Chapter Text
Beth was lost for an argument when her father demanded her return to Montana and the Dutton Ranch. He didn’t want to play the game, his words short and firm on the other end of the phone. Come home. Now. Like she was a little girl and not a woman closer to her thirties than her teens.
She wanted to argue, push back, question the demand but he hung up on her before the petulance could rise in her chest.
As much as Beth wanted to make her father work for it, test his demand, see how long it would take him to drag her back – hell, maybe even see if he’d send Rip to fetch her. It had been too long since she had seen the dark and quiet cowboy, the one who guarded the edge of her dreams and stalked her nightmares. Maybe her own stubbornness could summon him.
Her father didn’t often call in the middle of the night demanding she come home. So Beth followed the instruction, a small knot forming in her stomach as she packed a bag and headed home.
Returning to the Yellowstone Dutton Ranch always pulled a particular ache in her chest. The familiar crunch of the gravel under her tires and the long stretch of mountains in her rear view welcomed her home as her breathing got tighter and a restlessness settled into her bones.
‘I’m here, what do you want?’ She announced, unceremoniously slamming the door of her car. Her father, expectedly, was standing by the door, cup of coffee in hand watching her stand there in a sundress and boots, hellfire flaming across her brow.
John Dutton looked at her, expression unreadable as he stood on the porch. He turned without a word, his back to her as he led Beth inside to the great room.
‘You called, Daddy. What’s going on?’ Beth asked, following impatiently. She sighed, coming across the three of her brothers, each of them as solemn and silent as her father. ‘God, who died?’
Lee was stood, hands on his hips beside the couch, a large object by his hip taking up a couch cushion. Kayce had his head in his hands and Jamie was loitering, as he always did, in the corner of the room.
Beth pushed away the uneasy feeling, letting her hackles rise slow and fluid, ready to defend, ready to fight. If her brothers were here, no one was hurt, she couldn’t figure out why her father had called her home.
‘What’s that?’ She asked, pointing to the capsule beside Lee when no one offered her an answer.
John Dutton tilted his head back and sucked in a breath slowly before he levelled his daughter with a firm don’t-fuck-with-me look.
‘Your son.’ He answered. She had to fight herself and the full bodied visceral reaction that suddenly rushed through her. John’s words crashing right into her chest.
A car seat. It was a fucking baby car seat sat on the couch.
‘Excuse me?’ She breathed out, trying not to gasp around the tension in her throat, the air threatening to leave her all together.
Her eyes shot to Jamie, the damage he had done still a secret scarred on her skin. He wouldn’t look at her.
‘I don’t have a son.’ She fired back, eyes chasing across the room skipping past Lee to land back on her father. ‘Last I checked, that’s not how babies are born, Daddy.’
He didn’t know. Wouldn’t know. She couldn’t bear to tell him. The disappointment would kill her. And yet the words were right there, blocking her throat, wanting to scream out and fit in a rage. He took it from me. He had my womb cut from my belly.
‘You do now.’ Her father answered, hands sliding into the front pockets of his weathered jeans. ‘Someone got jumpy last night.’ He rumbled, eyes landing on Kayce, head still in his hands. ‘I need to cover this up as cleanly as possible and you’re going to help.’
‘By dropping him off at the nearest orphanage?’ She asked, hands fidgeting, trying not to shake with the rage building up inside of her.
John shook his head. ‘No, Beth.’
‘So what? My little brother is a fuck up and I have to suffer the consequences?’ She spat, the words tearing themselves from her. Kayce groaned, remorseful.
‘Jamie’s already drawn up the paperwork.’ Her father drawled like it was any other day, any other business deal.
‘No.’ Beth snapped.
John signed. ‘No what, Beth?’
‘I’m not doing this.’ She gestured towards the covered car seat. ‘Make one of them fucking do it.’ Her arm flung out towards her brothers, they deserved to suffer the consequences for once.
