Wild Country – Homefires

San Sequoia
Dr. Connor Cameron’s Estate

I pulled up to Connor’s place — big driveway, big porch, big everything — and before I even cut the engine, the front door flew open like someone yelled “action.”

Artemis and Echo shot out first — two massive black German shepherds barrelin’ straight for my truck like they were fixin’ to arrest me. Tails waggin’, tongues lollin’, paws hittin’ the gravel like thunder.

“Artemis! Echo! Heel!” Connor’s voice boomed from the doorway.

They did not heel. They circled my truck like I was a returning soldier.

Then Connor and Keira stepped out — both smilin’, both lookin’ like they’d been waitin’ on this moment all mornin’.

Keira reached me first, arms open. “Jackson! Oh my gosh, look at you. You look tired.”

“Why does everyone keep sayin’ that?” I muttered, huggin’ her anyway.

Connor clapped me on the back hard enough to rattle my ribs. “Good to see you, man.”

“Good to see all y’all too.”

And that’s when my family stepped out behind them — because of course they were stayin’ here. Camerons don’t let guests stay in hotels. They collect people like strays. I would know. I had been one of those more than once.

Jack came out first — tall, weathered, silver at the temples, lookin’ like the kind of man carved out of old fence posts and sun‑baked earth. He had that slow, steady walk of someone who’d lived a hard life and made peace with most of it.

Izzy followed right behind him — all bright red hair and soft Innisgreen warmth, the kind of woman who lit up a porch just by standin’ on it. She had that gentle confidence of someone who’d loved a difficult man and never regretted it.

Cody brought up the rear, haulin’ bags like he’d been voluntold.

Izzy beamed. “Long flight, sweetheart, but we’re thrilled to be here.”

Cody grinned. “I missed American food so much.”

Connor laughed. “Well, got your first taste. Jackson, wanna come inside for a bit and eat? Keira made enough breakfast to feed a small army.”

Keira swatted him. “I made normal breakfast, Con-Bear. You just eat like a small army.”

“Nah, thanks, I’m good,” I said. My stomach was too twisted about my parents meetin’ Amy to even think about food.

Keira leaned in. “Oh — Chris and Cadie say hi. They’re in Sulani for two weeks. Some kind of second honeymoon slash medical‑conference‑slash‑beach excuse.”

Connor nodded. “Yeah, they sent pictures. They’re disgustingly tan and happy.”

“Good for them,” I said. “They deserve it. We’re only young once.” The words came out before I could stop ’em, and I hated how much I sounded like some old‑timer on a porch swing. I wasn’t ancient by any stretch — but hell, forty‑three ain’t twenty‑three, and my bones reminded me of that more often than I liked.

Artemis shoved her head under my hand, demandin’ pets. Echo leaned against my leg like a furry batterin’ ram.

“Missed y’all too, ya damn mutts,” I told her.

Then my dad Jack stepped forward — boots scuffin’ gravel, arms already open wide, voice thick as molasses. “Mah boy. Git over here and give yer old man a proper hug.”

I didn’t hesitate. I wrapped him up tight, breath catchin’ a little from how long it’d been. “Good to see ya, Pa.”

He squeezed once, hard. “Hell, son, feels like it’s been a damn century.”

Izzy swooped in next, all soft warmth and lavender perfume, cuppin’ my face like she’d birthed me herself. “Oh, look atcha, love. Yer worn to the bone, so ya are. Breaks me heart seein’ ya run ragged.”

Her voice had that Innisgreen lilt — sweet and musical, vowels rollin’ like water over stones — the same accent I used to struggle to understand back when she and Pa first got together. Truth be told, she’d had just as much trouble makin’ sense of our Chestnut Ridge drawl back then.

But these days, over twenty years later, we understood each other just fine.

Hell, half the time I caught Pa slippin’ Innisgreen words into his sentences without even realizin’ it, and Izzy’d picked up enough country twang that sometimes she sounded like she’d been born and raised back in the Ridge.

“Thanks,” I muttered. “Real confidence boost.”

She laughed, musical and bright. “Ah, hush now. Still handsome as sin. But you need to take care of yerself, sweet’eart. No worries, I am here now and your daddy and I will make sure you get some rest. Sweet handsome devil, you.”

Cody came up last, grinnin’ like a coyote who’d found the chicken coop unlocked. “Well, lookie here. Big bro’s still breathin’. Thought you might’ve keeled over from responsibility by now.”

I pulled him into a rough, back‑slappin’ hug. “Hey, kid. Missed yer loudmouth self.”

“Missed ya too,” he said, and for once there wasn’t a joke hidin’ behind it.

And just like that, I was swallowed up by ’em — my people, my noise, my blood — all of it hittin’ me square in the chest like comin’ home after a long, hard winter.

The kind of chaos that feels like home.

A Word With Pa

Connor and Cody loaded their bags in the truck, and once everyone started sayin’ their goodbyes, I cleared my throat.

“Dad,” I said low, “walk with me a sec.”

He gave me a look — the kind that said what’d you do now — but followed me around the side of the truck.

“What’s on yer mind, son?”

I rubbed the back of my neck. “Didn’t want ya walkin’ into it blind. Got… someone livin’ with me.”

Jack’s eyebrow went up slow. “Livin’ with ya, huh? You mean… a woman? One yer serious about?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Real serious.”

He studied me — long, quiet, fatherly. “How serious we talkin’?”

I took a breath. “Happened quick. Didn’t mean for it to, but we’re damn serious about each other. So serious I’m thinkin’ of makin’ her the next Mrs. Kershaw. Lil down the line. Kids like her. A lot.”

Jack’s mouth actually fell open.

For a second he just stared at me like I’d told him I was joinin’ the circus.

Then he let out a long whistle. “Well I’ll be damned. That I live to see the day…”

“Yeah.”

“You sure?” he asked, voice softer. “After everythin’ with Bri… you sure?”

“I ain’t been this sure about anythin’ in a long time.”

Jack nodded slow, relief flickerin’ across his face. “Good. ’Bout time you let that girl go. She’s Brad’s now. Always was, if we’re honest.”

I didn’t argue. Couldn’t.

Jack cleared his throat, thumb hooking behind his belt like he needed somethin’ to hold onto.
“Well… I’m happy for ya, son. Real damn happy. Connor’d been hintin’ ’round that you’d met somebody, but he weren’t right sure how deep it ran. Looks like we got that question settled proper now.”

Somethin’ loosened in my chest.

