Page 67 of Winning His Wager

Talk about some serious progress here. The counselor her mom went to twice a week now was really making a difference. Tears hit Dylan's eyes. Her mom had gone through so much.

“How long were you ill, Dylan Geraldine?” a male voice demanded.

Of course. Poophead Dad would be right there too. But this time Dylan didn’t care. She was in the hospital, and her parents were there to make sure everything was okay. It helped—she wasn't too much of a hardhead to admit that.

“I don’t even remember really being sick, Daddy. I woke up with a little bit of fever, but I thought I was just getting the flu from Dorie and Mom, so I took some fever reducer and felt fine after. Can you get Fletcher? I need to make sure that man is okay. He gets really freaky over hospitals, since his mom died so suddenly when he was a kid and then his dad four years later.”

Her father’s face tightened. Well, he would just have to get over this ridiculous Tyler-itis he had. Dylan looked at him and batted her lashes. “Please, Daddy? Please go get my Cowboy Fletchie for me? Please, please, please?”

She stuck her lower lip out for the hell of it and kept batting her eyes.

“You have been nothing but trouble since the day you were born,” her father told her. But he stood and kissed her forehead. He smelled the way he always had, felt big and reassuring and safe. Just like he always had.Dylan resisted the urge to cling. “I’ll let that boy back here if he behaves himself and doesn’t tell me what to do this time.”

“Technically, I think I am the one who gets to let him back here. You just get to be my Fletcher-fetcher.”

He was grumbling when he left the room. Dylan snickered—then looked at her mom. “So how long am I stuck here anyway? I have things to do at home. Fletcher’s partner in Texas is sending our drones this weekend. I need to figure out the instructions and translate them into Fletcher-speak, and I need to get some more seeds started for a trial I am doing for an agronomist in Texas now, and I am trying to get him to paint the living room soon, and?—”

“He makes you happy, doesn't he?” her mom asked, watching Dylan in that way she had sometimes. Like she was reading Dylan's soul or something. “Like you haven’t been since we came here. That makes me happy, baby. I have been worried about you.”

Dylan and her mom had always had adifferentkind of relationship. Mental illness almost ensured that. Sometimes, her mom’s anxiety had made her unable to be the kind of mom Dylan knew her mom had wanted to be. And that would depress her mom occasionally, which would cause her to spiral. But Dylan had always known her mother really loved them. Her mom’s mental health struggles just made it difficult to put that love into play every time. “He…does. He understands me too. Respects me to make my own decisions. I’ve signed up to take another class. Well, if this little vacation doesn’t zap my savings, anyway. It’s an agricultural business class. It will count toward my degree—but it will help us with what he’s doing with his partner too.”

“I thought the position of housekeeper was just for six months?” There was such a mom-knowing look right there. “And then you were coming back to the inn?”

Well, it was. But they didn’t talk about it that way any longer. The plans they had made…were for long-term. He hadn’t mentioned a time limit even once since long before Finley Creek.

No. He’d said he wanted her forever. That implied a lack of time limits, after all. “Mama, I think…technically I may be living in sin with Fletcher Tyler here.” Dylan shot her mom a wry look. As exactly what she’d said sank in. “I just now caught on. Seems I may have just missed it.”

“As long as you are enjoying it, sweetie,” her mother gave a wicked grin of her own, showing that spirit that snuck through sometimes when she wasn’t too afraid. “Do not tell your dad, but I actually like Fletcher quite a bit. He gives your father hell when needed too. Brings him down off his high horse.”

“So I have noticed.” Dylan’s fingers wrapped around her mom’s. “So, when am I getting out of here? I want to go…home.”

Home.

To Fletcher.WithFletcher.

Forever, if he’d have her.

Talk about terrifying.

Then there was movement at the door.

The two most important men in her life stood there right now. And they were only glaring at each a little bit now. Could she call that progress, maybe?

But one look at her particular Tyler and Dylan burst into tears out of nowhere. And reached for him like a great big baby.

* * *

Dylan Talley’stears would always destroy him.

Fletcher knew that with one look.

He looked at her father and stepped in front of the taller man when Talley shifted toward his daughter. It was Fletcher she was reaching for. It was Fletcher that was going to be there to hold her while she cried.

His arms went around her—the side of the bed was down, but it was awkward. He was trying not to touch her abdomen as best he could. But he was going to hold her. No matter what.

Skinny arms hooked around his neck and she pulled him closer. He cupped the back of her head and just held her while she cried.

“I’m sorry. I’m being a lunatic. But this is definitely not where I expected to wake up this morning,” she said into his neck.