Bearclaw Valley There's nothin' sweeter than my baby

Cole chuckled low in his chest, the sound rumbling through his frame as she placed his foreleg over her heart. He could feel the quick thrum beneath his paw, and for a moment, he just let himself exist in the simplicity of it—the warmth of her, the rhythm of her pulse.
Yellowstone, Morningsong, mountainside, he repeated, his drawl wrapping around each word like it was something sacred. You've seen a lot of ground, huh? His tone softened, and he tilted his head to meet her gaze. You miss any of it?
He let the question hang for a beat before he shifted slightly, pulling her a little closer, as though the proximity might keep the ghosts of her past at bay. Me? His voice turned introspective, quieter. Came from a small place. Good folk, mostly. The kinda folks you share everythin' with, watch each other's kids. His jaw tightened briefly, his gaze slipping past her to some distant memory. Till they weren’t so nice no more.
The corner of his mouth tugged in something like a grimace, and he shook his head slightly as though to clear the thought. Still. Some days, I miss the quiet. The simplicity. His eyes found hers again, steady and grounding. But here’s where I landed. Can’t change that now.