Cowboy and Indian

Jackson had heard the horse before he saw it—hoofbeats crunching dry gravel, a rhythm as familiar to him as a heartbeat. He glanced toward the window just as the sun caught on the shine of Chayton’s saddle horn. The man hadn’t even broken stride when he dismounted, sliding off the horse’s back in that bone-deep, effortless way his people seemed born knowing. As if the land itself had taught them balance before language.

By the time the door flung open with a gust of wind and attitude, Jackson was already pouring coffee. He didn’t even look up when he spoke.

“Hey—wipe ’em boots down out on that mat, if ya don’t mind. I just got through sweepin’.”

Chayton froze mid-step, eyebrows arched. A flicker of incredulity crossed his face before giving way to a slow, dry smirk. He dusted his boots with exaggerated care, never breaking eye contact.

“Do I meet your standards now, white man? Or shall I enter through the back door?”

Jackson glanced up, deadpan. “Ain’t got no back door, ya fool. Sit down already.”

But Chayton didn’t sit. Something had shifted in his expression. He scanned the room—slower now, with narrowed eyes. His nostrils flared faintly, like a hound catching a new scent. The soft clink of porcelain cups, the faint glimmer of brushed-steel cookware, a vase of daisies wilting just slightly by the window. Jackson closed his eyes briefly, bracing. “Oh boy, here it comes now,” he muttered under his breath.

“What the hell happened to your home, Kershaw?! Did you restain the wood? I smell paint and … chemicals. And what the hell is going on here? Did I walk into some country home and gardens showroom floor?”

“Ah, jus’ a lil’ remodelin’. Nothin’ major.”

Chayton barked a laugh that didn’t sound amused. “Buddy, this is major. I used to live alone too, remember? Then Ashton-Leigh moved in and before we even said ‘I do’ suddenly I owned seven throw pillows and a blender that matched my soul. So, who is she? When do I meet her? And you’re an asshole of a best friend for not tellin’ me.”

Jackson sighed. Chayton’s gaze was already pinballing from the high chair to the four place settings at the table.

“Nothin’ new to tell,” Jackson offered lamely. “Extra chair’s for Briony. Ya know that Connor’s been bringin’ her out, stickin’ around to help with her allergies. Hopin’ if we get it under control my lil girl might be able to stay the odd weekend again. Be something like a little family out here again, not just in the big city, far away from home.”

The jab never came. Chayton was a father himself and this part clearly made sense to him. He couldn’t even imagine being separated from his daughters, let alone split them up. Instead, he  watched Jackson for a moment—longer than was comfortable—with the sharp focus of someone who had tracked deer in deep brush and wasn’t fooled by surface calm.

Then, like a hawk stooping, he struck.

“So. Briar Rose again. That’s why ya didn’t tell me nothing, and why her pictures are all back on the wall. The frilly crap, the expensive details. Say, white boy, did your momma drop you on your head when you were a baby, repeatedly, Kershaw, after bathing you way too hot?! What is wrong with you, brother?!”

Jackson winced and took a slow sip of coffee, its bitterness grounding. “I know ya never liked her. That’s why I didn’t tell ya nothin’. And cos there’s nothing really to tell yet. This ain’t official. Mostly for the kids. Bri don’t like them separated and I am more than grateful for her family helpin’ me out with Savannah every now and then. Her brother picking her up every now and then for a weekend or so. I can handle Beau jus’ fine by myself, but a baby girl. That’s a lot for a guy like me.”

“Yeah. And for the record, I like Bri just fine,” Chayton shot back. “I don’t like what she does to ya, what she turns you into. And how it always ends.”

“She ain’t done nothin’. Not then and not now. I done it all to myself. And I like my home better like this. So does Beau. And Savannah loves the soft rugs. She’s tryin’ to stand now. Bri’s mom helped me teach her …”

“She brainwashed you. Your damn ex-wife did it again,” Chayton muttered. “My people tell stories about women like that. We call ’em tá’x̣vnay—she-spinners. Not witches. Not liars. Just women who know how to twist a man’s heart until he forgets which way is north. They don’t need spells. Just timing. And a soft voice when you’re already bleeding.”

“Now ya know why I ain’t told ya nothin’… Bri done nothin’. She sure as heck ain’t no damn she-spinner. I been goin’ after her. I done this. I want this. You been there at Boone’s funeral. That was me without my filters. And I told ya Bri came through for me when I went off on that bender.”

“Yeah, I know, and Ash told me then that you were going for her again. Shoulda listened to my wife, cos my girl was damn right. I told her no way, I known this man all my life, Jackson ain’t that stupid. Well, I shoulda known better. What I don’t know,” Chayton snapped, throwing his arms wide toward the carefully curated chaos of neutral tones and domestic ambition, “is how the hell my people lost our land to yours! White men are the dumbest bastards alive. And yet—here we are! You’re not only still standing, you white idiots are breedin’!”

Jackson chuckled in spite of himself. “Ya bred with a white girl, redskin! Ashton will tell ya, the dumber ya are, less afraid ya are. More fertile, in any skintone.”

Chayton snorted. “I picked one of the good ones to do my breeding with, plus love got in way before I could question my choices. By your logic though, says a lot about Bri’s granddaddy havin’ been downright radioactively fertile. That Blaine fella ain’t natural. Back in the olden days people had a lot of kids cause there wasn’t much you could do to avoid them and a lot of them died anyway, but nowadays? Why would anybody need eight children?”

“I don’t know, I got two to worry about, three counting Briony and I got my plate plenty full. Naw, he sure ain’t right, that’s for damn sure. Ain’t disagree’ing with ya there.”

“I mean, my ancestors whisper wisdom through dreams. Your on-again-off-again ex-wife/lover’s ancestors? They reincarnate as Blaine and have an eighth kid at ninety while lookin’ like forty. Which doesn’t matter, cos he is literally undead. A vampire. You’re inviting THAT back into your life? Nobody wants fanged creatures here in the Ridge! My people have a lot of stories about fanged nightwalkers, none of them good.”

“Well, Blaine sure is a cautionary tale on many levels but he’s harmless. Scariest thing about him is his crude humor. And he’s related to my children, but he don’t come here, he don’t bother us none, so hush yer mouth. Did you come here to be racist or just insult me personally?”

“If I did, I forgot. Your stupidity’s clearly contagious.” Chayton took a sip of coffee, then recoiled. “What the hell am I drinkin’ here? That don’t taste like the coffee from down at Moe’s store.”

Jackson leaned a hip against the counter. “Bri brought it. Some brand she likes.”

Chayton marched to the cabinet and emerged like a prosecutor unveiling evidence: a bag of Sequoia’s Best, the iconic red bridge glaring judgment from the label. He held up not one, but two bags.

“We ain’t in San Sequoia, ya know.”

“Guess they was outta Chestnut Ridge’s best.” Jackson joked.

Chayton didn’t laugh. He opened more cabinets, one after the other, exposing sleek, unfamiliar dishware and a skillet that still smelled of the cardboard box. He shook his head.

“At least she went with neutrals,” Jackson mumbled.

“Neutrals. Jesus, Jackson. Do ya hear yourself?” Chayton’s gaze darted around, then—panic rising—he beelined to the wall, pointing.

“A huge painting of an autumnal forest scene? Jackson what the hell?! None of them trees even grow around here! What is this?!”

“Ain’t no paintin’ … that’s a … well, big screen TV. Bri picked it out, looks nicer than that old tiny one I had, with the rabbit ears. Didn’t work half the time. That one does and I can watch TV while cookin’.”

“Watch TV while cooking an a big screen TV that hides in a painting?! At a horseranch outside of Chestnut Ridge? In a wooden cabin your ancestors built two hundred years ago with their bare hands?!

 Chayton turned, doors flung open. Jackson’s bedroom. The bathroom, from which Chayton retrieved thick fluffy towels, a loofa and a scented candle. Then Jack’s old guest room. “You turned Jack’s room red!? He’s gon kill ya!”