Her father stepped forward, Beth rising to the challenge took a step as well, the two of them nearly chest to chest. ‘If you don’t do this, that baby dies. It’s you or nothing.’
She wanted to scream, to fight, to lunge herself at him or Kayce or Jamie. She wanted to dig her nails into someone’s flesh, to push them to the ground. She was the girl, right? She had to do this because she was the girl.
‘Let it die then.’ She spat before turning on a heel and storming out.
[...]
Beth wasn’t sure how long she had been sitting there, still and silent on the front porch. She was frozen, glued to the spot, unable to move despite how loudly her brain was screaming. One by one she had watched her father and brothers leave the house, each of them stopping as if to say something, none but Kayce muttering a soft ‘I’m sorry’ as he shuffled passed.
She pitied him, her baby brother, a mess of a boy. It didn’t stop the hiss of fuck off falling from her lips.
John Dutton thought he could stonewall her into submission. Ignore her, force her hand, prey on the soft malleable part of her heart that only wanted to please her father. Had it not been enough? School, her degree, the success she was finding at Schwartz & Meyer. He wanted her home, wanted her to clean up her brother’s mess, to play house and mama.
She defied him as a girl, rebelled, pushed and poked at the restraints of his parentage. Tested how far she had to holler and yell until he pulled her back in line. Her father, it turns out, had patience as long as she had wiles. As much as she tried to deny it, all she ever wanted was to make her daddy proud, to know that he loved her. An endless mission she had been on since her mother died in 1997.
So she sat, tethered to her chair, chain-smoking cigarettes.
The baby was crying, she could hear it, a high pitched wail breaking past the glass of the windows. It was a desperate, primal little sound, the babe crying out for his mother with no one there to soothe it.
Beth Dutton would not be swayed, her father would not get to her this time. She took a long slow drag, elbow resting on a crossed knee, her foot tapping anxiously. She was going to get up, get back in the car and drive away – leave her family, this baby, to the mess they had created for themselves.
She was going to go home, back to Salt Lake. She wasn’t going to go inside, wasn’t going to peek inside that capsule and soothe the crying baby. She wasn’t going to play this game.
‘Fuck.’ Beth hissed, putting out her cigarette as the baby’s cries reached a curdling wail. Her gut seized, the hollow, empty place inside of her clenching around nothing as he cried.
She was inside in seconds, standing over the capsule, trying not to acknowledge the shake in her fingers as she reached for the cover. Beth held her breath, hitching it in her throat as she took in the baby. He was small, smaller than she expected, spindly little arms and legs buckled into a car seat that seemed to dwarf him. He had managed to half kick off the blanket over his lap with the vigour of his upset.
‘Fuck.’ She muttered again. His small face was screwed up, skin red, mouth wide open as he cried. There was a tuft of jet black hair on his head, it was as much feature as she could make out and yet the sick voice inside her head - the one she tried to drown constantly - reminded her of the trust she had in her brother. Played, for half a second, in the possibility that she never went to Jamie, that she never asked what she had asked.
Would he have looked like this? Been this small? Howled his tiny little head off?
‘Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.’ She shook her head, hands in her hair as she squeezed her eyes closed. ‘What do you want? Are you hungry?’ She asked as if the baby could talk back. ‘Is there anything in this godforsaken house to feed you?’
There had to be something, a bag, supplies. It took a few hours from her fathers call for Beth to arrive, they had to have been feeding him something.
She left the baby screaming in his car seat, steps thudding across the wood floors towards the kitchen. She was right, there was a bottle by the sink, rinsed and ready for use, a bag of baby supplies on the counter.
‘What the fuck am I supposed to do?’ She growled, snatching the bottle and yanking the tin of formula across the counter. Beth scanned the label for instructions cursing her father, her brothers, for leaving this to her with no aid. How the hell did they expect her to do this? What god did she royally piss off to get stuck with this?
The irony wasn’t lost on her as the bottle warmed. In another life, if things had been different, she would have been planning for this: babies by the half dozen to fill her family’s lodge. But that was a daydream, this was reality.
