page?” Melissa asks, her voice tinny through the computer speaker.

I let out a sigh, leaning back against the headboard of my bed at the Big House. It’s not that I don’t want Blair knowing I’m joining biweekly virtual therapy sessions, it’s that I don’t want Blair knowing how fucked up I am. She only sees the Colt that’s busting his ass. She doesn’t need to know the Colt that was on the roof the night she reached out. They’re not the same person.

“I don’t know,” I lie, but Melissa just cuts me a look. She called me out on trying to use my dimples to charm my way out of difficult conversations in the first session, so I don’t try to bullshit her anymore.

“Mmkay. Well, if you want to pay me to sit here for an hour and get nowhere, that’s your money to waste, I suppose.”

I snort. She’s not at all what I expected when I started looking for therapists shortly after finding out Blair was pregnant, but I like how she talks to me.

“I guess I’m just scared, maybe? That I’m just… convenient for her. She could have anyone she wants, but I knocked her up and brought her out to live with me. I just don’t want her to feel trapped.”

Melissa hums and types, which I hate. I know I’ve said something particularly fucked up when she starts typing.

“Do you think it’s possible she may have similar fears? That you’re the one that’s ‘trapped’ just because she got pregnant?” she says. I open my mouth to argue and she puts her hand up. “Don’t get defensive. I’m not saying you are or that getting pregnant was her fault or any of the numerous things I know will trigger that protective side of you when it comes to her. I’m only asking you to consider that she might feel that she’s trapped you just as much as you feel you’ve trapped her.”

“But she hasn’t trapped me. And I’ve told her that.”

“I know that,” Melissa tells me with a nod. “But that’s only because you and I have talked about how much Blair means to you.”