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“You’ll be staying in the guest house,” Caleb said. “Try not to make a mess of things again.” He said it like I hadn’t already shattered everything once. Like I wasn’t the reason the two cowboy brothers stopped speaking. I came back to that ranch for peace—not for them. But now I’m living under their roof again… and both of them are watching me like I’m the flame that burned them, and the fire they still want to touch. 💔 Chapter 1 POV Ivory Four missed calls. No response. I wiped the sweat from my forehead and checked my phone again, the August sun already brutal at eight in the morning. Stella knew better. The intern had been assigned to monitor Bonnie, an old mare recovering from a leg injury that could turn fatal if left unattended. Colic. Infection. A dozen things that could kill a horse in the time it took my intern to ignore her damn phone. The main stable was empty when I arrived. Recovery stall, vacant. I called out once, twice, then heard it—a muffled sound from the old tack room at the back. I shoved the door open. Stella's scrubs were bunched around her hips, her back pressed against the wall of saddles. A man stood between her thighs, his shirt hanging open, tan uniform pants shoved down just enough. I just see broad shoulders, dark hair, hands gripping my intern's bare thighs like he owned her. My stomach dropped through the floor when he turned. Ryan. My brother. The town sheriff, badge still pinned to the shirt he hadn't bothered to remove, frozen mid-motion like a deer caught in headlights. Relief hit me first—sharp and shameful. No husband to betray me. No man in my life at all. Just my idiot brother screwing my intern against my saddles. But it wasn't them that stole my breath. It was the room. The smell of leather and hay. Dusty horse blankets piled in the corner. This room. This exact spot where six years ago, whiskey had burned my throat and two pairs of hands had learned my body. A wicked grin in the dark. Quiet intensity that made me feel seen. I shoved the memory down hard. "Get dressed," I said, my voice cold enough to freeze the August heat. "Now." Stella scrambled for her clothes, face scarlet. "Dr. Hill, I'm so sorry, I just… We were only—" "Only what? Only abandoning a patient who could have colicked in the hour you've been unreachable? Only deciding your love life matters more than whether Bonnie lives or dies? She's fifteen years old, Stella. She trusted us to care for her, and you left her alone so you could get screwed against my saddles." Ryan stepped forward, buckling his belt with fumbling hands. "Ivory, listen, this isn't what it looks like. Stella and I have been seeing each other for a few weeks now, and I came by to bring her coffee before my shift. Things just got out of hand, but—" "I don't care who you're sleeping with, Ryan." I turned on him. "I care that my intern abandoned her post. I care that I've been calling for an hour while a horse could have been dying. You want to explain your love life? Save it for someone who gives." He opened his mouth, then closed it. Something flickered across his face—hurt, maybe, or embarrassment. Good. He should be embarrassed. The town sheriff, sneaking around like a teenager in my tack room. "We'll talk later," he muttered, grabbing his hat from where it had fallen. "Don't bother." He left without another word. My phone buzzed in my pocket. I glanced at the screen—Dad—and silenced it. I didn't have time for him right now. "Stella." I kept my voice level, professional. "Go find Bonnie. Check her vitals, her leg, her gut sounds. If anything is wrong, anything at all, you call me immediately. Understood?" "Yes, Dr. Hill. I'm so sorry. It won't happen again, I swear." "Then prove it." The mare was fine—thank God—but I made Stella redo the poultice wrap three times until it met my standards. Then I supervised her work with cold precision, correcting every small mistake, making her explain each step out loud. By the time I was satisfied, I'd also checked on two recovering cattle and an hour had slipped away. I climbed into my mud-splattered truck and drove toward my cottage on the far edge of the ranch property, running through my mental list: Pick up the triplets from Marisol by noon. Call the feed supplier about the delayed order. Figure out why Luke had been wetting the bed again—stress, probably, but about what? When I pulled up to the cottage, my father was already outside waiting. He stood at the steps, his face pale, hands trembling at his sides. Not the Parkinson's tremor I'd grown used to. Something worse. Something I'd never seen before. "Dad?" I slammed the truck door. "What's wrong? I saw you called, I was dealing with—" "The new owners are here." I stopped walking. "What