‘Let’s try this.’ She spoke to the wailing baby, returning with a warm bottle in her hands. Beth offered it, the silicone nipple in his mouth bewildering the little boy for a moment. He seemed puzzled, as confused as she was, until he registered what was happening.
It wasn’t enough, however, after two draws on the bottle he was back to crying. Little body moving and shaking in the car seat, head shifting from side to side as his fingers curled into tight little fists.
‘I understand you might be mad at the world, but I got here first. So, it’d be really great if you can drink this and go back to being quiet.’ The baby continued to fuss, shaking his head as she offered the bottle again. ‘Look,’ Beth sighed, ‘it’s really not that hard’. It was instinct that led her to put the bottle down, her hands reaching for the buckle of the car seat, freeing his small body from the restraints.
If asked, Beth would deny any and all thoughts running through her head as her hands slid around the tiny torso of the baby and lifted him out of the car seat. Her movements were slow, unsure as his legs scrunched up towards his body in the air. Her heart was pounding as she settled the boy in the crook of her arm, his body practically weightless.
When Beth offered the bottle again, he took it, his body turned into hers, a small hand sitting on her breast. She listened, her heart pounding enough to make her head race, the quiet suckle and snort of the babe in her arms oddly soothing. Her back was rod straight, arms and shoulders stiff but she could feel it, a shift inside of herself, something softening, crumbling, a tidal wave threatening to destroy her. She wouldn’t let it, pushing away at the pinpricks of tears in her eyes.
‘I see,’ Beth cleared her throat. ‘You’re just like every man. A breast in one hand, a drink in the other.’ She scoffed. ‘Can’t say I blame you.’ She tried not to look at him too closely, didn’t want to let her eyes cart over his small face, didn’t want to draw comparisons to a daydream that haunted her, a what if her brother ripped away.
She closed her eyes instead, tilting her head back against the couch as she listened to the pull and draw of the baby’s mouth, his occasional little snort as his head pressed against her chest, his weight warm in her arms.
Beth wasn’t sure how long they sat there, breathing, not thinking. She startled slightly at the sound of boots on the floor, careful not to jostle the now sleeping babe.
‘I knew you would come around.’ Her father’s voice was low, satisfied with himself. Beth was fairly confident that if she wasn’t holding the baby she would launch herself at him.
‘It’s because I’m the girl, isn’t it, Daddy?’ She asked, the why of it all still poking at her ribs.
Her father rounded the couch, standing entirely in her view now. ‘It’s because I asked you to.’ He sighed, hands on his hips. ‘We all have to do our part here, Beth.’ He stared her down. ‘We’re done talkin’ about this. Understood?’
She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of a verbal answer, barely tilted her head enough in acknowledgement. Her eyes cast down to the sleeping baby in her arms, shifting to reach for the blanket in his car seat, covering his little limbs.
‘Does he have a name?’ She asked.
Her father shifted his weight impatiently. ‘You can name him whatever you want. Jamie will adjust the birth certificate.’ She wasn’t sure she wanted to name him, didn’t want that weight of responsibility on her, the finality. If she named him, that was it, he wasn’t just a baby sitting in the living room, he was hers. Naming him would be committing to him and the thought of that made her stomach churn.
‘There’s formula, bottles, pacifiers in the kitchen. I asked one of the cowboys to bring down the old furniture, the nursery is being aired out.’ Her stomach did a flop, nausea rolling through her violently enough she felt the baby fidget under her grip. ‘It’s been a while since we’ve seen a baby in the house.’ Since Kayce was little. ‘There’s diapers in there waiting – you know what to do if you need anything else.’
He moved to walk away, Beth’s voice stopping him. ‘How the fuck am I supposed to know what to do?’ She asked, slight anger rising in her again.
‘You’ve done pretty well so far.’ He answered.
[...]
The house was suffocating her, the walls and ceiling pushing in as the baby slept in her arms. She held her breath, counting down seconds in her head, extending the space between herself and her father like counting the distance of lightning.