Jack cleared his throat, like he was gearin’ up for somethin’ big. “Got news of my own,” he said. “Been thinkin’ ’bout movin’ back. This Henford damp gets in my bones somethin’ fierce. Your mama’s tired o’ watchin’ me fight my way outta bed every mornin’, stiff as a damn fence post till I get warmed up. She don’t say it mean — just breaks her heart seein’ me hurt before the day even starts. And yer brother’s grown now — and if we’re bein’ honest, that boy’s got too much Kershaw in him to find a good woman in that hoity‑toity place.”

He huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Hell, Cody was born and raised in Henfordshire, but he never sounded like them folks. Came outta the womb talkin’ like me, all grit and gravel, like he’d been raised under a wide‑open sky instead o’ them Henfordian hills. Always had that ranch dust in his blood, even if he never lived on one full‑time.”

Jack leaned back, settling into the truth of it. “He needs a woman that can stomach coffee made over a campfire, not drinkin’ tea with her dang pinkie stickin’ out, talkin’ ’bout nonsense while there’s work to be done. Cody needs a girl who knows the smell of a barn at sunrise and don’t flinch at mud on her boots. A Chestnut Ridge kinda woman.”

He shook his head again, fond and exasperated all at once. “I lucked out with Izzy. They don’t make ’em like her anymore. And Cody’s always goin’ on ’bout the summers he spent here with ya on our ranch. Think it’s time we came back.”

I blinked. “Ya’ll serious?”

“Dead serious,” he said without missin’ a beat. “I ain’t takin’ back the ranch, Jackson — that’s yours and Beau’s now. Too damn big for me these days. I’m thinkin’ somethin’ smaller. Couple horses. Maybe yer brother’ll meet a good woman with a place of her own he can help run.”

Jack scratched his jaw, eyes driftin’ toward the horizon like he was seein’ two places at once. “Truth is, Izzy and me already sold off the horses, chickens, goats — whole menagerie we had over in Henford-on-Bagley. Yard’s empty now. Got a big ol’ For Sale sign stuck in the front like it’s been waitin’ on us to quit pretendin’ we belonged there.”

He let out a breath, softer than a sigh. “Vivienne’s all grown. Mama herself now. Busy with her own life, her own family. She always been more like her momma and Max — all regal and proper and what not. Always went to him when she needed advice. That’s just who she is. She loves me, sure, but… she never needed me the way she needed them. And that’s alright. Two different worlds.”

He rubbed a hand over his jaw, eyes going distant. “Don’t need this old cowboy hoverin’ ’round no more. Truth is… I never fit too well into that world anyhow. My roots are here, same as yours.”

A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Izzy don’t care. She wasn’t born in Henfordshire, never sounded like them proper folk neither, but she don’t fit back in Innisgreen neither. Woman’s been outta place her whole life. Might as well call Chestnut Ridge her home, since it’s all the same to her.”

Something warm and fierce lit up in my chest — relief, pride, somethin’ close to joy — but I swallowed it down, tryin’ not to grin like a fool.

I cleared my throat, keepin’ my voice steady. “Well,” I said, “I might got a cabin for ya. Needs some puttin’ back together, but it’s there. Old Wilkes’ place got blown to hell — one reason that girl’s livin’ with me. It’s hers. Old Lady Wilkes was her aunt on her mama’s side. I got a feelin’ she might be swayed to sellin’ it or rentin’ it to ya. I been tryin’ to split myself three ways runnin’ that ranch, raisin’ my kids, and fixin’ that back up.”

Jack’s grin spread slow and wide, the kind that creased the corners of his eyes. “A fixer‑upper?” he said. “Now that’s a Kershaw welcome.”

“And damn if I didn’t feel happier than I had in years — even if I tried like hell not to show it. My Pa comin’ home with the only mama I ever had, my lil brother in tow, and me standin’ here with a woman who made life feel right again? Hell yeah.”

We climbed in my old truck, the kind of quiet between us that only comes from understandin’, and headed toward the Ridge — toward home, toward whatever came next.

Chestnut Ridge
Back Home At The Ranch

By the time we pulled up, the front door was already cracked open. Amy must’ve heard the truck rumble up the drive.

Savannah shot out first, hair flying, boots pounding against the porch boards. “GRANDPA JACK! GRANDMA IZZY! UNCLE CODY!” she hollered, launching herself straight into Jack’s arms.

Jack laughed, lifting her like she weighed nothing. “Well look at you, peanut! You grew a whole foot since I last saw ya!”

Izzy wrapped Savannah up next, her voice warm and lilting. “Ah, sweetheart, yer just precious, so ya are. My goodness, how ye’ve grown!”

Cody ruffled her hair as she wriggled free. “Hey, troublemaker.”

Savannah planted her fists on her hips. “I ain’t no troublemaker. I’m a ranch foreman.”

Cody raised both hands in surrender. “Oh jeeze, got it. You’re runnin’ the whole Ridge now.”

“Yeah,” she said, chin high. “And don’t ya forget it.”

Beau came out next, hands shoved in his pockets, trying to look cool and failing miserably. “Hey, Grandpa. Hey, Grandma. Cody.”

Jack pulled him into a hug before he could dodge it. “Boy, you’re lookin’ good. Growin’ into yourself. Y’all taller’n me now!”

Beau smirked, trying not to look pleased. “Yeah.”

Izzy cupped his cheek, her voice soft as a quilt. “Ah, look at ya, Beau. Yer a proper young man now. Still got that same sweet face, though. So handsome!”

Beau flushed bright red. “Aw, Grandma…”

Savannah gasped dramatically, like she’d been waiting for her cue. “Beau’s got a girlfriend!”

Beau’s whole face went crimson. “Savannah!”

Jack perked up like someone had handed him a winning lottery ticket. “A girlfriend, huh? Well now, that’s somethin’.”

Izzy clasped her hands together. “Ahh, love, that’s wonderful! Who is she? What’s her name?”

Beau mumbled into his collar, “Cheyenne.”

I leaned against the porch post, grinning. “Yep. Cheyenne. And if I had a buck for every time I had to go fetch this boy after he stayed out past curfew—hell, I’d have enough to fix the roof twice over. Hormones done replaced half his brain lately.”

“Dad…” Beau groaned, mortified.

Savannah opened her mouth again, eager to spill more secrets. “I saw ’em kissin’. Beau and Cheyenne, sittin’ in a tree, K-I-S-…”

I slid my hand over her mouth before she could finish. “Aaand that’s enough outta you, Foreman Savannah.”

Her eyes sparkled above my palm, proud as a rooster at sunrise.

Cody blinked between all of us, finally catching up. “Man, I leave for five minutes and everything changes.”

Beau dragged a hand down his face. “Why am I always the joke?”