“Be quiet, kids are asleep. And it’s not Pa’s room, it’s the guest room and the red makes it feel warm and cozy. And it’s just a couple pillows and a throw blanket— and put that bathroom stuff back. Don’t ya be givin’ me no grief about that, I know for a fact your wife has all that stuff in yer house too. And all y’all have a nice TV and throw blankets and all that jazz!”

“Throw blanket my ass. Your Pa’s gonna throw you when he sees this. And yes I have all that and ya know what else I have in my house? A WIFE! You git yerself one of those again, one that actually fits in here and stays for a while, THEN my friend I won’t breathe a word about none of this. Until then, you are fair game! This is not a bachelor pad, my friend.”

Jackson rubbed the back of his neck. “Izzy might like it. My stepmom. Makes it feel more… welcoming. She kept tellin’ me my place looks like a hunting cabin. Some shelter. Not a home. Now it’s a home. The kids love it.”

“Welcoming? Welcoming! You’re gone. You’ve completely lost it. This is a full-blown relapse, Kershaw. Addiction. Obsession. Whatever ya wanna call it, ya got it for Briar Rose! She’s not your girlfriend—she’s your ex-wife. Twice. Get a clue already!”

Jackson offered nothing.

“Twice! And that doesn’t count the countless breakups in between. I would track it all but I ain’t Einstein. And here. You. Go. Again!? So, when’s the next wedding?”

“Ain’t gon’ be none. We ain’t doin’ that again,” Jackson muttered, tossing the rag onto the workbench. “Bri don’t wanna live out here, Briony neither—but they’re happy stayin’ a while. Beau and I don’t wanna live in the city, but I like visitin’. And my in-laws … they’re real good to Savannah. Her folks treat my kid like she’s theirs.”

Chayton gave him a squint. “Her folks, yer in-laws? Brother, that woman’s your ex-wife. You don’t have in-laws anymore.”

Jackson’s mouth curved, but not into a smile. His voice dropped.

“I still say ‘in-laws.’ Easier than sayin’ ‘my ex-wife’s parents who love my daughter like she’s their own even tho she ain’t. Bri’s mom is helpin’ me so much, I never raised a girl on my own. It’s different. Imagine you with yer twins if ya didn’t have Ash.’”

“Yeah. Point taken. But is your ex remodeling the whole damn ranch, or just the parts where your spine used to be? Am I gonna come here and find horses with their mane and taile dyed pink like they do over in the big cities with their pocket dogs? Tell me does she take your balls with you when she leaves?”

Jackson grinned, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Maybe I like it better this way. My balls and spine done nothing but gotten me in trouble. Best she keeps them.”

“She’s got you neutered with throw pillows,” Chayton muttered. “Place smells like one of them frilly shops that attracts all the girls like moths to a lamp. Should’ve kept your saddle on the porch so the house didn’t forget who it belongs to. Cos right now this place has a serious identity crisis.”

He was halfway through another jab when someone knocked—three sharp raps, like punctuation.

Chayton’s head turned.

“Expectin’ someone? Bri back for another roll in yer frilly haystack? She forget to pack yer balls when she left?” He joked, while turning as he opened the door before Jackson could respond.

Standing on the porch: a woman in a dark blazer, clipboard in hand. Two uniformed officers behind her. And at the edge of the step, Sheriff Hollis, hat clutched against his chest, mouth thin as baling wire.

The woman spoke first. “Mr. Kershaw?”

Chayton squinted.

“Naw,” the sheriff cut in, voice like dry gravel dragged over concrete. “That there’s Chayton Greywolf—one o’ our resident In-juns. The fella you’re lookin’ for’s the one hidin’ behind him.”

The woman turned, sharply, her brows lifting at the choice of words. She said nothing—but the pause spoke volumes. When she turned back, Jackson stepped into view.

And just like that—the night turned.

Hell or High Water

“Mr. Kershaw. I’m Lydia Walton with Child Protective Services,” the woman said, voice clipped but steady. “We’ve received a complaint citing endangerment, instability, and inappropriate conduct connected to the funeral of your late wife. Our investigation has found serious cause for concern.”

She glanced at the clipboard.

“The report also includes accounts of physical altercation, intoxication witnessed by minors, and public sexual misconduct with your ex-wife. We are here under court order to remove Beau Wyatt Kershaw, age ten, and Savannah Rae Kershaw, six months, into temporary custody—effective immediately.”

Jackson’s body went still—like every breath, every heartbeat, locked onto one thing.

“Oh, hell no. You ain’t takin’ my kids over this mess.”

“I understand you’re upset,” the woman from CPS said, firm. “But this is a lawful—”

“You don’t understand,” he snapped, voice splintering. “You weren’t there. You didn’t see me hold it together so my girl wouldn’t fall apart. You’ve got paper. I’ve got pieces.”

“Sir, we are authorized to—”

“I don’t give a damn.” Jackson’s voice cracked like a tree limb. “You don’t walk into my house, and drag out my kids like they’re typos in your files. Not without goin’ through me.”

One officer inched forward, hand brushing his belt.

“Stay back!” Jackson warned—just as Beau’s door creaked open.

Hair tousled, pajama-clad, the boy blinked. “Pa?”

“Back in yer room, Beau Wyatt, now!”

But Beau didn’t budge.

A hand touched Jackson’s arm—he wrenched away, eyes blazing.

“Don’t touch me!”

Then it snapped. The officer grabbed, Jackson shoved, and in a breathless blur—

Crack.

The taser hit. Jackson’s body arced, legs folding beneath him as he crashed to the floor, seizing up just feet from Beau.

Beau screamed, then ran.

“Get off him! Leave my daddy alone!”

One officer tackled Jackson, wrenching his arms back, cuffing him as he gasped for breath. The other pushed Beau away—too hard—sending him sprawling on the floor.

Before the boy could rise, Chayton was there. Silent. Swift. A wall of protection.

Beau crumpled into his chest, sobbing. “He didn’t do nothin’. I want my mama. Please, call my mama.”

Savannah’s shrill cry pierced the air.

The woman turned pale. “We need to retrieve the infant. Now.”

Chayton met her gaze, face carved from stone. “I’ll get her ready.”

His voice was calm. Too calm.

He whispered to Beau, then gently let him go.

Outside, the cruiser door slammed. Gravel crunched.

Inside, Savannah still wailed. But Jackson was gone—and the air held its breath.

Minutes passed. Then—

“He’s taking too long,” the woman muttered. She crossed the room, opened the nursery door—

The crib was empty. One window open. Curtain drifting in the breeze. Rocker still swaying.

Gone.

Hollis stepped up behind her, sighing. “Told you them In’juns are always trouble.”

“Call it in,” she snapped. “Get a patrol to Greywolf’s place.”

“No use,” the sheriff drawled. “He ain’t stupid. Chay’s Yurok—he’s got places you’ll never find. All he needs to do is get himself to the reservation and we got no authority there. Betcha right now he called his wife and she is takin’ them kids there so we can’t get to anybody but the damn horses. You don’t catch one of them in’juns unless they’s drunk or they want catchin’.”

She pivoted to Beau, still curled on the couch—arms crossed, cheeks blotched, defiant through tears.

“Do you know where he took your sister?”

Beau looked at her like she wasn’t worth the dirt on his boots.

“I ain’t tellin’ y’all nothin’.”

Then he sat up straighter.

“Call my momma. Her name’s Briar Rose Cameron. You hear me? Call her now. I want my momma!” His voice wobbled, then steadied. “And if you don’t? My Grandpa Chase and Uncle Connor’ll rip you apart. And my Aunt Iris? Oh my auntie Iris she’s gonna be so mad, she will sue your ass into the next century.”

The CPS agent sighed. “That child’s vocabulary is frightful! Do we have the number for this Briar Rose Cameron person?”

The deputy looked anywhere but at Beau, shrugging.

The rocker in the nursery kept swaying, long after the child was gone. Like it knew the story wasn’t over.

San Sequoia – 12:04 a.m.

Briar Rose Cameron wasn’t a heavy sleeper.

So when her phone buzzed once, then again, hard against the nightstand, she snapped awake—already bracing for the worst.

Unknown number.

She stared at it for a second, thumb hovering.