When she couldn’t hold it any longer, a panic rising erratic and wild in her chest, Beth shot up. The baby barely grunted, his hand still pressed to the skin of her chest. Her feet carried her outside, across the grass and halfway down the hill to the barn before she stopped. The grass welcomed Beth as she sat, slowly, careful of the weight in her arms, watching the cowboys as she got her breath back.
‘I thought I could smell sulphur.’ A familiar voice called from her right, the voice that haunted everything she did since she’d first heard it. He’d climbed the hill without her noticing, spotting her with the same knowing Beth had tried to use to spot him. She didn’t turn towards him, her eyes caught on the horses training below. ‘What’re you doin’ –’ his voice stopped, answering his own question. He sighed, ‘I wondered what he was going to do about that’.
‘Did you know about this, Rip?’ Beth asked, finally turning her head to look at him. Her heart seized with a hundred different thoughts – memories – running through her head all at once at the sight of him standing there. ‘Did you know he was going to use this to bring me home and keep me here?’
He was right where she left him, almost exactly as she had left him. He was still tall, his hair still dark and curled at his head, the beard was new, the addition sending a small zap across her skin.
‘I was there. I didn’t know this was what your father had planned though.’ He answered quickly, hands on his hips. ‘Are you okay?’
Beth glared, ‘obviously not. Why did everyone expect me to just go along with this?’
‘I ain’t expecting you to do nothin’, Beth.’ He sighed a second time, his boot kicking at the grass in front of him. ‘Hell, I don’t even think your dad and Lee expected you to go along with this. They’re probably hiding out holding their breath.’ He chuckled, well acquainted with the fire she burned with.
Beth bit at the inside of her cheek. ‘Daddy told me if I didn’t look after him, he’d die.’ Her eyes drew down to the soft round cheeks of the baby in her arms. She couldn’t do it, not another one. Not this time.
Rip hummed, the sound vibrating through the ground to get to her. ‘He’s a hard man.’ Like that was all there was to say. He wouldn’t push, she knew he wouldn’t.
‘And he’s shocked that he raised a hard daughter.’ Beth shot back, making Rip laugh hard and fast, the sound startling her to look up, the amusement on his face pulling a smile on her own.
She stared at him, holding his blue eyes, trying to catch up on everything that had changed, everything she needed to say, wanted to say, now that this baby was here between them. It never should have been this way.
‘I don’t suppose you know what to do with him?’ She asked, lifting her arms slightly, her head nodding towards the sleeping babe she held.
‘Not at all.’ Rip clicked his tongue. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen a baby this close.’ He shuffled a step closer, peering down at her. There was a chuckle, then a shake of his head as Rip took a step back. ‘Not a damn thing.’
‘Great. You know about as much as me.’ She sighed, her head tilted all the way back, strawberry blonde hair dancing with the slight breeze.
Rip sighed. ‘Well, I better get back to work.’ He gestured towards the barn. ‘Saw you comin’ down the hill like a bat outta hell and thought I better check on you.’ He nodded, tipping his hat towards her.
She nodded back, ‘I’ve got it from here’.
‘It’s nice to have you back, Beth.’ There was longing in his voice, a soft fondness that made the hairs on her arms stand on end. ‘You haven’t aged a day.’ He had bewitched her, body and soul, it didn’t matter what she did or how far she went, everything still beat for him. And now, she was back home, living some kind of waking nightmare, having to face him with a babe in her arms.
‘Don’t ruin it.’
[...]
Babies needed to come with a warning and ear plugs. All the damn thing did was cry for three days. His fists shaking with the force of his wails, red in the face scream ripping from tiny lungs. And try as she might, Beth was failing to ignore it.
The nursery had been assembled, the heirloom crib propped under the window, rocking chair in the corner, a dresser off to the side. Her great-great-great grandfather built the crib with his bare hands, the bed cradling baby Dutton’s for over a hundred years. It had held her father, her brothers, herself – and now it was holding this nameless little boy, an imposter in her house, not a Dutton by blood, but forged by name. Briefly, Beth wondered what her ancestors would think, her mother.