Jack chuckled, low and warm. “’Cause yer easy pickin’s, boy. And we love ya.”

Beau muttered something under his breath, but there was a smile tucked in the corner of it.

The porch filled with laughter and teasing — the kind of noise that only happens when family’s home again.

And then Amy stepped out onto the porch.

She hesitated in the doorway, hands clasped, shoulders tight, but she still managed a soft smile. “Hi. Welcome.”

Jack turned toward her, and something in him shifted — not shock, not judgment, just quiet recognition. She was standing in my doorway. In my shirt, since most of her clothes were gone after the storm. In my home.

He straightened, stuck out his hand. “Ma’am, nice to make yer acquaintance. Name’s Jack Kershaw. Jackson’s Pa.”

Amy shook it, cheeks pink. “I’m Amy. Amy Lynn Mercer. It’s… really nice to meet you, Sir.”

Jack huffed a laugh. “Ain’t no ‘Sir’ ’round here. Just call me Jack.”

Before Amy could even respond, Izzy swept her into a hug that smelled like lavender and warmth. “Oh, sweetheart, we’ve heard so much about ya. I’m Izzy. Jackson’s mom. Well—sorta. Close enough.”

Amy froze for half a second, then melted right into her. “Oh boy. I’m not sure I wanna know what you heard about me.”

Izzy pulled back just enough to wink. “Oh, don’t you worry, love. All good things, I promise. Everybody just adores ya.”

Cody stepped forward next. “Hey. I’m Cody. Jackson’s brother. Don’t worry, I’m the normal one.”

Jack barked a laugh. “Boy, you ain’t been normal since before you was a twinkle in your mama’s eye — and that’s me bein’ polite.”

Even Amy laughed at that.

Savannah grabbed Amy’s hand. “Daddy’s been waitin’ for you to meet them! He was all nervous.”

Amy blushed. So did I.

Jack’s eyes flicked to me — not judging, not pushing, just taking stock. He didn’t need words. He saw her in my home. Saw my kids loving her. Saw me standing a little taller with her beside me.

And in that quiet, steady way only a father can manage, he understood.

We all went inside. The place wasn’t big, but it was warm — lived‑in, soft around the edges, the kind of home that held people instead of just housing them. Jack took it in with a slow nod, the way a man does when he’s measuring not the room, but the life inside it.

“Looks good in here,” he said. “Cleaner than last time.”

“That’s Amy,” Savannah announced proudly, like she was presenting a trophy. “She makes Daddy clean.”

“Do not,” Amy muttered, cheeks blooming pink.

“Do too,” Beau said. “She asks him where things are, and before we know it, he done gone and done it himself to show her how. Falls for it every time. I tried it, just about got myself grounded for it.”

Cody snorted, tipping his chin toward Amy. “Smart woman. Sounds like ya fit right in ’round here.”

Before Beau could even brace for it, Cody hooked an arm around his neck and dragged him into a loose headlock, knucklin’ the top of his head like he’d been waitin’ all day for the chance.

“Quit!” Beau yelped, swattin’ at him. “Dang, Cody, get off me!”

Cody just laughed, that easy, country‑boy rumble. “What? I’m just remindin’ ya who’s still top dog ’round here.”

Beau shoved him off, cheeks red but grinnin’ despite himself. “Man, you’re such a jerk.”

“Damn,” Cody said, dustin’ off his hands. “That ain’t no way to talk to yer uncle. Didn’t yer daddy teach ya right?”

Izzy nudged Cody, eyes dancing, shakin’ her finger at him. “Mind yourself now, lad. Yer Mamaí’ll have words with ya if ya don’t leave that poor boy alone.”

Cody held up both hands, grinning like he’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “Alright, alright, mama. I’m behavin’.”

I couldn’t help myself — old habits die hard. I snagged Cody in the same headlock he’d had my boy in, rufflin’ his hair until he hollered.

“I’ll remind ya who’s top dog in this neck o’ the woods, ya mangy lil’ coyote.”

“Aw hell—Jackson!” Cody barked, laughing as he tried to wriggle free. “Get off me, man! I was just tellin’ mah nephew hello, that’s all!”

Jack just shook his head, amused, then stepped in with that long‑arm reach only a father has. He grabbed both of us by the back of the shirt collars — not hard, just enough to make us straighten up like two schoolboys caught fightin’ behind the barn.

“We all said our hellos plenty now, Lord above,” he muttered, “raise two sons and they still act like a pair o’ barn cats in a feed sack.”

He released us, dusted off his hands, and looked around the room with exaggerated patience.

“Now,” he drawled, “which one o’ y’all fine folks does a man gotta sweet‑talk, bribe, or wrangle to get some coffee ’round here? I’m dry as a sun‑baked fence post.”

Amy laughed and automatically took a step toward the kitchen. “I can—”

But Izzy caught her gently by the wrist, smiling that soft, knowing mama‑smile of hers. “Oh now, love, leave that be. Let the lads play at bein’ gentlemen for once. They’ll only be trippin’ over themselves tryin’ to impress ya anyway. Cody knows how to make coffee too, don’t ya, laddy?”

Amy blinked, cheeks warming. “I… oh. Okay.”

Beau was already halfway to the coffeepot, eager to prove he could handle it. Cody followed right on his heels, muttering something about how he made better coffee anyway.

“Move,” Beau said, reaching for the filter.

“I am movin’,” Cody shot back, hip‑checking him out of the way. “You’re about to make that weak dishwater you call coffee.”

“At least mine ain’t burnt tar,” Beau snapped, shoving him right back.

They jostled each other like two colts in a too‑small pen, elbows flyin’, both of ’em hollerin’ over the top of each other.

“Quit hoggin’ them grounds!”

“Quit breathin’ on me!”

“You don’t even know how to measure!”

“You don’t even know how to count!”

“Boys,” I warned, but they were too far gone to hear a thing.

Cody grabbed the scoop. Beau grabbed Cody’s wrist. The coffeepot rattled. The whole counter shook. Savannah cackled like she was watchin’ the best show on earth.

Jack didn’t move at first — just leaned in the doorway, arms crossed, takin’ it all in like he’d been here a hundred times before. Then he let out one sharp whistle that cracked through the kitchen like a bullwhip.

Both boys froze mid‑shove. Their heads snapped around in perfect unison, like somebody’d yanked the same string.

Jack’s voice dropped into that deep, commanding ranch‑boss tone that could stop a stampede. “Are we done yet?”

They straightened up fast, two ranchhands caught slackin’ on the job.

Jack pointed at the coffeemaker. “We’ll all be dried up like raisins by the time you two sort yourselves out. One of ya’s gonna make the coffee. The other’s gonna hush. And neither of ya’s gonna break my son’s kitchen. Clear?”