owners?" He couldn't meet my eyes. The explanation came in painful fragments, each word landing like a stone in my chest. "My condition is progressing faster than Dr. Morris expected. The debt… Ivory, I couldn't manage the ranch anymore, and I couldn't leave it to you either. You're a veterinarian. A single mother with three children and no husband. I couldn't put that weight on you. I had to sell. I'm sorry…" "You sold the ranch." The words felt foreign in my mouth. "You sold our home without telling me? Without asking if I wanted to fight for it?" "I was trying to protect you, sweetheart. The contract keeps you on as the ranch veterinarian. You won't lose your practice. And you won't lose the house where the kids live. I made sure of that." "Who?" My voice cracked. "Who did you sell it to?" The cottage door swung open behind him and two massive figures stepped onto the porch. I recognized them immediately. How couldn’t I… Kameron Banks—all dark curls falling past his collar, ice-blue eyes and that devil's grin I'd never been able to forget. And Colt McKenna—his shoulders now so broad they’re blocking the doorway, and the same sandy hair and hazel eyes already fixed on my face with an intensity that made my skin burn. My older brother's ex-best friends. The boys who used to work this land every summer, who ate at our family table. The ones I'd loved desperately and secretly at different points in my teenage years—before they'd made it clear I was nothing but Ryan's silly little sister. A nuisance to be teased, dismissed, forgotten. The same men who'd touched me in that tack room six years ago when I was twenty-two. Who'd made me feel things I'd never felt before or since. Who'd vanished by morning. Lily's ice-blue eyes. Luke's sandy hair. Levi's crooked smile. I didn't know which man had fathered my children. I'd never let myself find out. Six years of silence, and now they stood on my father's porch like they owned the place. Because they did. Chapter 2 * Six Years Ago * The mirror didn't lie. I turned sideways, smoothing the deep green dress over my hips. Curves where teenage angles used to be. Auburn hair tumbling past my shoulders instead of scraped back in a ponytail. Smoke and intention lining my green eyes. The hem hit mid-thigh—just high enough to make a statement—and my nicest cowboy boots added two inches I didn't need but wanted anyway. I looked like a woman now. I felt like one too. Twenty-two years old, freshly graduated from veterinary school three states away, and back home to intern under old Doc Perkins. My father had insisted I attend the harvest festival tonight. Play the perfect rancher's daughter. Smile for the neighbors. Ryan was working a shift and wouldn't be there to shadow me. But Kameron Banks and Colt McKenna would be. I leaned closer to the mirror, applying another coat of mascara. The girl who'd left this town four years ago wouldn't recognize me. That girl had been gangly and desperate, scribbling in a diary full of dreams that would destroy her. I still remember that day as if it was yesterday. Sophomore year. The school parking lot. My overstuffed bag had split open, and my notebook tumbled out onto the concrete. Kameron's girlfriend—a sharp-tongued cheerleader Esther—snatched it before I could move. She'd flipped through the pages with a cruel smile while I stood frozen. "Oh my God." Jessica's voice had carried across the lot. "Just listen to this, guys! 'Kameron's eyes are like the summer sky. I dream about him kissing me.' Seems like our ugly ducky is in love with you, Kam!" The laughter had been suffocating. Twenty, thirty kids, all of them howling while my handwriting was displayed like evidence at a trial. And Kameron—beautiful, careless Kameron—had stood there laughing with them. Not stopping it. Not even looking uncomfortable. I had loved Kameron Banks for two years before that moment. It started when I was fourteen—the summer he came to work as a ranch hand. He sat at our dinner table, laughing with Ryan. Broke colts with a fearless grin like danger was the whole point. The best rider in the county, everyone said. Born for rodeo. He had this effortless shine that made everyone want to orbit closer, hoping some of that light might fall on them. I was no different. Just quieter about it. For two years, I loved him in secret. Wrote about him in that diary because I couldn't tell anyone. Then Esther read those words to thirty laughing faces, and two years of hidden devotion became a punchline. Ryan found me crying in my truck an hour later. He didn't hug me. Didn't ask if I was okay. Just crossed his arms and said, "Stay away from Kameron. Boys like him will only break your heart." Not I'm sorry. Not I'll talk to him. He never did confront Kameron. Their friendship