Then swiped.

“Hello?”

Silence—then a gravel-thick voice, low and unmistakable.

“It’s Chay.”

That was enough to sit her up straight. “Chayton?”

“I got Savannah,” he said.

She froze. “What?”

“She’s safe. She’s with me. I couldn’t let them take her.”

“Take her? Who?”

“CPS. They came for all of ’em. Jackson didn’t back down. They cuffed him. Took Beau. Tried to take the baby. I… I climbed out the nursery window. You know how it is.”

Her hand flew to her mouth. She was already halfway out of bed, heart thundering.

“You took her.”

“I wasn’t about to watch them hand her to someone who couldn’t even say her name right.” A pause. “But I need you to get Jackson out. Get Beau. I’ll keep Savannah hidden until we know she’s safe.”

Briar Rose didn’t hesitate.

“Okay, I am on it. How can I get a hold of you?”

“I’ll call you again when I feel it’s safe. Or Jackson can call me when he’s out.” A pause. “Bri? This wasn’t you, was it?”

“Are you kidding me right about now?!”

“Right, sorry. Had to ask. I been sitting here trying to figure out who called CPS on Jackson. Everyone in town likes him. He’s helped out everyone at least once, and his daddy before him. So, has to be an outsider. Your husband?”

“Brad? First of all, Brad’s just about my ex, once the divorce is final. And no, he would never.”

“Ya also thought he wouldn’t fight. I saw him fight. Bri, someone called this on Jackson and there aren’t many options unless ya think someone in yer family did.”

“Chayton, I know we don’t see eye to eye, so believe or don’t but it wasn’t anyone in my family. I am gonna get Jackson out of jail first now. And then I am getting my son back. Why did those assholes not call me immediately!?”

Del Sol Valley – 12:19 a.m.

Iris Marie Hargrave did not appreciate being woken at midnight—especially not when she was wrapped around Jasper, silk robe tangled and half-asleep under an open case file.

But the look on her sister’s face over FaceTime? Ice in her blood.

“Let me get this straight,” Iris said, her voice dangerously calm. “CPS took Beau. Jackson got himself arrested. Chayton jumped out a damn window with Savannah. And you’re only now calling me?”

Briar Rose’s voice cracked. “I just found out myself! I called the local police department and they had to transfer me a million times to tell me Jackson wasn’t there but at county. Same there. And I can’t get him out, Iris. And nobody will tell me where my son is!”

“Yeah babes, you need a lawyer. Let me make some calls. Send me any details and contacts you have.”

Behind her, Jasper groaned. “Tell Jackson to sit in that cell a little longer. Might keep him from opening that damn piehole at the wrong times. What is with that guy constantly starting shit now?”

Iris was already mostly dressed reaching for her blazer. “I am on my way Bri. Jas, diaper duty.”

She snapped the trial brief shut like it insulted her.

“They would like to fuck with the Camerons? Fine. Let’s rumble, bitches.”

Chestnut Ridge Holding – 2:14 a.m.

The front desk buzzed just before the door opened.

Iris walked in like she owned the oxygen. Dark blazer, sharper glare. Briar Rose right behind her, face pale but posture unshaken.

“Who do I talk to about Jackson Kershaw?” Iris asked.

The clerk looked up slowly. “He’s still in holding—being processed—”

She dropped a folder on the desk with a satisfying thump.

“Cash bail. Full amount. No conditions. Release him.”

The deputy hesitated. “Ma’am… there’s a CPS investigation—”

“Not a criminal one.” She narrowed her eyes. “So unless the caseworker’s waiting in a cell too, go get my client now, please. You can skip the red bow, we’ll take him as is.”

Ten minutes later, Jackson stepped into the lobby—cuffs off, shirt wrinkled, hand bruised, soul scraped raw.

He didn’t say her name. Just looked at Briar Rose like she was the last safe thing in the world.

“I’m sorry.” His voice cracked. “I let it happen. Beau saw all of it. I couldn’t stop—”

She crossed the room and pulled him into her arms.

“We’ll get them back.” Her voice was quiet steel. “But you don’t get to fall apart until we’re done.”

Iris checked her watch like it had misbehaved.

“Are we done hugging? Great. Let’s go tear some assess at CPS in half.”

Sundown Motel – 3:22 a.m.

The vacancy sign buzzed dimly as they pulled in—just past 3 a.m., the sky still star-pinned and black. No one said a word as they checked into a single room under Iris’s name. The clerk didn’t ask questions. He barely looked up.

Inside, the beds were stiff, the carpet smelled faintly of damp socks and old air freshener, and the coffee maker looked like it predated the Internet. Jackson dropped onto the edge of the mattress with a grunt, one hand pressed to his ribs. His T-shirt was torn, skin welted where the taser had bit him. His wrists bore the raw red echo of handcuffs.

“You. Shower. Now,” Iris said, pointing to the bathroom while laying out folders across the rickety table like she was planning battle. “You smell like gym socks and regret.”

Jackson shot her a look. “Always a pleasure.”

“Right back atcha—especially when it’s before sunrise and coffee-deprived, so I wouldn’t fuck with me if I were you. Go. Wash. Now, Kershaw.”

Before he could move, Briar Rose was already kneeling in front of him. Her hands were feather-light at first—brushing over his jaw, pulling up his shirt, checking for bruises. She kissed his temple, then just above the hollow of his collarbone, resting her forehead against his.

“They hurt you,” she whispered. “Oh, baby…”

He gave a breathy laugh that caught in his chest. “I’ve had worse.”

“You shouldn’t have to. This didn’t have to happen.”

“I know I shouldn’t’ve lost mah cool, but I couldn’t just let them take the kids.”

“I know,” she murmured, brushing a hand down his arm. “I’d’ve thrown hands too. Any parent would.”

He swallowed hard. “Beau saw it all.”

“I know.” Her voice broke a little. “But he saw you fight for them, too. And Savannah—she’s okay. Chayton called me. He’s got her.”

Iris cleared her throat like someone loading a shotgun. “If you two are done recreating your homage to some motel-budget Nicholas Sparks movie, I’d love to move on to the part where I prevent Chayton from being charged with federal kidnapping. Sound good?”

Briar Rose didn’t flinch. “It wasn’t kidnapping. He was trying to help. We’ll just say Jackson gave permission. Chay babysits all the time.”

Iris leveled a look at her. “Bri, you do not understand what we are dealing with here. Beau and Savannah aren’t under Jackson’s custody right now. Nor yours. They’re wards of the state. He doesn’t get to pass them around like lawn chairs. And this—” she gestured to the emotionally charged intimacy playing out in the room, “—is not the optics we want. So, unless the goal is full termination of parental rights, I suggest you both keep it pants-on until further notice.”

Jackson exhaled. “Was she always like this?”

“Only since the womb,” Briar Rose muttered, helping him up.

“Used to be nicer,” he said under his breath. “Not by much—but still, damn, Iris.”

Iris flipped him off without looking up from her files.

“Briar Rose—call your pediatrician first thing. Get a note confirming you and mom have regularly cared for Savannah. The diaper rash. Checkups. Anything that proves consistent caregiving. And you, Kershaw, there is a CVS across the street, go buy a clean shirt, something to wash your crusty ass with and some deodorant, and pick up coffee for all of us. You need to look like a parent, not an off-the-grid redneck protestor who got arrested for carrying a sign reading ‘incest is best, put your sister to the test, just ask Uncle Dad’. Try not to get run over on your way, and try not to get arrested again, okay?” She rose up, grabbed her wallet, took out a wad of cash and with a smirk, stuffed it in his waistband.

“Gawd, woman!” Jackson flinched, wincing as his ribs twinged. “Would you quit that?”

“Iris! Seriously? WTH?!” Briar Rose barked.

“What? I’m operating on ZERO caffeine here and working pro bono in the middle of the night in some dubious motel in some hicktown nobody ever heard of. Let me have some perks. You’re still married to Brad. Jackson’s legally single. I was wondering how that sixpack feels, I approve. No wonder you can’t stay off of him.”