“Yes, sir,” they muttered in unison.

Cody nudged Beau. “Go on then, Romeo. Make yer blacktop style coffee so Pa gets somethin’ to drink and y’all can get back to kissin’ on yer Cheyenne.”

Beau nudged him back but kept his mouth shut — he knew anything he said now would dig him deeper.

Jack shook his head, fighting a smile. “Lord help me. I missed this.”

Amy tried not to laugh. Izzy didn’t bother — she laughed outright, warm and musical. And just like that, the house settled back into its rhythm: loud, messy, loving, and unmistakably Kershaw.

And just like that, the whole house slipped into that easy, familiar rhythm — Kershaw men showin’ off, Kershaw women runnin’ the show without ever liftin’ a finger.

Kitchen Talk

Cheyenne showed up just as we were headin’ out for evenin’ chores, ridin’ bareback on that paint mare of hers the way her people taught her — quiet, balanced, movin’ like she and the horse shared the same breath. Her long black hair was loose down her back, straight as a river at dawn, catchin’ the last of the sun like polished obsidian.

She slid off the mare in one smooth motion, murmured a soft word in her people’s language, and the horse settled without so much as a twitch.

Beau met her halfway across the yard, tryin’ real hard to play it cool and failin’ miserably. Cheyenne smiled — small, shy, but warm — and before either of ’em could overthink it, she leaned in and kissed him. Just a quick brush of lips, soft and sure, the kind that says I missed you without makin’ a scene.

It lasted maybe a second.

But it was a second too long for Cody.

“Well damn,” Cody crowed, grinnin’ like a fox. “Ain’t even dark yet and our Chestnut Ridge Romeo’s already gettin’ his goodnight kiss. MWAH!”

Beau went red to the ears. Cheyenne just rolled her eyes, unbothered.

She dipped her chin respectful-like toward Jack. “Evenin’, Mr. Kershaw.”

Jack’s whole face softened. “Cheyenne Greywolf. You’re the spittin’ image of your grandma, girl. Hateya was a looker in her day, and she’d be proud of ya and yer twin sister.”

Cheyenne’s cheeks warmed, but she didn’t argue — Greywolf women didn’t when elders spoke truth. She glanced toward the house. “I heard you came and my mama said I should see if all ya’ll need help with supper.”

Of course she did. Greywolf women didn’t show up empty‑handed, and they sure didn’t sit around while other women worked.

Beau looked like he wanted to keep her with us, but Cheyenne squeezed his hand and said, “Go on. I’ll see ya after.”

Then she slipped inside, hair swayin’ behind her, already rollin’ up her sleeves. Izzy’s delighted laugh floated out the door a moment later, followed by Amy’s soft voice and the clatter of dishes.

And that’s when Izzy shooed us out of the house with a wooden spoon, tellin’ us she and Amy — and now Cheyenne — had supper handled and to get chores done in a hurry so we could eat. The four of us — me, Jack, Cody, Beau — headed out with Savannah trottin’ behind like a determined little shadow. She wasn’t much like most lil girls, no mind for cookin’, just wanted to be with the horses.

The air was cool, sweet with hay and dust. The mares lifted their heads as we crossed the pasture, ears flickin’, soft nickers rollin’ through the dusk. The two stallions paced the fenceline, tossin’ their heads like they were showin’ off for company.

Jack walked slower than he used to, but he walked like he belonged here — boots sure on the dirt, eyes takin’ in every detail. He rested his hands on the top rail of the fence, breathin’ deep like the land itself was medicine.

“How many head you runnin’ now?” he asked, voice low and steady.

“Twenty‑three mares,” I said. “Two studs. Got three lookin’ bred — due late spring. Blaze made champion last season, so his foals should fetch me a purdy penny.”

Jack nodded, that old ranch‑boss instinct flickerin’ back to life. “Any trouble births last season?”

“Nope. Smoothest year I’ve had.”

“Feed holdin’ up?”

“Yep. Got a delivery comin’ next week.”

He kept goin’, question after question — water levels, mineral blocks, hoof trims, pasture rotation, worming schedule. Not interrogatin’. Just… reconnectin’. Relearnin’ the place. Relearnin’ me.

And damn if it didn’t feel good — standin’ there with him, talkin’ shop like two men who’d never had a single mile between ’em.

Cody and Beau tossed hay into the open shelters, bickerin’ the whole time. Savannah carried her tiny bucket of grain like it weighed a hundred pounds, proud as a peacock. Jack watched her with a soft smile, then looked back at the herd.

“This,” he murmured, voice rough with years and dust and memory, “this is the life, boys. Don’t ya ever forget it.”

Cody straightened a little. Beau ducked his head, grinnin’. And me… it hit deep. Warm. Solid. Like somethin’ inside me finally clicked into place.

Because for the first time in years, I knew he wasn’t leavin’ in a week. Wasn’t drivin’ off with a wave and a promise to “come back soon.” Wasn’t takin’ a piece of my heart with him.

This — all of us together — was the future.

We finished up quick after that, checkin’ the water tanks, makin’ sure the mineral blocks were good, lockin’ the supply shed. The sky went purple, then navy, then black, coyotes startin’ their singin’ out past the ridge.

By the time we headed back toward the house, the windows glowed warm and bright, and the smell of somethin’ good and hearty drifted out onto the porch.

Inside, Izzy, Amy, and Cheyenne were movin’ around the kitchen like they’d been doin’ it together for years. Izzy’s soft Innisgreen lilt floated through the room as she showed Amy how to season the roast “proper‑like,” how to mash potatoes without overworkin’ ’em, how to stir gravy slow and patient.

“Ah now, love, don’t be shy with the butter,” Izzy said, guidin’ Amy’s hand. “Butter fixes near everythin’, so it does.”

Amy laughed, cheeks warm. “I’m learnin’, I promise.”

“And you’re doin’ grand,” Izzy said, kissin’ her cheek like she’d been waitin’ her whole life to have a daughter in her kitchen.

Cheyenne was at the stove, stirrin’ somethin’ in a cast‑iron pot, movin’ with that quiet, steady confidence she always had. She glanced up when we walked in, gave Beau a small smile that hit him like a hammer to the chest, then went right back to her task.

Dinner was chaos — the good kind. Cody tellin’ stories too loud, Beau tryin’ to look unimpressed but crackin’ up anyway, Izzy fussin’ over everyone’s plates, Jack makin’ dry jokes that had Amy snortin’ into her mashed potatoes. Cheyenne laughed along, but she stayed close to the counter, helpin’ Izzy keep things movin’.