continued without a ripple. My humiliation wasn't worth a hard conversation. And then there was Colt. Colt had been different. Kind, at first. He'd helped me fix my truck when it died in the south pasture. Taught me to train horses with those patient hands guiding mine on the reins. I'd started to believe he saw me—really saw me—as something more than Ryan's little sister. Then one evening I'd come looking for him at the main house. The kitchen window was open, and their voices drifted out. "She's got it bad, man." Colt's voice, low and amused. "Follows me around like a puppy. It's fucking pathetic." Ryan had laughed. "She's sixteen, McKenna. Don't flatter yourself." I'd stopped eating at the main house after that. Later applied to a college three states away and didn't look back. But tonight, I decided, I was done being the punchline. The ugly ducky glowed up and ready to make bullies choke on their own words. The harvest festival was already crowded when I arrived. String lights hung from the barn rafters. A country band played something slow and aching. The smell of hay and whiskey and possibility filled the air. Heads turned as I walked in and I felt powerful for the first time in years. I spotted them across the crowded barn—Kameron leaning against the bar with that lazy grin, Colt standing apart near the back wall with quiet intensity. Both men had filled out in the years since high school. Kameron's dark curls fell past his collar now while Colt's strong shoulders had broadened into something formidable. They noticed me at the same moment. Kameron's eyebrows rose as Colt's jaw tightened almost immediately as I walked to the bar and ordered whiskey. Let them come to me themself, I’m done tailing them. Kameron sidled up first, sliding onto the stool beside me with that devil's smile I remembered too well. "Well, well. Little Ivory Hill grew up nice." I took a slow sip of my whiskey, letting the burn settle before I answered. "Did I? Last time we talked, you seemed to think I couldn't handle much of anything. What was it you said at Tommy Becker's party? 'Go home, little ducky, before you get hurt'?" "I was eighteen and stupid. You were what, sixteen? Ryan would've killed me if I'd let you stay." "Ryan's not here tonight." "No.” His ice-blue eyes traveled down my dress, then back up. Slower this time. “He's not." "So tell me, Kameron." I turned on my stool to face him fully. "Do you still think I couldn't handle you?" His eyes darkened. "Ivory…" "She's not a game, Banks." Colt's voice came from my other side. I hadn't heard him approach, but suddenly he was there, close enough that I could smell him. His hazel eyes were fixed on Kameron with something that looked like a warning. "Who says I'm playing?" Kameron's grin didn't falter, but an edge crept into his voice. "Because I know you." Colt's voice was low, steady. He didn't move, didn't even blink—just stood there with that quiet intensity radiating off him like heat from sunbaked stone. Kameron's ice-blue eyes narrowed, that easy charm flickered and something darker surfaced beneath it. "You know the kid I was. Things change." "Not that much." Colt's gaze cut to me for a split second before locking back onto Kameron. The air between them crackled until I set my glass down harder than necessary and both men turned to look at me. "You know what's funny?" I said. "You're both standing here talking about me like I'm still that silly little girl who followed you around hoping you'd notice her. Like I don't get to decide what I want." Colt's expression shifted. Something like guilt flickered there. "Ivory, that's not what I—" "Isn't it? Because from where I'm sitting, nothing's changed. You're still talking over me. Still deciding what's best for Ryan's little sister." I signaled the bartender for another whiskey. "And I spent four years away from this town, becoming someone who doesn't need your protection or your permission." Kameron leaned closer. "What do you need then, firecracker?" The question hung in the air between us as the band shifted to something slower and couples drifted toward the dance floor. I downed my whiskey in one long swallow and looked at them both. Kameron with his wicked grin and careless charm. Colt with his quiet intensity and careful control. Two men who had made me feel small and desperate and invisible for years. Two men who were looking at me now like I was the only woman in the room. "Maybe I want to play," I said. The words tasted like revenge. Like power. Like a lie I was telling myself because the truth—that some part of me still ached for them, still wanted them to choose me—was too dangerous to admit. For a heartbeat, neither of them spoke. Then Colt moved closer. "You want to play?" His voice dropped low, rough. "Let's