Stella arched a brow, knowing good and well she would have agreed to pretty much anything he wanted in that moment.
“I know you’re my cowgirl and you want to spend all your time with those four- legged monstrosities, but when I have to go on the road, I need you with me. I love you, Stella Jo. The band wasn’t going to change their lifestyle for me. And I’m never going to be a saint. I have to do this on my own. But I need you, baby. Only you.”
“Van—”
“I won’t make promises I can’t keep, Stella Jo. I might relapse. I might have to go back into rehab.”
She nodded. “And I might get crazy jealous of a groupie and set all of your shit on fire.”
His laughter warmed her from the inside out. Filled the space that had long been empty. “I might love you for the rest of my life.”
“I might let you.”
“As long as we both shall live.” Van’s words were kissed into her mouth, and she took them. Readily.
“You were wrong, Mr. Ransom. We are going to live happily ever after,” she whispered.
Van grinned as he set her down and pulled her by the hand toward the barn. “Now show me where we keep the riding crops, cowgirl.”
“Wait.” She stopped short. “I have to ask you something.”
He nodded. “Anything, baby.”
“Do you think everyone deserves a second chance?” Her skin tingled as she waited for his answer.
“I’m here, aren’t I?”
She stepped forward into his arms. “Van?” When his eyes met hers, she placed her hands on either side of his face. “I won’t need another one. You’re mine. And I’m yours. Forever. Come what may.”
Van grinned and kissed her gently. “I like that. Come what may. Maybe I’ll name my next album that.”
“Good. I’m glad.” She paused to pull in as much air as her lungs could handle. “We’re naming our daughter May. It’s when she’s due. Unless you want to name her Valerie.”
She almost fell down with him as he staggered. “Our what?”
“Surprise,” she whispered.
Van closed his eyes and shook his head. The sun shone onto him as he dropped down to worship her on his knees.
“I am not worthy,” he told her, looking up into worried eyes. “But I will spend my life trying to be.”
She lifted his hand to the tiny bump protruding between her hips. “We are yours. You belong to us. You will be worthy. Or I will let Shadowdancer trample your ass.”
Van stood slowly and glanced over to the stalls. “No. Please tell me you didn’t really bring that beast here?” He gaped at her. “It’s like you’re trying to kill me. A baby and now this. Damn, Stella Jo.” He huffed out what she assumed was a breath of defeat. “What is it with that horse?”
She rolled her eyes as she pulled him towards the stables, eager to begin their life together.
“I have a thing for dark horses with tortured souls. What can I say?”
Epilogue
As it so happened, the road wasn’t necessarily the best place for a relationship to thrive. Or a family. Which was why he only toured six months out of the year. A cramped, albeit luxury tour bus didn’t exactly give a baby room to grow. And it certainly didn’t give him the room to tie Stella up everywhere he’d like and have his way with her as thoroughly as he preferred. But they made do. He’d become quite creative as a result. He grinned to himself as he remembered untying her wrists from the showerhead the night before.
Not everything ran as smoothly as their sex life though. Shows ran late. Faulty equipment caused problems. May had gotten a hellacious ear infection that meant no sleep for anyone for two weeks. Shit was hectic. But Stella kept him balanced. Calmed him when things spiraled out of control. Talked him down from the ledges when he wanted to walk away, get wasted, and say to hell with it all.
She amazed him by shouldering the demandingly rigorous schedule, the hours of sitting backstage while he performed, the overaggressive female fans that snuck past security who she’d come face to face with more than once. She’d dealt with those situations with her firm but elegant grace and unfailing strength. He hadn’t fully realized just what she was capable of handling—both in the bedroom and out of it. The more she was tested, the more she thrived.
The show that Vanessa had shown up to had been particularly enlightening.
After bitching her way past security, Vanessa had accosted them backstage after a concert in LA. Stella had been hugely pregnant yet not intimidated in the least.
“Van,” Vanessa had whined. “I just want to talk. You can’t just cut me out like this. What about—”
It was then that Stella had moved between them and put her hand up. “If you even think of using his dead sister to make him feel guilty for kicking your crazy ass to the curb, so help me, I’ll make what you did to that girl in Omaha look like a hug.”
Van had watched the women facing off, ready to jump in should Stella or his unborn child appear to be in danger. But his cowgirl held her own.
“He has a family now. You’re not a part of it. Go find one of your own.” She’d stared Vanessa down until the woman shot him one last glare and slunk away.
“Enjoy your baby mama drama,” Vanessa had muttered.
“Oh I intend to,” he’d said to her retreating figure as he’d wrapped his arms around Stella.
“I don’t think we’ll be seeing her again,” she had assured him.
His tiny protector. A shield of armor that took no shit off anyone. Not even him. She accepted everything that came along with him, accepted him however he came.
Not that she didn’t make him work his ass clean off on that damn ranch when they got home to make up for all of it. But he wouldn’t change a single thing. They led two lives, two beautifully crazy lives, but they lived them together and that was all that mattered.
The road was an adventure. The ranch was an oasis.
Every magazine he appeared on the cover of declared him to be living the dream. And he was. But they were wrong about a few things. The dream wasn’t playing to thousands of fans, selling out arenas, or having an acoustic album that had gone double platinum. The dream was waking up with her—wherever they were. Having morning coffee with her. Hearing her contented sighs of pleasure every night before he drifted off to sleep. It was more than he deserved, but some higher power had seen fit to give him Heaven on Earth. He liked to think that Val was smiling down on him. On them. All three of them.
Valerie May Ransom was quite a handful on the road. A beautiful handful—like her mother. His song writing had improved greatly as she demanded he sing her to sleep every night. And she was an unforgiving audience who didn’t tolerate too many repeats.
They said you couldn’t get sober for someone else. Whoever the hell “they” was. They also said you had to want it for just you. He figured he’d done everything else his own fucked-up way. Might as well stay sober his own way as well. Because it was her he’d let go of the darkness for, her voice that had pulled him from the depthless pits of hell, from the clutches of demons. And it was her he thought of every time temptation reared its ugly head.
Her holding their daughter in that hospital room, her looking up at him with gratitude and love and wonder.
The thought of losing all of that, of losing the two most important women in his life, kept most of the cravings at bay. And when it didn’t, he saw his personal drug rehabilitation counselor immediately.
So maybe he was doing it wrong. But he’d been sober for over a year. So “they” could kiss his ass—right on the tattoo that said “Stella’s.”
They’d kept her rule about always being honest with each other, sometimes brutally so. Which had made getting ink done behind her back nearly impossible. Thankfully Sid knew a guy who traveled and had been willing to work on Van’s tattoo at the crack of dawn.