After the meal and after helping clear the table, Cheyenne wiped her hands on a towel and murmured somethin’ to Beau. He straightened up like someone had yanked a string in his back.

“I’ll, uh… walk Chey out,” he said, tryin’ for casual and failin’ spectacularly.

They slipped toward the door, standin’ just inside the frame for a moment, talkin’ low. Cheyenne nudged his arm with her shoulder, Beau ducked his head, grinnin’ like an idiot.

Jack caught my eye. I caught his right back. Neither of us said a word.

Through the window, we watched Beau walk her to her horse. They paused beside the mare, talkin’ close. Then Cheyenne rose up on her toes and kissed him — soft, quick, but enough to make Beau freeze like he’d been struck by lightnin’.

Jack huffed a quiet laugh. “Boy’s done for.”

“Yeah,” I said, watchin’ Beau help her mount up like she was made of glass. “Reckon he is.”

Cheyenne gave him one last smile before nudgin’ her horse into a trot, ridin’ off into the dusk. Beau stood there a long moment, starin’ after her like the world had tilted.

Then he came back inside tryin’ real hard to look normal — and foolin’ absolutely no one.

And me?

Hell, I was livin’ my best life. My family under one roof. Amy beside me, laughin’ like she belonged here. Savannah curled against her like she’d found her safe place. Jack lookin’ around the table like he’d been handed back a piece of his youth.

Later, the house eased into that late‑night quiet only country places know — the kind where the dark presses soft against the windows and the coyotes start up their singin’ out past the treeline.

Cody and Beau disappeared into Beau’s room, the door barely shut before the two of ’em started cacklin’ like a pair of old bitties gossipin’ over tea. Savannah was out cold before her head hit the pillow, Izzy readin’ her to sleep in that soft, musical voice that could soothe a wild horse. Amy slipped into my room to change, exhausted and glowing all at once. Jack and Izzy settled into the spare.

The house quieted. Lights dimmed. Coyotes yipped and hollered somewhere out past the ridge.

And that’s when my dad caught me alone in the kitchen.

He didn’t say nothin’ at first. Just stepped up beside me and set a hand on my shoulder — heavy, warm, familiar in a way that hit deeper than I expected.

“Son…” His voice was low, steady. “I’m proud of ya.”

I blinked, caught off guard. “For what?”

“For finally choosin’ a woman who chooses you back. Not halfway. Not sometimes. All the way.” He shook his head, a soft laugh under his breath. “I liked Bri — hell, that girl is somethin’ else — but I could always tell her heart wasn’t all the way in it. And I was right. Round and round and round all ya’ll went till we was all dizzier than a mouse stuck in a barrel race.”

He gave me a look — the kind that saw straight through me.

“Bri’s got fire. So do you. Burned ya both out more times than I can count. Amy’s got calm. That’s what ya need, son. She’s spunky, got a good head on her shoulders, but she’s warm. Steady. Like a Sunday mornin’. Does a father good, seein’ you with someone like that. I know what it feels like to be alone raisin’ a kid out here. And I know what it feels like when you don’t have to do it alone.”

He smiled — small, real, worn‑in.

“People thought Izzy and I would never last. Too different. Too far apart in age. Too much life behind me, not enough behind her. But look at us now — tryin’ to start over together back home. Izzy’s a good woman. And I can tell… yer Amy’s a lot like her.”

I didn’t have words for that. Didn’t need ’em.

But after a moment, somethin’ rose up anyway.

“She wants a kid, Dad.” I sighed.

Jack’s eyes sharpened, hawk‑like. “Do you want another kid, son?”

“I didn’t,” I admitted. “Not until I met her. Now I think I might. If only to finally have a kid to raise like a real family… not one with one momma who’s with another man, and another in the ground.”

Jack nodded slow, like he’d been waitin’ for me to say it.

“Sounds just like Izzy and me. I finally had ya’ll grown, thought I was done. Then this girl — my whole damn world — starts talkin’ about wantin’ to be a mother. And I tell ya what, kid… it made me feel all sorts of funny ways. But I said yes. Best damn decision I ever made.”

The Past That Made Us

I stared at him then — really stared — realizin’ how damn similar our lives were.

My momma had never been my Pa’s wife. She’d been my uncle’s wife. My uncle — the man I grew up thinkin’ was my daddy.

Before ya judge, my momma, Savannah Rae — yeah, I named my girl after her — was a small‑town beauty. She fell for the older Kershaw brother, Jack, first, but he was a wild one back then, wanted his freedom and lit outta town. My uncle, Clayton Kershaw, had always loved her. So they married. Money got tight, he took a job on an oil rig — gone most of the time, home every other weekend if luck was on our side.

Then my dad, Jack, came back to town, and that old love — fueled by her loneliness — flared right back up. And I was conceived.

Clayton always thought it happened on one of his weekends home. But my momma knew better. She told nobody except Jack. And Jack… he couldn’t handle the guilt. Scared and ashamed, he joined the military and disappeared again.

My momma loved my uncle too, so she tried to keep the peace, tried to pretend. But when I turned eight and started lookin’ less like Clayton and more like Jack — same jawline, same eyes, same damn name, supposedly after a grandpa I never met who was also a Jack — Clayton put it together. He wasn’t stupid. He demanded the truth, and when she finally admitted it… that was it. Somethin’ in him broke clean through.

That was the beginnin’ of the end.

He took up drinkin’ and what not, till it ruined him. I still don’t know how he died, just that it was his drinkin’ that led to it. ’Bout a year later, my momma couldn’t live with her heart broken twice over and was gone too. Nobody ever told me how. Jus’ remember bein’ pulled outta school by the sheriff and endin’ up in a series of foster homes.

Jack knew nothin’ about any of this. He stayed gone until he found out — years later — that my parents had both died when I was little, and I’d been goin’ through the system since. By then he’d been involved with a woman way outside his league — daughter of entertainment VIPs who’d married into royalty, if you can believe it — and fathered a child he never got the chance to raise.

That was when he and Connor bonded. Connor’s that woman’s cousin, and he’s the one who helped Dad get his feet back under him — helped him look for me, helped him figure out how to be a father after spendin’ half his life runnin’ from it. Dad got custody, and at thirteen I finally had a home and a dad again. It was rough for both of us.

Around that time I met Briar Rose, and all that started — slow as molasses — ’cause my head was elsewhere learnin’ who I was all over again. By the time she was fifteen and I was about seventeen, she had developed a good, hard crush on me. Once I felt settled in my new, old life, I fell for her too, and the long years of sneakin’ around and chasin’ each other began.