play then." Kameron's laugh was dark. "Well. This just got interesting…" Chapter 3 The whiskey kept coming. So did they. Kameron finally pulled me onto the dance floor with his hand settled on my hip. Strong fingers pressing into the curve through the thin fabric, making the heat spread slowly and agonizingly sweet across my skin like wildfire. "You're shaking, firecracker," he murmured against my ear. "I'm not scared of you, Kameron Banks." "Never said you were, sweetheart. But your body's telling me something your mouth won't." Before he could bring me closer to his hard and big body, a hand closed around my wrist. Colt pulled me from Kameron's grip, spinning me against his chest. His arm wrapped around my waist, drawing me closer than decent. Close enough to feel every hard plane pressed against me. His thumb traced slow circles against my spine, and my treacherous body leaned into the touch. The fabric of his shirt was warm against my palms where I'd braced myself against his chest. Kameron didn't step back. Instead, he moved closer, until I was completely sandwiched between their bodies. His chest pressed against my back, his hands settling on either side of my waist, effectively trapping me between them. "You don't have to prove anything to him," Colt said, his voice rough. "Maybe she wants to," Kameron challenged, his eyes locked on Colt's over my shoulder while his thumb traced maddening circles on my waist. I couldn't breathe properly. Colt's hands slid lower, settling at the small of my back, while Kameron's fingers flexed against my waist. They were both so much taller, broader, making me feel small and surrounded in a way that sent heat pooling low in my belly. "I-I can speak for myself," I managed, though my voice came out breathless. "Then speak," Kameron murmured, his lips grazing my ear. Behind me, I felt every hard plane of his chest, his hips pressed against me in a way that made thinking impossible. Colt leaned down, close enough that his breath fanned across my face. "Tell us what you want, Ivory." The proximity was dizzying. I was drowning in the scent of them—cologne, whiskey, and something uniquely masculine that made my knees weak. "You're both..." I couldn't finish, overwhelmed by the sensation of my body responding in ways that made my cheeks burn hotter. Then I saw Mrs. Patterson watching from the refreshment table. Old Tom Wheeler whispering to his wife. Three women from my mother's old church group with their heads together. The whole town was watching me pressed between two men. By morning, it would be all anyone discussed. "I need air." I pulled away. "Everyone's staring." I stumbled through the crowd and burst into the cool night. Stars wheeled overhead as I leaned against the barn wall, gasping. The whiskey churned in my stomach, making the world tilt sideways. Pathetic. I was supposed to be in control tonight. I was supposed to make them want what they couldn't have—make them feel what I'd felt all those years ago and then walk away. Instead, my whole body still hummed from Colt's hands on my hips, from Kameron's breath against my ear. One dance had me wet and aching like the lovesick teenager they remembered. So much for strength. So much for revenge. I pressed my forehead against the cool wood and hated myself for still wanting them. "Running away already?" Kameron's voice came from behind me. Turning my head back I saw that both of them had followed. Kameron with that infuriating grin and Colt with his jaw tight. "Go back inside before someone notices you're gone. I’m fine." "Let them notice, I don’t give a fuck. And you're not fine." Kameron stepped closer. "Just hiding, same as always." Colt moved between us, his broader frame blocking Kameron's advance. "Back off, Banks. You're drunk and running your mouth." "Don't speak for her," Kameron snapped. "That's your problem, McKenna. You think you know what's best for everyone." "Better than watching you toy with her like one of your buckle bunnies." "At least I'm honest about what I want, can admit I want her. You've been eye-fucking her with your eyes all night, too chickenshit to touch." "You don't know anything about me. None of you," I said, trying to stop that madness. "I know you spent years mooning over us.” Kameron stepped closer, towering over me. “I know you left town because you couldn't handle being invisible anymore. And I know you came back tonight wearing that excuse for a dress because you wanted us to finally see what we've been missing." My hands curled into fists. "You think I dressed up for you? I dressed up for me. Because I'm not that pathetic little girl anymore!" "Then prove it," he challenged, his breath fanning across my face. "Stop running and prove you're not afraid of what you want, firecracker." Something