“IRIS MARIE HARGRAVE!” Briar Rose narrowed her eyes. “And what about your marriage to Jasper? Think he would love you sticking your hands down Jackson’s pants?”

“Jas is an actor, he gets paid to smooch around on hot chicks, while I have to stand around court rooms defending people and the highest of all feelings is a grateful clap on my back and a big check to cash. We live in Del Sol Valley. Inappropriate behavior is expected and practically included in the HOA dues.”

Jackson, limping toward the door, muttered, “Glad to be part of the Hargrave lifestyle brand.”

Before he could get far, Iris snagged his wallet out of his back pocket with sleight-of-hand speed.

“Seriously?!” he groaned. “Quit grabbin’! Ain’t even anything left in there!”

She fished out a crumpled dollar bill and tucked it neatly down her blouse with a smirk as she moved to tuck the wallet back where she found it, but Jackson yanked it from her hand. “Retainer, Jackson. Congrats—you’re officially my client. This has more pull optically than if I were to take you pro bono.”

Jackson blinked at her. “That’s ridiculous.”

“It’s the game of the law,” she corrected. “Now take my cash, buy your dignity, and the biggest cups of very much needed coffee for all of us, so get gone and hurry back.”

She turned back to Briar Rose, sharp as ever. “And you—I don’t see you dialing.”

“It’s not even five,” Briar Rose protested. “No pediatrician is open at this hour. I am going with Jackson.”

“No, your ass is staying here, I don’t trust you two together, my luck you’d be gone for hours and I’d have to go looking for you and find ya both in jail for fuckin’ in public or something. You stay and call Connor. Tell him to get his overachieving ass out of bed and prep for emergency exams—photos, notes, bruising, all of it. If we’re up saving this family at ungodly hours, the least he can do is contribute to the damn narrative.”

Regional CPS Office – 8:08 a.m.

They didn’t knock.

Iris pushed open the glass doors with the confidence of a woman who sues people before breakfast. Briar Rose followed, chin lifted. Jackson trailed last—fresh shirt, combed hair, pain stiff in every movement.

“I’m here for my son,” Briar Rose said. “Beau Wyatt Kershaw.”

The receptionist didn’t even argue. She vanished behind a door.

Minutes later, the CPS agent from the ranch emerged—wrinkled blazer, sleep-rumpled, eyes too tired to fight.

“You can take the boy,” she muttered.

“Aww, I see you got my messages. Yeah, you picked the wrong cowboy to screw with, lady. I figured you thought you were dealing with some hapless country bumpkin and just skip the preceding paperwork announcing that an investigation has been put in motion. Ooopsie, bad move. So, wrap up the kid, we’re taking him home. And now let’s talk about Savannah Rae Kershaw.” Iris said, voice like ice.

“Miss Hargrave. Mr. Greywolf removed her without authorization. She’s not Ms. Cameron’s biological child. And Mr. Kershaw’s custody is under review. Until that’s resolved—Savannah remains a ward of the state. If you know where she is, counsel, I strongly recommend you surrender her to the state and we may be willing to work with you regarding Mr. Greywolf’s punishment. He broke several laws.”

“Nah, that’s not what my petition reads. You lost her,” Iris said, stepping forward. “You don’t get to dress that up. You made a mistake. And you also didn’t inform Mr. Kershaw of any check up visits, which is mandatory unless there is documented harm to the children. I just recently saw Savannah and she is a fat little happy baby. You fucked up lady. Try me, and I will blast that fact all over. So, my counteroffer is you drop any and all charges against Mr. Greywolf, and release Savannah into foster care with someone appointed by me.”

“Assuming you mean Miss Cameron, I can’t and I won’t. She’s not Savannah’s legal guardian.”

“And you’re not even competent. Unless you’re rocking her to sleep yourself, don’t pretend you’re protecting her.”

The agent bristled. “Mr. Kershaw isn’t even your client.”

“He is. I have secured the retainer in front of witnesses, so don’t worry about how I do my business, Miss Walton, I promise you I don’t fuck up. But if you prefer to go the full legal route, we will go there, it will be so much fun. Well, for me anyways,” Iris said sweetly. “Congratulations. I look forward to discovery. I will ask for every shred I can think of. This place will be fuming for copiers running so hot. UPS will open a new field office next door with as much deliveries as you will have to pay for.”

The agent opened her mouth—then thought better of it.

A door opened. A weary staffer led out a small boy with red-rimmed eyes and a death grip on a worn blue blanket. He scanned the room—then bolted.

“Mama! Pa!”

Briar Rose dropped to her knees just in time to catch him. Beau crashed into her chest like a wave against the shore. She wrapped him tight, whispering in his ear, rocking him like wind in a storm. Jackson crouched down beside her, pulling both into his arms, holding on like they might disappear again.

“I got you,” she breathed. “We’ve got you, baby.”

“I didn’t tell ’em nothin’,” Beau choked out. “I said Auntie Iris would sue their faces off.”

“See, even the boy gets it,” Iris said, smug. “Good kiddo, Beau. And yes, I will. I absolutely will.”

“She will,” Briar Rose murmured, clinging to him. “She’s halfway through the alphabet already with the charges she’s bringing.”

Beau peeked up at Jackson. “I’m sorry, Pa.”

Jackson’s voice barely made it out. “You did everything right, Beau. Braver than me. Daddy messed up, you did everythin’ right.”

Iris, never one for lingering moments, snapped her folder shut. “If we’re finished emotionally unraveling, perhaps we can sign what needs signing and get out of here. In case it’s unclear, or you’re too sleep-deprived to read my emergency petition—Miss Cameron is taking Beau home. She’s the mother, and secondary legal guardian. I listed our parents’ address. Trust me, you can’t miss it. We don’t do subtle.”

The CPS agent cleared her throat. “He’ll need to be enrolled in a local district within seventy-two hours and custody paperwork updated.”

Iris smiled sweetly. It didn’t reach her eyes. “Duly noted. Now take your clipboard and go start working on Savannah’s case file before you become Exhibit A.”

Briar Rose turned to Jackson near the door. “Come with us. You’re staying with us. Someone else can take care of the horses.”

Jackson blinked, stuck in place. “Wait… what about my daughter?”

The agent’s expression tightened. “You’ll be notified when the emergency hearing is reviewed. Until then—Savannah remains officially missing. And so long as Mr. Greywolf remains in hiding, your custody remains under review.”

Jackson clenched his jaw, shoulders taut with helpless rage.

Iris stepped forward, voice cool and precise. “Let’s not traumatize my client further with legal chest-thumping. Jackson—listen to me. I’m working on a deal. If Chayton surrenders Savannah directly to the state, we can keep him out of jail. But we have to comply. We surrender Savannah temporarily, or Chayton risks felony charges. Okay?”

He blinked hard. “My baby girl… in state custody?”

“I know,” Iris said, her tone softening for the first time. “But we’re not giving her up—we’re playing the long game. Unless you want Chayton in prison for the next several years, this is our only move.”

Jackson’s breath hitched. “Orange ain’t his color.”

“Actually,” Iris said, grabbing her coat, “that facility uses gray jumpsuits.”

Jackson’s mouth twitched, almost a smile, but didn’t quite make it.

“There you have it,” Iris said as she reached for the door. “Gray would look like shit on him. Let’s go. We’ll bring the baby home. Have the paperwork ready when we do.”

Seaglass Haven – 9:13 a.m.

The morning fog still clung to the cypress trees like breath on cold glass. The estate was quiet, dignified even in disarray—sunlight bleeding through gauzy windows, birdsong subdued by the heavy air.

In the poolhouse tucked behind the main house, the kind that always smelled faintly of lavender sachets and chlorine, four bodies curled together under a single throw blanket.

Jackson sat slouched against the headboard, eyes bloodshot, shirt borrowed from Bri’s dad, collarbone stiff from bruising. Briar Rose lay beside him, arm wrapped securely around Beau’s back. Briony—his twin—was tucked between them, her cheek pressed to Jackson’s chest, fingers fisted in the fabric of his shirt like she might fall without it.

They hadn’t said much since returning from the CPS office the second time to surrender Savannah.