My half‑sister Vivienne grew up in a palace, with a stepfather who happened to be the King of Henfordshire, and for a long time nobody knew the truth except the royals themselves. When I turned eighteen, Dad handed me the keys to the truck and the ranch, wished me good luck, told me he’d taught me everything he could — and moved to Henfordshire to see her grow up.

Dad was only allowed to be involved by the grace of King Maximilian Cromwell — quiet visits, careful boundaries, always in the shadows. Then someone tried to blackmail the Crown with the truth, and King Max shut it down by makin’ it public himself, announcin’ that Vivienne had always had two fathers: one by blood and one by love.

But even with the truth out, Dad had still missed out on most of her childhood. Missed out on raisin’ her. Missed out on all the things he’d already missed with me.

That’s why he stayed in Henfordshire all those years — tryin’ to be close, tryin’ not to lose another child to circumstance.

Now here we both were — him with a son who should’ve been his nephew, a daughter who’s a princess, and another son with a woman fifteen years younger than him. And me with twins who didn’t grow up together, and a daughter by another woman dead and buried, my girl never even met her momma — and I’d swallow my tongue before ever tellin’ her that her momma never wanted her in the first place and ran the minute she was born.

A Father’s Wisdom

Jack squeezed my shoulder once, then nodded toward my bedroom door, where Amy was waitin’ for me.

“Go on,” he said. “Don’t keep your girl waitin’. And listen here, son — from a man who screwed this up more times than I care to count: don’t let your heart run things that need a steady head, and don’t let your head run things that belong to the heart. That’s how a man gets lost.”

He paused, makin’ sure I heard him.

“If ya really want her, and she really wants you, then do right by her. Don’t get hung up on the timin’, kid. I did that, and more’n once I let a good thing slip through my fingers thinkin’ ‘too much, too soon, not ready.’ Truth is, nobody’s ever ready for nothin’. When it feels right, you put a ring on that girl’s finger. And if ya both feel you’re there, you start workin’ on that baby with her. I didn’t ask a million dumb questions, didn’t wait with Izzy — and look at us now. Best damn decision I ever made, even with folks shakin’ their heads till they was dizzy, sayin’ we were crazy.”

His voice softened.

“When Izzy wanted a kid with me, Jackson… hell, I was nowhere near ready. But when a good woman loves ya enough to want to carry your baby, a good man in his right mind don’t go throwin’ that away ’cos he’s worried of idle gossip. My girl deserved her heart’s wish. And I’ll tell ya straight — best damn decision I ever made. First time in my life I got to be a dad all the way through.”

He tapped my chest, right over my heart.

“Don’t come knockin’ at my door for answers. This is it, ya got all I gotta say on that. If ya feel deep down she’s the one, then to hell with everythin’ else. Put a ring on that girl so fast it makes the world spin sideways. That’s what life taught me the hard way, son.”

And for the first time in a long damn time… I felt like everything in my life was finally movin’ in the right direction.

It happened quiet.

Not some big speech. Not some dramatic moment.

Just… life. Truth. Love.

A Few Months Later — Breakfast Chaos

The Ridge had settled into a new kind of normal.

Amy’s old cabin — the Wilkes place — now another Kershaw residence, was standin’ again. Not perfect, not finished, but solid enough that Pa, Izzy, and Cody had moved in with a couple of my horses and half their worldly belongings. They helped out at the ranch most days, learnin’ Amy’s rhythms, lettin’ her learn theirs. Felt good havin’ ’em close. Felt right.

Briony was here visitin’, so my whole world was A‑OK — drove herself out for the weekend to escape Chase and Hailey’s anniversary weekend.

“Yeah, I’d rather hang out here at the Borderlands ranch than deal with that X‑rated nonsense,” she’d declared, rollin’ her eyes like she was tryin’ to see her own brain. “Not enough therapy in the world. You know what Grandpa told me when I walked out the door? ‘Perfect, now I don’t even have to put on pants all weekend.’ I mean—MEGA‑ew. I don’t care if they age or not, nobody wants to think about their grandparents… like… doing it. Urgh!”

No drawl. No soften’ of consonants. Just pure, sharp, city‑bred dramatics.

“Well, if they didn’t,” Beau said in his no‑nonsense country logic, “we wouldn’t have Uncle Connor, Aunt Iris, or Mom. And then not us, neither.”

Briony gagged. “Beau. Stop. Talking.”

“What’s Borderlands?” Savannah wondered.

“Video game. Plays in a setting pretty much like this here. Just minus the robots and spaceships and all. Becks like to play it. Of all the weekends his stupid dad had to decide to be a dad and take him to some father-son bullshit, right when I needed him the most. My life for you.” Briony sighed dramatically. “I even called Brad to send the jet, but of course he has some work thing. So here I am, slummin’ it with my daddy dearest, my farm‑edition twin, my feral little sister, Cody the walking yee‑haw, who for some reason thinks he gets to bully my brother, which I am gonna nope him out of really quick again, cos that is MY prerogative … and Amy. Oh, and if I am lucky, Grandpa Jack gets to crack all his really unfunny jokes about what he thinks about how I dress, but that’s okay, cos I don’t understand a word that man says anyway.”

“Dad, make some new coffee, this one ain’t workin’. Briony’s still saltier than a bag of gas‑station jerky.” Beau smirked at his sister, dodging a swat from her.

It was a Saturday mornin’, the house buzzin’ with the usual chaos — Beau fryin’ bacon, me pilin’ scrambled eggs on toast, Savannah settin’ out plates like she was runnin’ a five‑star diner and Briony feelin’ sorry for the rough card she somehow dealt herself, dramatic as a cat tossed in the bathtub.

Amy came back in from the bathroom, pale as a ghost.
I stepped toward her. “You okay, darlin’?”

She waved me off. “Stomach flu. I’m fine. I used to get those all the time in San Myshuno.”

“Sounds like some deficiency, no surprise since all they eat out here are dead animals, with no access to real food. Like chia seeds. Or spirulina. Or literally anything green and healthy. Or maybe you’re allergic to this vitamin wasteland too and need another dose of civilization.” Briony went right back to tappin’ on her phone like she’d just delivered a TED Talk and was waitin’ for applause.

So I plucked that damn thing right outta her hands and stuck a fork in its place while I set a plate in front of her — eggs, bacon, biscuits, the works.

“Here, nutrition for ya,” I said, plantin’ a kiss on her head, which she didn’t manage to dodge fast enough.

She pushed the plate away with two fingers like it was radioactive.

“I don’t eat breakfast like that, Dad. Thanks for knowing that.”