inside me snapped. The anger transformed into something darker, more dangerous. The irritation and old hurt drained, leaving behind only want. Pure and undiluted. They wanted proof? I'd give them proof. I grabbed Kameron's shirt with both hands, yanking him down to my level. I crushed my mouth to his, but this wasn't the sweet kiss of a lovesick girl. Kissing him hard, I bit his bottom lip hard enough to make him groan, then soothed it with my tongue, taking control of the kiss completely. I pulled back abruptly, leaving him panting and wide-eyed. "Still think I'm Ryan's innocent little sister?" Without waiting for an answer, I turned to Colt, who was watching with his hands clenched at his sides, looking absolutely wrecked. I rose up on my toes, pressing my entire body against his, feeling him already hard against my stomach. Instead of kissing him immediately, I traced my lips along his jaw, down his neck, finding his pulse point and sucking hard enough to leave a mark. He groaned, his hands breaking free to grip my hips. "Ivory—" "Shut up," I whispered against his mouth before claiming it, kissing him slow and dirty, the way I'd learned men liked it, rolling my tongue against his until his control completely shattered and he spun us around, pressing me into the wall. "We should stop," he breathed against my lips. "Don't you dare stop now." We stumbled away from the barn, too drunk to drive, too desperate to care. The old tack room materialized like a dream. Dusty saddles. Horse blankets piled in the corner. Leather and hay. Kameron’s thick cock strained against his jeans as he slammed me against the splintered wall, his mouth a furnace on my neck, teeth grazing my pulse. "Tell me to stop," he growled, but his hands were already yanking my panties aside, fingers slicking with my arousal. "Tell me, and I will." "Don't stop. Don't ever stop." I gasped, arching into him as he worked two fingers inside me, curling them just right to make me moan. Colt was behind me, stripping my dress off with brutal efficiency, his rough palms sliding up my thighs, thumbs digging into the soft flesh of my ass. Kameron’s mouth was everywhere—my throat, my tits, his tongue flicking over my nipples until they ached. Colt’s cock, thick and heavy, pressed against my back as his hands slid around to pinch and twist my clit in time with Kameron’s thrusting fingers. They laid me out on the horse blankets, the rough fabric scraping my skin as they stripped off their clothes. It was even better than any dirtiest fantasy I endured for years about them. I didn’t get only one of them. Both of them were mine. And it was perfect. Hands worshiping my body, fingers tangled in my hair, rough voices whispering filth into my ears—how fucking tight I was, how they’d dreamed of this, how they weren’t stopping until I screamed. And I did. Over and over. I lost track of where one ended and the other began. Hands and mouths and whispered names. Pleasure building until I shattered between them. Multiple times over the night until our bodies gave up and we fell asleep in each other's embrace. Dawn crept through cracks in the wooden walls when I woke. Hay in my hair. My dress crumpled nearby. Then the realization that I was alone. Shame flooded my chest, but beneath it—indeniable relief. I didn't know how I could have faced them after what we'd done. What I'd begged for. What they made me feel. I put on my dress with trembling hands, the blankets still held their warmth, their scent. They'd left without a word. I stood in the doorway, watching the sun paint the sky pink and gold, and I couldn't decide if I was grateful or completely gutted. Chapter 4 I moved through my shifts at Doc Perkins' clinic like a ghost. Three days since the harvest festival. Three days of examining horses and cattle while my body still held memories I couldn't shake. That afternoon I found an excuse to stop by the main house of our ranch where they usually help. My father sat at the kitchen table, hunched over his ledger with reading glasses perched on his nose. "Hey, Dad." I leaned against the doorframe. "Got a minute?" "Always for you, sweetheart. What's on your mind?" "I need to coordinate my veterinary rounds with the ranch hands this week. Doc Perkins wants me handling the north pasture cattle on my own now, and I don't want to get in anyone's way." He nodded without looking up. "I can give you the schedule. Most of the boys are working fence lines through Friday." Great. That’s the entrance that I need. I kept my voice carefully casual while trying to figure out how to meet them. "What about Banks and McKenna? They’re still working the north pasture?" My father finally glanced up. Something flickered across his face—surprise, maybe, or curiosity about why