Beau stirred, still half-dreaming. Briar Rose pressed a kiss into his hair, her voice barely above a whisper. “It’s okay, baby. You’re safe now.”

At the edge of the room, Iris Cameron sat cross-legged on a bench cushion, files spread out in stacks across the floor in front of her like the world’s most personal crime scene. Her blazer was long gone, replaced by a tank top and sweatpants borrowed from Bri.

She was flipping through Jackson’s custody agreement again, jaw tight.

“There are a few options,” she said finally, not looking up. “Temporary guardianship. Emergency placement orders. But the cleanest—and strongest—move right now is the temporary guardianship. I think we should go for that.”

Jackson’s fingers went rigid where they rested on Briony’s back. “You mean—Bri kinda adopts Savannah?”

“Yes. That way, even if your custody stays under review, Savannah has a legal parent in the house. Someone the state recognizes.”

“But I’m her dad.”

“You are. And this doesn’t change that unless you don’t trust Bri anymore. But it builds a second line of defense. Courts like structure. Stability. They like plans for worst-case scenarios—especially when a baby’s involved. The only problem here is that Bri is going through a divorce and Brad has main custody of Nathaniel. We all know why, but on paper it’s dubious. I may have to put someone else in. Someone in a stable relationship with a good track record, so if they decline Bri, we can immediately pull them out of our back pocket. I can’t do it, since I am the lawyer on case, creates a conflict-of-interest situation. Mom and dad are too old, legally, to adopt. But I know who isn’t. Our golden boy. Connor can take guardianship. He is a shining beacon of the type they basically throw babies at looking for adoption.”

“What now?” Jackson drawled.

“Yeah, I know, it’s kinda messy, because legally, Savannah would kinda have the unofficial status of a niece in a weird way. Not ideal, but unless you can get married real quick, to someone who is not Bri, we don’t have a lot of great options here.

“How fast can we do it?” Briar Rose asked, voice steady, but her hand trembled a little where it smoothed Beau’s hair.

“If Jackson consents?” Iris glanced up. “We can file today. There’s precedent to expedite when a child is already in the system. Especially if I flag it as high-risk due to recent trauma. And I think we are all traumatized by this bullshit.”

Briar Rose looked over at Jackson, her eyes soft. “It’s just until things settle, okay? It’s so she doesn’t end up with strangers if anything goes sideways.”

“I don’t care about sideways,” Jackson said hoarsely. “I care about her being with family. I prefer it be you, but if they say no to ya but would accept Connor, then yeah. Do it. File whatever you have to.”

Iris grabbed her phone. “I’ll call Judge Avery’s clerk. She owes me a favor. Let’s expedite the expedited case some more, shall we?”

A long silence followed, broken only by the distant clinking of wind chimes outside and the scratch of Iris’s pen on a legal pad. Briar Rose glanced down at the twins—both dozing now—and then back up at Jackson.

His eyes were glazed over with exhaustion, but they met hers when she asked it:

“Does anyone actually know who filed the complaint?”

Iris paused. Her jaw ticked.

“No. Not yet,” she said slowly. “But when I find out, they better lawyer up. I am going to turn them into legal confetti. Are we sure it’s not Brad?”

“Iris! Brad would never!”

“I ain’t so sure. We also thought he’s never get into fights. I lost count how many he and I been in by now. And I hate to admit it, but that bastard can throw a decent punch.”

“No way would Brad ever do something like this. But fine, two against one, so I will ask.” Bri said almost pouty.

“Like he would tell you, come on Bri. I know you still hold a big ass candle for him, but guys like him don’t fight fair. That’s how their family‘s got so rich. Does nobody here remember his dad’s vindictive ass? He couldn’t split you up the straight up way, so he did everything he could think of?” Iris sighed, shaking her head.

Seaglass Haven – 9:57 a.m.

The twins were still asleep, nestled between Briar Rose and Jackson like puzzle pieces trying to hold the picture together. The scent of lavender and kids shampoo clung to the air. Jackson hadn’t moved in ten minutes—not really asleep, not fully awake—just listening to their breathing, steady and warm against the ache in his chest.

The poolhouse door flew open.

Connor didn’t knock. He never knocked.

He stepped in like a gust of warm air—tall, broad, sun-kissed from the neck up, still in hospital scrubs, lanyard flapping. His blond hair was swept back in a messy knot. Behind him, Keira slipped in quietly—long dark hair twisted into a low bun, black eyes scanning the room like she was already sorting emotions into canvases.

Iris didn’t look up. “Took you long enough.”

Connor made a face. “Sorry, Your Royal Eminence, I was putting a chest tube into someone who sneezed during a motorcycle accident.”

“You’re excused. Sit.”

Keira lowered herself onto the ottoman beside Bri, offering a soft smile that didn’t try to fix anything. She glanced down at the children, one sleeping, one groggy, both tangled up in their parents like seaweed.

“What happened?” Connor asked, crouching in front of Iris’s legal sprawl.

Jackson sat up a little, ribs protesting. Iris flipped a folder toward her brother like it was an indictment.

“CPS came for the kids. Tased Jackson. Took Beau. Tried for Savannah. Chayton got there first. Crawled out a window with her, because apparently that’s our family’s idea of child welfare now.”

Connor blinked. “Jesus. Where is she?”

“Temporarily surrendered. I made the exchange myself before they issued charges. We’ve got 48 hours before they push for foster placement.”

Silence thudded into the room.

“And the plan?” Keira asked softly.

Iris pulled out a single sheet of paper and handed it to her.

“Temporary guardianship. You two take Savannah. Just for now. On paper, it gives her a stable home while Jackson works with the court. Off paper—it’s how we keep her out of the system. Mom and Dad are too old. I can’t do it, because I am their lawyer. Bri’s divorce and custody situation makes her a high-risk applicant. That leaves you.”

Connor looked stunned for all of three seconds. Then his eyes flicked to Jackson—wide and blue and clear.

“You want this?”

Jackson’s breath caught. His voice came out rough. “Yeah… yeah, I think I do.”

Connor stayed still, absorbing it. Then he looked at Keira—really looked—and whatever passed between them in that quiet glance was weighty and wordless. She gave the smallest nod.

He turned back to Jackson, voice steady. “Yeah. We’ll do it. We’ll take her.”

Then, after a pause, his gaze sharpened.

“But not just until you’re cleared. Let’s be honest—Savannah’s world has already been flipped on its head. Bouncing her right back the minute a file gets stamped doesn’t feel right. She deserves a soft landing. Something that lasts long enough to mean something. I’m her uncle, well, I am not legally, but we all know Savannah’s part of this family in every way but blood, just like you always have been Jackson long before you started messing with Bri—and I also am a doctor. The baby’s welfare’s what matters most to me. And something tells me Jackson could really use a break from being Savannah’s daddy for a while.”

Briar Rose drew in a breath. “Con-Bear!”

But Connor added gently, “Not forever, Bri, chill. Just… longer than now. I think Jackson’s hearing me.”

Jackson’s shoulders dropped—not in defeat, but in quiet relief. He gave a tight nod. “Thank you. And yeah… I hear ya loud and clear,” he murmured.

He rubbed a hand over his face, exhaling slow. “Connor’s right. I don’t want to give her up. But I’ve been strugglin’. I ain’t doin’ great. It’s hard to admit, but that baby’s so small and it’s almost too much for me alone. She don’t get why her mama’s gone. Maybe she thinks Hailey or Bri are her mama—and then they’re gone again. Or Briony shows up and suddenly there’s a big sister. And then she’s gone. It’s gotta be confusin’.”

He paused, voice cracking as it softened.

“And I don’t know how to give her what she needs when I’m still tryin’ to remember how to breathe just runnin’ the damn ranch. And I ain’t no educated man—helpin’ my boy with homework already stretches what I got. I keep wonderin’ if I’m helpin’ or just makin’ it worse, tryin’ to explain things I barely understand myself.”