Beth had loved this crib when Kayce was a baby. The spiralled wooden rods, each and every one hand carved, fit perfectly against her fingers as she peered in at her baby brother. She thought, like the Dutton’s before her, that her babies would get the chance to sleep in this crib, that it would be hers to make memories and create lives. This babe, his origins, was not what she pictured. There was no way, as a girl, she could have known how much her life would change from simple dreams.
Her head was pleasantly numb despite the noise of the baby sleeping in her family crib down the hall. There was a half of a bottle of vodka taunting her on the bedside table, a sliver of moonlight illuminating it in the night. She had downed the first half around dinner, choosing to make it her meal instead of joining her father and brothers in the dining room.
On a regular day, that room was suffocating enough. The stifling pressure of playing perfect family while they all simmered in their own shit under the table, unspoken around the bare conversation they held. She hated it, every single second. Her father would have to drag her in there screaming if he wanted her to join them so badly.
For once, he had taken the hint. They had left her alone, her father, her brothers, the baby asleep in the nursery, in a crib that had been in the family for generations. Just Beth and the bottle sitting in her bedroom.
Beth let the baby cry, his wails stretching up the hall. She’d been sure to leave the door open, willing to make this as much her father’s punishment as it was hers. She was determined not to be the first to break tonight. If her father wanted a screaming baby in his house, he could get up and soothe it.
Her father never came. She supposed that’s where her stubborn steak came from as she lay there loose limbed across her bed. The baby cried and cried and cried, the sound climbing down into her chest and settling uncomfortably beneath her ribs, poking and prodding with every new wail until she couldn’t take it anymore.
Her body moved on autopilot, barely thinking, as her legs carried her down the hall. She couldn’t do this with the boy down the hall, couldn’t listen to the echo, his little cries drifting all over the house trying to reach her. The baby fell quiet when she entered the room, large, wet blue eyes looking at her expectantly.
‘Oh no, please, don’t stop on my account.’ She whispered, the room suddenly too quiet. ‘Keep going, I don’t think the cowboys at the barn can hear you yet.’
Beth reached in, hands sliding under the small weight of the little boy, lifting him up to her chest slowly. She tried, really tried, not to breathe in the soft baby scent of him, tried not to think of another life, another dream as she held him at her family’s crib. Beth didn't need to shatter the thought for herself, the baby did, small limbs curling as he started to wail again.
She carried the boy back to her room and deposited him in the middle of her bed, a slew of tangled blankets surrounding him as she returned to the nursery and started to tug the crib towards the door.
The old wood scraped across the floor, shrieking with the friction.
‘Bethany!’ Her father’s voice boomed down the hall, igniting a spark of fury within her. ‘What on earth are you doing?’ She ignored him, giving the crib another tug as it slid across the floor. ‘Stop!’ He stepped in, grabbing the other end of the crib.
‘Go away, Daddy.’ Beth hissed, continuing to yank.
John held fast. ‘You’re running the floors. Let me help.’
The bitter angry laugh that leaped out of her throat made her father stop. ‘This is the last thing I need your help with, but I’m glad you can pick and choose what works for you.’ She hissed. He had been conveniently absent since dropping the baby in her lap, leaving his daughter with no guidance or a single clue. While the baby cried all night, her father stayed in his room, leaving Beth to figure it out on her own. But now, he wanted to help because she was ruining the floors. ‘I can do this by myself, like I do everything else.’
‘Beth –’
‘No.’ Her response was simple as she gave the crib another yank with a huff of her breath.
This time, her father let her carry on alone. He watched her silently as she grunted and huffed until the crib was almost to her bedroom door. Without a word, John turned his back and returned to bed.
By the time she was trying to pivot the crib through her door the baby had fallen silent, watching as she tugged the crib the last few feet before leaving it unceremoniously in the middle of the room with a breathless huff.