I'd ask. If only he knew… "Kameron took off for the rodeo circuit, told me yesterday before he left. Some talent scouts saw him ride at the county fair last month. Made him an offer he couldn't refuse, apparently." My stomach dropped through the floor and I gripped the doorframe harder. "And Colt?" Dad shrugged and turned back to his ledger. "McKenna got offered a management position at a ranch in Texas. Left the same morning as Banks. Didn't even give proper notice. Just packed his truck and drove off at dawn." The same morning yesterday. Both of them. Gone. Without even… Fuck. "That's inconvenient," I managed. "Good hands are hard to find." "Tell me about it. Had to scramble to cover their work." He shook his head. "Never figured those two for runners, but I guess you never really know people." Yeah, apparently you never don’t. So I just excused myself before my face could betray me and my father would figure out that something happened between his lonely only daughter and two hot reckless cowboys. No one ever will. * * * The next two months were pretty brutal as I threw myself into work. Every sick animal, every emergency call, every chance to prove myself to Doc Perkins—I took it. If I stayed busy enough, exhausted enough, maybe I could forget the taste of whiskey and the sound of my name on their lips. Stop remembering how it felt to finally have what I'd wanted for so long, only to lose it by sunrise. The signs were there, screaming at me in a language I refused to translate. The morning coffee that suddenly made me gag. The world tilting sideways when I stood too fast. My jeans getting tighter despite barely eating. I blamed everything else—stress, exhaustion, heartbreak. Anything but the truth. Until the morning I was examining Mrs. Henderson's mare and the barn started spinning. I barely made it outside before emptying my stomach behind the fence. Then I remembered that my period won’t come. The math was a cruel joke. Eight weeks since the harvest festival. Eight weeks since I'd sandwiched myself between two cowboys and pretended I could play their game without consequences. I drove to the pharmacy, then sat on the cold tile of my bathroom floor an hour later and four positive pregnancy tests lined up before me like a verdict. My hands wouldn't stop shaking. "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck." No… It can’t be, right? From one reckless night? Just like that? I need to know for sure, I need uncompromising confirmation. These tests could be just cheap (not cheap at all) shit at last. So I needed to be certain before I let myself fall apart completely. I called the clinic and made an appointment for an ultrasound. Then I called Marisol. She'd become my closest friend over the past months, since her mother opened the bakery and was sending her to our ranch to buy some good flour and eggs. The Universe has a strange sense of humor, really. The sharp-tongued cheerleader from my high school, who once had no business getting along with some ugly ducky like me back then, now runs her family's café and somehow became my lifeline. She’s also the only one who knows about that harvest festival night. Pulled my secret out of me one night a few weeks ago when I'd stayed too late at her counter after a long work day, drinking beer and pretending I wasn't falling apart. I'd told her everything and Marisol was actually sweet and supportive about all of that. Promising to keep it a secret from anyone, giving me words that I needed to hear along with ruthless reality checks. Love that girl, really. Now she was the one who insisted on supporting and driving me to the clinic in her old truck, her hand finding mine when I couldn't stop trembling. The ultrasound tech was chirpy until she wasn't. Her face shifted from professional pleasant to something else as she moved the wand across my still-flat stomach. "Interesting," she murmured. "Interesting good or interesting bad?" Marisol demanded. The doctor swept in, took over the wand, and destroyed my life with five words: "Congratulations. You're having triplets." The room went silent except for the sound of three rapid heartbeats filling the speakers. Thump-thump-thump-thump-thump-thump. "I'm sorry, what?" My voice came out strangled. "Three distinct embryos. Three heartbeats. All measuring exactly eight weeks." Marisol's laugh was borderline hysterical. "Holy shit. You don't do anything halfway, do you?" "Are you sure?" I whispered. "There's no mistake?" "No mistake. Three healthy heartbeats. You'll want to schedule regular appointments—multiple pregnancies require careful monitoring. Do you have questions?" I had a thousand questions. None of them were about medical care. Three babies. One night with two men. No way to know which cowboy is the father.