Keira reached out, fingers light on his forearm. “Jackson. Then take our help. You know we’re not taking her away. We’re holding her for you until you’re ready. And to keep her out of strangers’ homes. Con-Bear and I remember your story. You did the foster thing for years before Jack found you. One of us can come out sometimes and help out with Beau, or even Chris can, we’ll make sure he’s got the academic side down and you teach him the ranch stuff.”

Connor lowered to the floor, elbows on his knees like he was grounding the plan before it took flight.

“So, here’s the deal. She’ll stay with us. Not as a ‘rescue.’ Not as charity. As family. You come here every other week with Beau to see Bri, Briony, and the grandparents. I am sure we can weave in some learning then, not too much, just enough. You see Savannah, too. And if it helps, I’ll drive her out to the ranch between visits—bring Briony for company and I can look in on Beau’s school stuff. We’ll make it work. we’ll figure this out. Until you’re steady again and ready to be a daddy to a little angel.”

Jackson looked like someone had cracked a window inside him. His eyes were wet—but there it was. That first flicker of air.

“Okay,” he said, voice catching. “Yeah. Let’s do that. Thank y’all. I don’t know what to say or how to thank ya.”

“Well, the beauty of this family is that you won’t have to.” Keira smiled.

Iris was already scribbling.

Connor stood, offered Jackson a hand, then pulled him into a hug that damn near cracked his ribs again. “We got you, man. We all got you.”

Keira leaned down and kissed the top of Beau’s head. “She’s gonna be okay. You all are.”

And for the first time in what felt like years, nobody corrected her.

Seaglass Haven – 12:46 p.m.

The air in the kitchen felt brittle. Morning had barely stretched past noon, but Briar Rose had already cleaned the counters twice, burned two slices of toast, and snapped at the microwave for beeping too loud.

“Deep breaths,” Iris muttered from a barstool. “It’s a conversation, not a sentencing.”

Briar Rose shot her a look. “That’s rich coming from you. I’ve seen your sentencing face.”

Before Iris could reply, tires crunched on the gravel outside. A car door slammed. Then another. Then little voices.

“They’re here,” Briar Rose said, stomach tightening.

Brad stepped in carrying their youngest—Nathaniel—on his hip, the baby giggling and drooling with delight. Behind him trailed his two older children from his first marriage, kids Briar Rose had once helped raise. It was all complicated now but they greeted her and Iris like nothing had changed.

“Hey,” Brad said carefully. “When I got your message about needing to have a serious talk, I was already on my way to the airport, so we thought we’d swing by on our way up north. Hope my quick text back about me stopping by made sense. Mom wants the kids for a few days. Sends her love.”

“Thank you.” Briar Rose took the baby without hesitation, after hugging Brad tight. “Thanks for stopping.” She told him while taking Nathaniel with practiced ease and pressing a kiss to his curls.

“Beau and Briony are out back,” she told Brad’s older kids Graham and Lauren. “Stay where we can see you!” They dashed off almost immediately, tossing sandals and bags aside.

Hailey arrived next, right when Bri had handed Nate back to Brad, preparing for an uncomfortable conversation—a warm force of a woman in breezy linen, her graying warm blonde waves piled into a knot.

“Oh, my sweet boy,” she cooed, reaching for Nathaniel with the kind of swiftness that suggested this wasn’t her first rodeo. Brad handed him over without a word.

Hailey gave Brad a warm kiss on the cheek. “You all take your time. I’ll keep the munchkin entertained.”

She left and silence fell.

Brad looked around, taking in the stillness, the tight smiles. “Everything okay? Your message sounded important. How can I help?”

“Umm, depends.” Briar Rose asked.

“What’s wrong?” His brow furrowed.

Iris leaned back in her chair like a cat stretching before a kill. “Did you file a report with Child Protective Services?”

He blinked. “Excuse me?”

Briar Rose steadied herself. “Someone did. It was anonymous, but detailed. Specific. The report accused Jackson of child endangerment. Cited misconduct. Basically, the entire rundown of what happened at the funeral. Used Beau and Savannah’s names. So they were taken away. We got Beau back, working on Savannah, but wanna know what we are dealing with here. Was this you? I told them you would never, but I don’t know who else could have, Brad. Prove them wrong, please.”

Brad’s eyes narrowed. Slowly, they cut toward the hallway—where Jackson had just appeared, arms crossed.

“Me? You think I would do something so heinous? I am a father myself, a dedicated one at that! I would never take another man’s kids from them unless there really was abuse. And I know you and I don’t see eye to eye, Jackson, but I can see you love your kids and take great care. So, no, I would never do something so cowardice.”

“Well, someone filed a report. It was anonymous, but specific. And you’re the only person we can think of who might have a reason—any reason.” Iris told him.

His face went cold with disbelief. “You think I would do that to Bri? To Beau? Or even Jackson, being a single dad myself? File on my own son’s siblings? Briar Rose, come on. I know Jackson doesn’t like me much and Iris never did, but you, Bri, you really should know me better than that. I am hurt and insulted.”

Iris folded her arms. “Sorry to hurt your feelings there, but Jackson’s feelings were shat on too. We’re not looking for lip service—we need facts. I did everything I could to gain access to the records, but they are saying they can’t reveal the source to protect them. I can’t get the name, so we have to use logic. You are the only one that makes sense, Brad. Nothing personal. At least not yet. But if this was you, it will be.”

Brad stared at Iris. “It was not me. You want proof? Fine. Gimme a second.”

He turned away, phone already in hand, fingers working fast as he moved to the patio. He paced, murmured, waited.

Five minutes later, he came back in, holding out the phone.

“Here. My mom pulled the sealed intake log. In case you forgot—she’s a circuit court judge with friends in just about every jurisdiction that matters. Let’s say this wasn’t her first favor. And to be clear, this is 100% off the records.”

Iris took it. Scanned. Froze mid-scroll and went still. Her color drained.

“Who?” Briar Rose said.

“Iris! Share woman,” Jackson added. “Right now.”

Iris swallowed. “It was Taylor.”

Silence slammed into the room.

“Taylor?” Briar Rose asked, stunned. “That Taylor? Taylor McCoy? THAT BITCH!!! Oh, yes, Jackson, that makes perfect sense! She hasn’t even crossed my mind. I know she was at that funeral—I remember seeing her and bracing for it—but she never came at me that night, which seemed strange and out of character for her. Now I know why. She had bigger plans.”

“Well, her married name, Taylor Walker, but yeah,” Iris said dryly, arms folded. “That bitch.”

Jackson tore off his hat, raked a hand through his hair hard enough to make it stand on end. His voice cracked like a whip across the room.

“Fuckin’ hell! What in the devil’s name did I ever do to that woman to make her so godawful mean? She’s a mama, too! Single, same as me—lost her man in that accident, just like I lost Billie Rae. You’d think she’d understand what it’s like, strugglin’ to raise a baby on yer own. But nah. She went and turned cold as a snake in the shade. Who does that to someone when they know better?”

“I always told you she was evil. You never believed me,” Bri said, flicking her hand toward Jackson like a teacher who’d just been proven right. “Now here you have it. Proof. THAT is the Taylor I always saw.”

“She used every weapon she could,” Iris continued, her voice suddenly sharp and clipped. “In the report it says Jackson was dangerous. Said Briar Rose was a threat to the children with extremely loose morals. That Brad was trying to ‘save’ Nathaniel from a hostile environment and got the shit beaten out of him.”

“Excuse me? I held my own. Why is that person I don’t even know depicting me as a wimp?!” Brad grumbled.

“Are you kidding me?” Briar Rose whispered, mouth falling open. “I can tell you why, because she is a monster, Brad, that’s why. She made my life hell when I was living in Chestnut Ridge. The snide remarks all the time. Her all over Jackson with me standing right there even when we were married. The verbal drive-bys. All the damn time. Never skipping a chance to show me up. That woman is deranged!”

Jackson gave a dry huff, staring down at his boots like they might offer answers. He rubbed the back of his neck, slow and rough, before finally speaking—voice thick with that drawl, like molasses poured over gravel.