‘Better?’ She asked as if he could answer her, lifting the boy up to her chest. Beth held him briefly, her cheek pressed to the top of his head, soaking in the soft sound of his breathing as she swayed gently.
He was quiet when she lowered the boy back to the crib. Leaving Beth to return to the bottle and her bed.
She wondered if she could have survived it back then, being a mother. If she had worked up the courage to tell her father, if she wasn’t so scared, if she chose to keep it. If Rip would still be here now, if her father let him live at all, let alone live in their house, after he got Beth pregnant at fifteen.
It had been ten years. A decade. If Jamie just took her into town … if he encouraged Beth to talk to their father – she shot up, ending the thought.
It was easy to lose the minutes as she shuffled through the house, rocking the baby, exhausted and inebriated, finding her way outside without a single thought. The grass was cool underfoot, the stars shining brighter than they did in the city overhead.
Despite the serenity of it, the boy cried. Face pinched, mouth wide open revealing fleshy gums. For half a moment, he stopped, mouth still open, body frozen in place. Beth stared at him, confused as her heart skipped a panicked beat right as the baby sucked in a breath and continued to rattle off his cries.
‘Beth? Hey, Beth?’ Rip was beside her in the dark, face cast in concern and shadow. She almost jumped at his appearance if she hadn’t been so focused on the baby’s face, confusion running loop-d-loops through her brain. ‘Hey, can you hear me? He asked again, bending to her height, trying to catch her eye. ‘Beth?’ Rip’s voice was soft, his hand gently touching the skin of her arm under the baby’s back. ‘You ok?’ He asked.
Beth looked up, dazed and confused, swaying on her feet slightly. ‘I think he stopped breathing. Can they do that?’ Her brow furrowed, a knot forming on her face.
‘Have you been drinking?’ Rip asked, gentle presence of his hand pressing firm against her now, holding her steady.
Her lips curled, smiling coyly at him through her lashes. ‘Maybe a little.’
Rip’s fingers flexed against her arm. ‘Beth, you can’t—‘ he sighed, rubbing his free hand over his face before dropping it to her shoulder. ‘You can’t do that with a baby around.’ His words felt like a scolding, instantly washing her cold, a small fire of anger flaring in her belly. He can’t tell her what to do. She’s an adult for fucks sake. Her mouth opened to tell him just as much. ‘You’re lucky I even saw you out here, where do you think you’re going?’ Beth looked up, past Rip, taking in the trees around her.
She’d walked from the house and down past the barn without realising.
‘There’s bears, wolves. Hell, it’s just dark. You could have tripped.’ Anything could have happened from minorly inconvenient to catastrophic. ‘C’mon,’ Rip gently nudged her arm. ‘Let me get you back to the house.’
Rip Wheeler had a way about him. He always had. He stoked the fire in her belly, poking at her rage all while possessing the ability to cool her off completely, the fight simmering until it fell quiet. She let him guide her back up to the house, their pace slow, stopping every few steps to try to soothe and rock the boy into sleep or silence.
‘Do you think it’s his way of making me sober?’ She asked, stopped by the tree in the front yard, flicking her hair over her shoulder as a soft breeze played with it. Her father didn’t always approve of her choices – not that he knew much about her life since she moved away.
Rip watched her, eyes dancing across her face. ‘Your drinking a problem?’ It always had been and he knew it despite her own protestations. Her earliest rebellion, her strongest. ‘I don’t know, Beth. I don’t think that was his goal.’
‘He knows I don’t want to disappoint him. He’s forcing my hand.’ She whispered, revealing her vulnerabilities, her soft underbelly. ‘He’s trying to break me.’ She muttered, taking a few steps away from him. ‘Daddy and this damn baby.’ Rip reached for her again. ‘He won’t stop crying, Rip.’ The words were wet in her throat, catching on their way out. ‘I don’t know what to do.’