“What d’ya do, huh? Black coffee and cigarettes?” Beau shot back. “Oh, wait — ya wanted somethin’ green an’ healthy. Well, ya can go on out back an’ fight them horses for that patch o’ grass, or we can strap a feed bag on ya. Got oats in it. Oats’re healthy.”

She flipped him off without lookin’ up. “No, farmboy. Smoothies and such. You know — like someone who actually cares about health and nutrition. Oh, and also, fuck you, Beau Wyatt.”

“Briony!” I barked. “Savannah’s right there and seven years old! Knock it off with the goddamn cursin’. Y’all Camerons come out the womb swearin’, but not in front of yer sister. I don’t need her learnin’ that dang language till it can’t be helped no more!”

Savannah puffed up like a songbird in winter. “Daddy, I know what that means. I ain’t no baby or stupid. I know fu—”

“SAVANNAH.” I shoved an apple slice in her mouth before she could finish the sentence that’d haunt me to my grave.

Briony got up, mutterin’ under her breath, and dug through the fridge. Then she huffed, spun on her heel, and marched over to the counter where she’d dropped that ridiculous paper bag she’d hauled in — the one stuffed with her “essentials”: protein bars that tasted like mulch, little glass bottles of green sludge, chia‑seed puddin’, and somethin’ called activated almonds that cost more than my last pair o’ jeans.

She rummaged through it like a raccoon in designer clothing, pulled out a tiny packet, tore it open with her teeth like she was auditionin’ for a nature documentary, and before Beau could react, she jammed a handful of the contents straight into his mouth.

He gagged like he’d been shot. “The hell did ya shove in my mouth? Horse snodder?!”

“Beau Wyatt!” I snapped. “We are fixin’ to eat! Watch that mouth o’ yers!”

“She’s tryin’ to poison me, Pa!”

“That was tofu!” Briony shot back. “It’s natural and good for you! It’s literally plant protein!”

“Natural don’t mean edible!” Beau fired back. “Horse shit is natural — don’t mean I’ll be shovelin’ it down my throat!”

Briony gasped like he’d insulted her religion. “It was ORGANIC tofu, you ungrateful barn goblin!”

“ENOUGH!” I barked. “All y’all sit yer butts down and eat! I don’t care what ya eat, but them mouths better be busy with somethin’ better than yappin’!”

The twins froze mid‑glare like I’d hit pause on a documentary about feral wildlife.

I rolled my eyes, leaned over, and kissed Amy’s temple. She was quiet — too quiet.

“You sure you want some o’ that?” I murmured. “They ain’t much easier when they’re younger. Just the problems are different.”

She smiled weakly.

I stole a piece of bacon off her plate, bit half, then held the rest out to her.

“C’mon. Eat somethin’.”

She barely glanced at it before boltin’ upright and runnin’ out the door.

The whole table froze.

Beau moved to the window. “Uh… Dad?”

Briony folded her arms. “Nice going, Dad. What did you say to her?”

“Nothin’!”

“Dad told her to make more of that tofu nonsense you been poisonin’ me with,” Beau muttered pointin’ as we all watched Amy on the porch, bent over the railing, heaving. Briony smacked Beau upside the head.

When Amy came back in, pale and shaky, she whispered, “Sorry about that.”

Briony stood up without a word, disappeared into the spare room, and came back with a paper bag from the pharmacy. She set it in front of Amy like she was servin’ a subpoena.

Amy blinked. “What’s…?”

I pulled the bag open.

Pregnancy tests. Not one or two packages — like one of every kind known to man by the looks of it.

My heart stopped.
Amy’s eyes went wide, hand flyin’ to her mouth.
Mine went wide for a whole different reason.

“BRIONY ROSE CAMERON,” I roared. “Why the hell do you have these?! You are seventeen years old! If I get my hands on that Beckett boy—”

“Dad!” she snapped. “I’m not stupid! I’m not pregnant! I just had my checkup — I know for a fact I’m not. I have a five‑year plan and babies are nowhere in it. Becks and I agreed — we’re not even talking about that stuff until we’re at least twenty‑four or twenty‑five, and only after a killer wedding and a major honeymoon. Relax, before you get a coronary or something men your age get.”

“Then why the hell ya got a whole bag of them things?!”

“For him!” she said, exasperated. “He can’t get that stuff around here!”

My eyes damn near fell outta my head. “Beau Wyatt Kershaw, what in the name of baby Jesus—”

Beau threw his hands up. “Dad, it’s nothin’! We had a little scare, so I called Briony. Relax, Pa, I rode one pack over to Cheyenne last night and it was nothin’, false alarm. She had ran outta pills, Chayton’s truck done gone broke again, so she couldn’t get a refill and the… well… other thing broke. One time. Just bein’ careful. Don’t look at me like that. We’re always good about it, except that one time. And if somethin’ had happened, I’d do the right thing and marry her.”

I damn near saw red. “That’ll be the day that my seventeen‑year‑old son marries my best friend’s seventeen‑year‑old daughter ’cause y’all had to act like adults! You know what Chayton would say to me about that!? I don’t want close calls or secret pregnancy‑test missions between my kids ever again! Somethin’ to worry about happens, I wanna be the first to know! And better yet: keep it in yer pants from now on, both of ya, or I will tie a knot in yours and put a cork in yours!” I pointed at Beau. Then at Briony.

“And Briony — no more smugglin’ pregnancy tests into my house like you’re runnin’ a cartel!”

While I was still rantin’, Amy quietly stood, grabbed the entire bag, and disappeared into the bathroom.

The door clicked shut.

Silence.

Then twin voices — sharp, synchronized, merciless:

“Practice what you preach, Dad.”

“Yeah, Pa, why ya look like ya just met baby Jesus when ya got all them good answers?”

“Yeah, Dad. What was that again with the knots and corks? You first, father dearest!”

“I ain’t seventeen!”

“No,” Briony deadpanned, “even worse — you’re forty‑three.”

I dropped my head into my hands.

“Lord help me.”

The toilet flushed. The faucet turned on.

Silence. All of us listenin’ like we never experienced modern day plumbin’.

Then the bathroom door opened — fast — and Amy stepped out, eyes glassy, face white as linen. She didn’t look at any of us. Didn’t say a word.

She turned right — just one sharp step — and slipped straight into our bedroom.

The door shut.
A heartbeat later, the lock clicked.

My stomach dropped clean outta my body.

“Amy?” I called, already movin’. I crossed the living room in three long strides, socks skiddin’ on the wood floor. “Darlin’, open up.”

Nothin’.

I tried the handle. Locked.

“Amy, please. Talk to me.”

Still nothin’.

