Todos los capítulos de A Christmas Baby for the Cowboy Billionaire: Capítulo 61 - Capítulo 70

By the time we returned to the ranch, the sky was already dissolving into that deep shade of blue that exists only in the countryside — a color that seems thicker, almost touchable, as if night arrives there with more intention than anywhere else. The headlights cut through the dusty road while my thoughts moved in restless circles, never quite landing, never allowing me the relief of stillness.I kept one hand over my belly the entire drive.Not out of habit.Out of instinct.Marco drove with both hands firmly on the wheel, his posture too controlled, his gaze fixed straight ahead. Anyone else might have thought he was calm, but I knew him well enough to read the tension in the subtle tightening of his jaw, the silence that had stopped being comfortable miles ago.The ranch appeared slowly on the horizon, warm lights scattered across the property like grounded stars. Near the barn, cars were already beginning to line up — guests arriving for dinner, laughter drifting faintly through

The hospital armchair was an instrument of torture disguised as furniture. I'd already spent hours in it, feeling every rusty spring pierce my back, every right angle scream against my spine. But there was no force in the world that could make me leave that room. Alice slept, her face turned to the side, blonde hair spread across the white pillow like threads of gold against snow. The monitor beside the bed blinked in steady rhythm, a visual reminder that she was stable, that the babies were fine, that the detachment hadn't worsened. I should have been relieved. I was. But I was also exhausted, tense, and so deeply in love it physically hurt. "You look like a dog guarding its owner." Alice's raspy voice cut through the silence. Her eyes were open now, blue and slightly puffy with sleep, but with that spark of provocation I'd come to know so well. 

"You are not getting out of that bed even if the barn catches fire." Rosa stood in my cabin doorway, arms crossed, with an expression I'd learned to fear. It was the same look she used when Marco tried to escape eating vegetable soup. "Rosa, I'm not on bed rest. I'm on couch rest. There's a difference." "There's no difference. Bed, couch, chair, it's all the same: you stationary, me taking care of everything." "But I could at least—" "No." She entered the cabin carrying a tray with a breakfast that looked prepared for an army. Breads, fruits, scrambled eggs, orange juice, and a small vase of flowers from the garden. "Is this breakfast or a farewell feast?" I asked,

The courthouse hallway smelled like old paper, stale coffee, and other people's desperation. People came and went with briefcases under their arms, lawyers speaking in codes only they understood, destroyed families waiting their turn to be judged. And there we were—another destroyed family, another story of love and betrayal about to be dissected by strangers in robes. I sat on the hard wooden bench, one hand on my belly, the other gripping Marco's. He was tense, jaw clenched, eyes scanning the hallway as if expecting an attack at any moment. I knew he would kill for me. I knew he would face Daniel right there, with his bare hands, if he could. But he couldn't. Now the fight was in a different arena, with different weapons. "You okay?" he asked, for the fifth time in ten minutes. 

I woke up to the smell of coffee. Not the bitter, hurried coffee I'd been making for myself for two years, drunk standing up in the kitchen before heading out to work. This was a different coffee. More aromatic. More… careful. As if someone had made it slowly, with affection, with the intention of letting the aroma drift up the stairs and find me in bed. In the bed that, now, wasn't mine alone anymore. I turned to the side and looked at the empty space beside me. The sheets were still warm. The pillow still held the imprint of her head. I smiled like an idiot—a silly, wide smile I'd never let anyone see—and got up. I walked down the wooden stairs, following the smell, following the sound of pots and the soft murmur of someone humming. Sh