‘Let’s get you inside.’ He muttered, hand reaching for her back.
Rip directed her to the kitchen first. ‘Maybe he’s hungry.’ He offered, standing in front of her as she leaned her hip against the kitchen island. ‘Tell me what to do?’ Rip turned his back to her, already moving to the sink to wash his hands, ready for instruction.
Beth walked him through the steps she’d only just learned herself. Bottle, water, formula, shake. She watched him move around the kitchen, following every word she said. Beth couldn’t think of the last time she saw him in the house. She didn’t think she had ever seen him in the house. God knows, when they were kids she never brought him inside, always happy to meet him in the barn or the tack room.
He tested the temperature against his wrist as instructed, giving Beth a wide grin when he was finished. ‘Hopefully this will help.’ He handed her the bottle, watching for a moment as she offered it to the small boy, too busy crying around the nipple to realise what he had.
The lodge was quiet as Beth led Rip through the halls, momentarily stopping at the door to the nursery before remembering the crib was gone and leading Rip to her room instead. He stopped in her doorway, hesitant to cross the threshold as he looked back down the hall, eyeing the drag marks on the floor.
Beth made herself comfortable, sitting cross legged on the bed, baby in her arms finally taking long draws on the bottle.
‘I moved it.’ She answered, watching Rip try to tie the pieces together. ‘The crib.’ She nodded towards the mass in the middle of the room. ‘I couldn’t take it anymore, having him down the hall crying.’
Rip nodded, listening to her with his hands on his hips before he approached the crib and wordlessly tucked it into the corner of her room, freeing up the floorspace. ‘You need anything else from down there?’
She shrugged. ‘Probably the diaper station supplies.’
‘I’ll go get it.’ Rip turned without waiting for her answer or call of protest. He returned not ten minutes later with the things she needed, setting them up neatly amongst her own belongings. ‘That helping?’ He asked, gesturing to the bottle.
Beth blinked at him, gently bouncing the baby as he ate. ‘Time will tell.’ He wasn’t wrong, the boy was likely hungry. A bottle did have a way of soothing him right to sleep, giving Beth at least an hour before he started crying again.
Rip watched her, the room lit with moonlight as she fed the baby quietly. Another life flickered in the back of her mind. ‘What’re you calling him?’ His question dashed the thought out of her mind.
‘Baby.’ She answered, not a real name, just a title. Beth had done everything in her power the last few days not to think of a name for him. She couldn’t.
Rip hummed. ‘I don’t think you can call him that for the rest of his life.’
‘Try me.’ She was sure, even if she did name him, that baby would be the frequent word out of her mouth. Less a title, more an endearment. They fell silent, all eyes on the drowsy baby fighting to keep his eyes open as the bottle emptied into his gut. ‘If I name him, he’s mine.’ The words were barely there.
Rip sighed, mournful. ‘Your daddy certainly aint’s gonna change his mind on this arrangement, darlin’.’ She knew that, she just wanted to hold out in the denial.
Her eyes drew down to the boy in her arms, tracing the shape of his face, burning it into her memory no matter how badly she wanted to fight against it. ‘He looks like you.’ She whispered, confessing to a thought she didn’t want to name, daring to glance up at Rip’s soft, tired face.
‘If he was yours, actually yours, what would you name him.’
Beth hesitated, bracing herself to put the words out there in the air. It was just Rip, he would catch her every time she fell. ‘Carter.’ She barely whispered. ‘If he was mine. Carter John.’ Despite everything. Despite him forcing her hand, she loved her father, she would always find a way to honour him.
‘Carter.’ Rip whispered back, his voice a gentle rumble in the dark as he leaned against the dresser opposite her bed. ‘I like that.’
Beth hummed, her eyes watching the baby, rocking him gently as she sat atop her bed. She was holding the gates back, trying not to drown in the tidal wave of feeling knocking against her ribs. He was hers. Actually hers. She had a son. Come hell or high water, no one was taking this one from Beth Dutton.