“Well… I ain’t gonna lie, I knew she kinda kept a candle burnin’ for me,” he muttered, words curling at the edges. “But I didn’t think she was that far gone. I mean, c’mon—look at me. Sure, I got a face that don’t scare babies and a decent body, but what else?” He gestured vaguely to himself. “Three marriages—two of ‘em gone to hell, one buried. Two kids I can barely manage, a ranch that’s more duct tape than structure half the time, and a couple fancy belt buckles from my rodeo days. Why would she want me so bad? I don’t want me half the time.”

He dragged a hand through his hair, exasperated. “Ain’t even been civil to her in years. Figured that woulda run her off. Hell, maybe that made it worse. Guess me bein’ an ass just… sharpened the appeal.”

He looked around the room, baffled. “The hell’s wrong with that woman?”

“Where do I start?” Briar Rose said with a shaky breath, rubbing the back of her neck. “It’d be shorter to list what isn’t wrong with her.” She took a few steps, needing motion to work through the words. “I bet she saw us together recently… and just realized things aren’t as… distant as they used to be.”

Her voice faltered, and her eyes slid briefly toward Brad—quick, instinctive. Not guilt, just respect. “She snapped,” she finished softly, arms crossing like she was suddenly cold. “Thought she had clear access, yet here I am again, interfering with her shot. Or maybe she just couldn’t stand watching something fall back into place that never really fully ended.”

“Who cares what that psycho-bitch was thinking. Fact is, she weaponized a child protection system,” Iris growled, already reaching for her tablet. “I will end her. I will file something that forces the source to be reviewed and a character report pulled. They’ll have to talk to you—Jackson, Bri—and when they find out her obsession with you, it’ll backfire hard. Abusing the system for personal vendettas is… let’s call it frowned upon.”

Briar Rose looked shaken, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’m so sorry, Braddy. That it even crossed our minds that you…”

Jackson stepped beside her, gaze steady on Brad. “Yeah, same from me. Sorry ‘bout that, Brad. I thought fer sure… but I realize now ya ain’t like that.”

“Yeah, same here,” Iris added with a shrug. “Sorry, Brad. My bad. You may be a wet rag in my eyes, but you are pretty decent after all.”

Brad blinked at the backhanded sentiment, then let out a slow breath. “Wow, appreciate the heartfelt notions. No, guys—if I thought you were hurting the kids, you’d hear it straight from me. Let me know what I can do to help. My mom would definitely step in if needed; she doesn’t take kindly to folks twisting a system meant to protect kids just to settle a score.”

Iris straightened, fury glinting beneath her sudden calm. “We go after her. False reporting. Harassment. Maybe even custodial interference.”

“She came after our kids, Bri,” Jackson said, voice shaking. “She declared war. Taylor wants a war? I got things on her, too. We’ll have a war then. No more Mr. Nice Guy with her, that’s fer damn sure.”

Briar Rose stepped closer to Brad, her tone gentler now. “Thank you, Brad. For everything. For being such a good sport. I really am sorry I suspected you. I didn’t wanna believe it, but you have to admit—it looked like you were the only logical option.”

Brad didn’t wait for her to finish. He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her—not tightly, not desperately—just warm and steady, the kind of hug you give someone whose heart you’ve memorized, even if it no longer belongs to you.

Briar Rose sank into it for a beat, her cheek brushing against the button of his shirt, breathing in his familiar scent, feeling the familiar embrace.

When she pulled back, a single tear had traced down her cheek. Brad smiled at her gently, eyes soft with all the things he wasn’t saying. He reached up, thumb brushing the tear away without a word. Then, with the same hand, he cupped her face and gave her cheek the lightest, fondest tap—half affection, half punctuation.

“I’m not mad. Really, I get it. You were doing what any decent parent would. Protecting your kids.”

“I still shouldn’t have let myself think it,” Briar Rose murmured, arms crossed tight over her chest. “But…”

“It made sense,” Brad finished. “I get it.”

There was a pause—just long enough for it to matter.

And across the room, Jackson watched it all unfold—not with envy, not anymore, but with respect. The kind that forms when love grows up and lets go.

Jackson shifted, clearly uncomfortable. “Same here, man. I jumped to conclusions. I’m very sorry. Sorry also for … well … all the rest. Ya know what I mean.”

Brad gave the faintest of nods. And with that, something between them settled. Not erased. Not rewritten. Just… redefined.

“Right, and I’m… less sorry but still marginally regretful,” Iris added, chin lifted. “Mostly because I had really good one-liners loaded up and now they would be out of context.”

Brad gave a short laugh, running a hand through his hair. “Oh, out of context, that’s reminds me. One second. I didn’t think I was walking into judgement day here, so I came bearing gifts.”

Briar Rose blinked. “You brought gifts?”

He nodded, already reaching for the tote near the door. She smiled as he returned with the bag.

“For you,” he said, handing her a delicate box wrapped in rose-printed wax paper, “The Rose Mix. Since I got flooded with thank you messages by you after getting you hooked up last time, I took it that I chose well. And I also figured you would be out by now.”

Briar Rose clutched it to her chest with an audible breath. “You are my hero for the second time today. I was out, and sad. Thank you, Braddy.” She gave him a peck on the cheek which he accepted smiling, while turning to Iris next, producing a matte-black tin embossed with sleek red lettering. “For you: smoked chili dark chocolate batons with espresso nibs. The clerk called them ‘weapons-grade sophistication.’ Had your name proverbially written all over it.”

Iris arched a brow, but took them with an approving nod. “I am a bitch to you and you brought me candy? I think I need to send my husband to your for proper training,” she looked at it, opened it, sniffed it, then grabbed a piece for a taste, moaning, eyes closed. When she opened them, she smiled at him “Cunningham, you are starting to grow on me. Twice you came through big time. I might just leave my damn husband and our needy kids and be with you instead. Hmm-hmm.”

Then Brad turned to Jackson and held out what looked like a box wrapped in butcher paper and twine.

“This…” he hesitated, “is for you. It’s a limited-run fudge bar with ghost pepper and sea salt. When I saw it I just thought of you.”

Jackson took it slowly, eyeing the package like it might explode. “You bringin’ me candy now? We fight like wild dogs for over ten years, thrown a bunch o’ punches, I accuse ya of wantin’ to take away my kids, sorry ‘bout that again, by the way, and you’re courtin’ me with candy?”

Brad smirked. “Definitely not that. Let’s just say I’m embracing the complexity. Fact is, Jackson, regardless of our feelings about each other, you and I will be in each other’s lives because of Bri and the children. I adore Briony like she were my own and I felt like even Beau and I had a connection. I would love to hold your daughter but was afraid you’d club me to death if I were to attempt to even coo at her from a distance.”

Jackson let out a sigh, peeled back the edge of the paper, sniffed, then nodded. “Smells like regret and bad decisions, jus’ like Bri always says I smell. I like it. Thank ya, Brad.”

Without warning, Jackson stepped forward like he was about to throw a punch—but instead grabbed Brad by the shoulders and pulled him into the world’s most reluctant bro-hug. Stiff. Crooked. A clap on the back like someone trying to fix a jammed vending machine.

Brad instinctively recoiled. “Whoa—not so rough, I am not one of your horses!”

“Nah,” Jackson muttered. “Yer tougher than ya look, Cunningham. We’re all good. Thanks for helping find the truth and thanks for the … candy. Damn not somethin’ I ever thought I’d be sayin’ to another man.”

Right then, Chase sauntered in with his guitar slung behind him like a weapon from another life, Hailey following smiling. “Nate is down for a nap, the kids are playing outside, Graham is practicing his guitar skills, sorry about that Brad but he is going to ask for his own for his next birthday. Thank Chase for that.”

They stopped in their tracks.

Chase squinted. “Goddamn. One day we’re breaking up brawls between these two left and right—and now I walk into some sappy bromance Brokeback Mountain moment? Make up my mind, kids!”

Hailey breezed past with a grin. “As long as they’re not bleeding, we’re calling it personal growth.”

Brad cleared his throat and stepped back. “Right, well. I brought you both some candy as well.”

He turned to Chase first, pulling out a box wrapped in thick crimson foil and fastened with a strip of black guitar-string ribbon. “Found this one labeled ‘whiskey-brandy-caramel chaos bark.’ Said it pairs well with live amps, old grudges, and bad decisions. Figured you’d appreciate the complexity.”