I knocked harder, panic crawlin’ up my throat. “Sweetheart, c’mon now. Don’t shut me out.”

The silence on the other side was worse than any yellin’ could’ve been. Heavy. Hollow. Like the whole damn house was holdin’ its breath.

I pressed my forehead to the door, breathin’ like I’d run a mile. “Amy… please.”

Not a sound.

Not a breath.

Not a damn thing.

I backed away, feelin’ like someone had reached inside my chest and twisted hard.

When I turned around, the kids were all starin’ at me — wide‑eyed, frozen, scared in their own ways.

Savannah’s lip trembled. “Daddy… is she mad at us?”

“No, baby,” I said, even though my voice cracked. “No, she’s just… layin’ down, ’cause she’s sick.”

Beau shot up so fast his chair screeched across the floor. “Lemme try. I’ll talk to her.”

Briony snagged his arm mid‑stride. “No. Absolutely not. You’ll make it worse.”

“I ain’t gonna make it worse!” Beau protested, chest puffed like a rooster. “I’m good at talkin’ to women! Ladies man. Ask everyone.”

“You’re a seventeen‑year‑old boy,” she said flatly. “You are DEFINITELY not good at talking to women.”

“Yer seventeen too!”

“And female. Girls mature faster. Sit down.” She shoved him back into his chair with one hand.

He sat, mutterin’ under his breath.

I sank into mine, elbows on my knees, hands clasped so tight my knuckles went white. I didn’t know what to do with myself. Didn’t know how to breathe right.

“Briony, leave her be…” I managed.

She looked at me like I’d grown a second head. “Dad, do you trust me? Like, at all?”

“Briony, not this, not now…”

She rolled her eyes — dramatic, teenage, pure Briony — then disappeared into the spare room. A moment later she came back with her toiletry kit tucked under her arm.

She crossed the living room, knocked on my bedroom door, and spoke low — too low for me to catch a single word.

Then, like magic, the door cracked open.

And Briony slipped inside.

The door shut behind her.

Beau and I traded glances — his wide and shocked, mine probably worse.

And all I could do was sit there, starin’ at that closed door, feelin’ like my whole damn world was on the other side of it.

Time stretched.

Long enough for the bacon grease to cool in the pan. Long enough for Savannah to wander outside with her dolls, hummin’ to herself. Long enough for Beau to stomp out to the porch, muttering about “women bein’ complicated as hell.” Long enough for me to sit there at the table, elbows on my knees, starin’ at that closed bedroom door like it held answers to every mystery known to man.

The house settled into that heavy, uneasy quiet — the kind that ain’t peaceful, just thick.

I didn’t move.
Didn’t breathe right.
Didn’t know how.

Then the bedroom door eased open.

Briony stepped out. She spotted me instantly.

“Dad,” she said softly, lifting her hand and giving me a little wave. “Come here.”

I was on my feet before the chair even finished scraping back.

She met me halfway, rose onto her toes, and pressed a gentle kiss to my cheek — warm, steady, grounding.

“How’d ya do that? Is she alright?” I whispered, don’t know why.

Briony raised up her toiletry kit. “Just a little girly TLC, a little mani/pedi, little facial. Nothing better to make a girl feel beautiful and open up.”

Her voice dropped to a whisper meant only for me. “Go talk to her. Oh, Daddy, whatever you do… tell her you love her. Don’t wait for a moment, just … say it.”

Then she stepped aside.
And I walked into the room.

Closed the door and sat down next to her on the bed. She leaned over, pulled somethin’ off her nightstand, then held it out to me with both hands, fingers tremblin’ just enough for me to notice. Two test wands. I hadn’t even known she took more’n one. Both of ’em had those faint, blurry lines — not positive, not negative, just… useless. No real answer at all.

My stomach twisted. I looked from the tests to her face, tryin’ to make sense of it.

She gave this tiny nod — the kind that said she’d already lived through the whole panic alone. “Yeah,” she whispered. “Me too. I got really scared. This was not what we agreed on. I freaked out, thought you’d be so mad, thought you’d want to break up because I didn’t stick with the plan…”

“Darlin’,” I cut in, voice rougher than I meant, ’cause hearin’ her say that felt like someone punched me in the ribs. I dropped the wands right onto the bedspread and pulled her into me like she was somethin’ precious I’d almost lost. I kissed her, quick and desperate, rememberin’ Briony’s voice in my head — whatever you do, tell her you love her.

“I love ya,” I said against her temple, her cheek, her hair. “More’n life itself. If it happened, it happened. Why would I be mad at ya? Ya can’t get pregnant without my help, so I’d have to be mad at the both of us, which don’t make no damn sense either. If we do that, we both know there’s always a chance for somethin’ like that to happen. And if it did, we’d figure it out, sure as sunrise. I ain’t never gon’ break up with ya over somethin’ like that. Only if ya quit lovin’ me. I ain’t him. You hear me?”

That broke her.

Her breath hitched, and then she was cryin’ — not loud, not dramatic, just those soft, shakin’ sobs that come from bein’ scared too long. She pulled back only enough to kiss my face all over, tiny frantic kisses like she was makin’ sure I was real, endin’ with a deep kiss that had me see Jesus even sittin’ down.

She wrapped her arms around my neck, holdin’ on like she needed the anchor. Her voice was small when she whispered next to my ear, “I started my period right after I took those tests. Right after the heart attack those damn things gave me. That’s why I was sick. I get really bad cramps some months, not always, but apparently this month. Briony gave me some Midol, talked me off the ledge. Your daughter gives a mean mani/pedi… look.”

She pulled back, eyes still wet, and held up her hands — perfectly manicured, glossy in some fancy beige shade that looked like it belonged on a magazine cover. Her fingers were still a little shaky.

I took her hands gently, turned ’em over, kissed each one slow. “Purdy,” I murmured, but what I meant was you’re okay, you’re safe, I got ya.

She leaned into me again, and I wrapped my arms around her, holdin’ her close. And in that quiet, with her breath warm against my neck, my mind drifted — to my kids. To how damn good they are. How mature Briony is, even with all her teenage snark and that stand‑offish thing she does. When Amy needed her, she came through. No hesitation. No attitude. Just… heart.

And what she told me — tell her you love her — that wasn’t just advice. That was approval. Relief washed through me so strong it near knocked me sideways.

I smiled into Amy’s hair, my lips brushin’ her ear. “Ya wanna hear somethin’ kinda stupid?”

She nodded against me. “I do got great kids,” I murmured, voice low, honest. “I realized today that I can’t wait t’have another with ya.”

We sat there holdin’ each other for I don’t know how long, but it felt good, like a thunderstorm on a hot July day to clear the air.