Chase grinned, taking the box like it was a backstage pass. “Nice! Look Patches, now I can eat and drink my booze. Thanks kiddo, very thoughtful.” He briefly wrapped one arm around Brad, giving him a tight squeeze.

Hailey’s eyes lit up as Brad presented the box, her expression softening with genuine warmth.

“For my ravishing mother-in-law—at least for the time being,” Brad said, voice gentling like fine linen. “Something elegant. Rose-lavender honeycomb brittle, dipped in white chocolate and dusted with edible gold. It reminded me of grace under pressure.”

Hailey’s brows arched as she accepted the package like it was made of spun sugar and secrets. “Bradford Cunningham, trying to steal my heart after all these years? It’s definitely working.”

She carefully untied the ribbon, lifted the lid, and let out a delighted little gasp. “These are gorgeous.” Leaning down, she inhaled. “Oh my word—they smell like a Parisian spring and a trust fund got married.”

Then—before anyone could stop him—Chase reached over and snatched one from the open box, popping it into his mouth with an exaggerated hum of approval.

“Gump!” Hailey exclaimed, smacking his arm. “I don’t remember offering!”

Chase just grinned, chewing with relish. “That’s what you get for flirtin’ with that kid right under my nose. Keep going and that box will be empty. These are good, good choice Brad, she’ll love them.”

Hailey narrowed her eyes and tucked the lid back on the box, lifting it out of reach like a lioness guarding her cubs. “You’re lucky I still marginally like you, old man. Stealing my candy!”

“I am lucky you more than like me,” Chase countered, licking sugar from his thumb.

Brad offered a small, respectful bow of his head, the corners of his mouth tugging into something between gratitude and nostalgia.

“Just trying to honor the woman who raised three of the fiercest, most grounded people I’ve ever known,” he said, voice warm. “And to thank you—for always letting me be part of that family. Even when not everyone was eager about it.”

He glanced toward Hailey, sincerity settling in his tone.

“I mean it. I wouldn’t be half the man I am—not as a father, not as a professional—without those dinners around your table back when Bri and I were just kids. That’s where I learned what love’s supposed to sound like. What it looks like to show up for each other, even when it’s hard. My own parents… they weren’t exactly blueprints for compassion. But you? You taught me that the low points—maybe especially the low points—deserve grace. Humor. Kindness. I carry that with me more than you probably know.”

Hailey smiled warmly. “That is one of the nicest things anyone could say to me, sweetie. Of course, you always were and are welcome in this family. You are the father of one of our grandkids now anyway.”

Jackson stood by the archway, one hand loosely hooked on his belt, the other resting against the wall like he needed something solid beneath his fingertips. He didn’t move, didn’t speak, but his eyes stayed fixed on Brad—brows drawn, lips pressed in a faint, unreadable line.

Because it hit him, sudden and sharp: he’d always told himself Brad didn’t get it. The weight of being the outsider. The ache of wanting a place at a table that wasn’t set for you. In Jackson’s mind Brad was born with the proverbial silver spoon in his mouth and never known rejection and hardships, just love and money and security. Now he realized that Brad had lived it—just on the other side of the proverbial tracks, in a different setting, different circumstances but the same at the core. Holy crap!

Brad chuckled, then pulled out one final item—a neatly labeled kraft box sealed with twine.

“This one’s for Connor, Keira, and Chris to share. It’s a trio set—salted vanilla chews for Chris, candied citrus peels for Keira, and espresso malt balls for Connor. I asked the clerk to pick a ‘power couple with an overachieving genius kid’ combo and she lit up like she’d been waiting her whole life to do it.”

He handed it off to Hailey with care, she took it with a chuckle. “Chris will be over later, but I’ll hide those from him. If we give this to him to take home to his parents they will never see it, he’ll have them all eaten by the time he gets home and Con-Bear and Keke get an empty box with the residual smell of delicious candy. That kid is always hungry.”

Briar Rose was watching Brad now, her expression unreadable—equal parts disbelief, fondness, and that slight awe that came from remembering the man you loved, even though you realized too late your heart was still occupied by another.

Jackson grunted and took another bite of his fudge bar. “This kicks like a jackrabbit. Still don’t know what to make of you, Cunningham, but thanks. Mean it. Glad ya don’t hold no long-term grudges.”

Brad gave him a sideways look. “Well, likewise.”

Chase leaned against the doorframe, opening his chaos bark with practiced fingers. “Guess we should be glad they’re not kissing. Though I’m not ruling out matching tattoos if this keeps up.”

Iris popped a piece of her chili bark and raised her eyebrows. “Don’t give them ideas, Dad. You might speak to their primal urges and then they come back drunk-married from Vegas, one of them pregnant.”

She didn’t need to name it—didn’t have to. Jackson flinched just slightly, barely noticeable unless you knew the weight behind the words. Billie Rae Boone. Started as one of Jackson’s ranch hands. Both had a shitty night one day, a bottle too many, a blackout wedding chapel off a main road, and Savannah kicking beneath a belt buckle nixing their idea of annulling their drunken nuptials. They tried to make it work but failed. Billie Rae left him with the baby, then ended up killed riding a rodeo, leaving Jackson with another harsh lesson learned and another mouth to feed by himself.

The crumpled paper ball hit Iris square in the forehead.
She laughed harder, flipped Jackson off.

He returned the favor—relief slipping through the cracks before memory could drag him under. This family will call you out on your bad decisions and dumbassery, but they just proved again they won’t leave you in the dust to deal with it alone.

“Yup, everything’s still normal. I’ll make coffee. Why has nobody made coffee yet!? Are you all new?” Hailey mumbled.

Briar Rose just shook her head, laughing softly as she looked around the room filled with candy, bruised  men, arch-nemesis laughing like brothers, and the kind of peace that only follows a storm.

“I swear,” she said, “if this were a movie, the reviews would tear it apart for lack of realism.”

“Good,” Jackson said. “Let’s keep it that way. I like bein’ unrealistic sometimes.”

Savannah

The path to reclaiming Savannah was long. The emergency guardianship granted to Connor and Keira stabilized everything within days, but the full custodial review of Jackson’s case stretched nearly four months—court hearings, home inspections, therapist evaluations, and affidavit after affidavit, each page sharpened under Iris’s precise eye.

But Jackson’s custody review ended swiftly once the case against Taylor Walker unraveled under its own bitterness—falsified claims, a documented vendetta, and eventually obstruction charges when it was revealed she’d manipulated a state witness. She was arrested, charged, and excoriated in a court order that labeled her actions “a blatant abuse of a system designed to protect, not punish.”

When Jackson was cleared, he had the legal right to bring Savannah home. But he didn’t.

He sat on the porch of Connor and Keira’s house, his daughter sleeping against his chest, and made the hardest decision of his life: he chose to leave her there—for now. Not out of guilt. Not out of fear. But because he knew she was thriving. Because she had a nursery with watercolor clouds on the ceiling and homemade onesies from Keira and a play gym made of surgical-grade teak that Connor had ordered during a 3 a.m. anxiety spiral.

Now Savannah lived in the sanctuary of that second-chance household. Connor and Keira poured themselves into her—gentle, steady, unflinchingly present. Jackson saw her every weekend. Sometimes with Briony and Beau, sometimes alone. They played in the dirt, read stories in baby books that Savannah mostly tried to chew. And when it was time to say goodbye, he kissed her forehead and left with his chest full of peace instead of guilt. Working a horse ranch with an infant sleeping wasn’t easy. No baby monitor reached far enough to grant him peace of mind.

One day, when she was older and ready, she’d come home to the ranch. Her bed would still be there. Her father and big brother would be waiting.

But for now, Jackson breathed easier. She was safe. She was loved.
Connor and Keira had often wondered about their decision to only have one child, especially when Chris moved on campus, giving them a taste what it would be like when after college he would go make his own life somewhere.
So, they might be helping out Jackson, but he was helping them ease into the looming empty nest too.

And above all, they all had proven again that family is more than blood.