Emery felt something crack open in her chest. "How do you stand it? Coming back here, where everyone knows?"
"Because the people who matter see past the history to who I actually am." Gabe returned to his chair, his expression earnest. "And because I decided that I get to write my own story, not live in the shadow of someone else's mistakes, even though some days that’s harder than the ground during a drought.”
She leaned back, resting her hands in her lap. “Devon told me there was a third heir named in the Callaway will.”
Gabe coughed, pounding the center of his chest. “That’s a strange segue.”
She chuckled. “Yeah. Maybe a little. But I was just thinking about how no matter what happens with my dad, it doesn’t change who I am. Or the fact that I know he loves me with all his heart. Sometimes, I think knowing I was adopted my entire life made me feel more loved because my parents went out of their way to find me. They specifically chose me over lots of other cute babies.”
“That’s a beautiful way of looking at forming a family.” Gabe leaned forward. “I might ask you to tell Olivia that when she’s ready. I’m not sure she could handle another miscarriage.”
“I’m happy to share my story with your wife,” Emery said. “But as a woman, I can also understand wanting to carry your own child. So, take it from me, if she wants to try again, that might be something you need to support her in.”
“I want kids just as much as she does. I just can’t stand to see her in so much pain.”
“She needs to get through it, and you seem to be doing all the right things.” She reached out and took his hand.
He squeezed and then pulled away. “I have to ask, why did you bring up the third heir?”
“I had a friend who didn’t learn she was adopted until middle school. It messed with her identity,” Emery said. “I didn’t know David well, but it seems cruel to not only toss that out there in a will but put a time frame on how long his family has to find the child. Which brings up the question, would Winston and Callie even do that?”
Gabe's eyebrows rose. “That’s an interesting observation, and I suppose it’s possible they wouldn’t, but their mom, she’s a different person altogether. I suspect she’d honor David’s wishes.”
Emery picked up her pencil and tapped it against the desk. Her mind splintered off into a million different directions, but one had her heart racing. She wasn’t sure if she should bring it up. However, as much as she wanted to bury her head in the sand over what had been happening to her, she was grateful she knew what people were saying behind her back. “I probably should leave this alone, but I feel like someone would say something.”
“About what?”
"David left you something in his will, and this town loves a good piece of gossip.” Emery felt herself flushing. "I'm sorry, this is none of my business."
"It's okay." Gabe's smile was rueful. “I did hear a couple of people in the coffee shop speculating about what David might have left me and then moved right into the who-third-heir thing. This town was built on gossip.”
“I’m sorry.”
“If I had heard it yesterday, I probably would’ve taken a personal day today. But I had a long conversation with Devon, Bryson, and Mason last night. Whatever David's reasons for leaving me my grandfather's guns, it doesn't change my life. I have a career I love, a wife I adore. I don't need or want any piece of the Callaway legacy—not that its mine to claim, because that’s absurd.”
“But what if you did have a claim to it?”
“Honestly, I’d probably want it less.” Gabe's conviction was absolute. "Winston and Callie are David's children. That's their inheritance, their legacy to build or squander. I have no interest in complicating that. Just like you felt loved and cherished your entire childhood, so did I.”
The finality in his voice settled something in Emery's mind. Whatever secrets the Callaway family held, Gabe wanted no part of them.
"Speaking of the guns," Emery said, shifting to safer ground. "Have you decided what to do with them?"
Gabe's expression darkened. "That's been keeping me up at night. I don't want them, but I'm terrified they'll end up in the wrong hands, and I don’t want anyone, myself included, profiting off what my granddad did.”
"What about donating them to a museum? The local historical society?"
“Devon mentioned that I should talk to you about that,” Gabe said.
"They're historical artifacts—uncomfortable ones, but history, nonetheless. If you donate them with full context, notglorifying what happened but documenting it honestly, they become educational rather than collectibles." Emery leaned forward. "I could help you with that. I still have museum contacts who understand how to present difficult history responsibly."
“I’d appreciate that. I don’t know anything about history, and I’ve never set foot inside a museum. Olivia says, outside of wine, I’m the most uncultured person she knows.”
Emery laughed softly. “I doubt that.”
“No, really, it’s true. I look at a fine piece of art, and I think Willa could do better.” Gabe smiled. “Olivia would love to have those guns out of the house. Not only is she not a fan of firearms, but she also doesn’t like what my grandfather’s legacy does to me sometimes.”
“It doesn’t have to be all bad. I understand your grandfather was a criminal. He did terrible things. But that doesn't mean those guns should disappear, nor should they be romanticized." She met his gaze steadily. "Documenting that history honestly—making it a cautionary tale rather than a trophy—that seems like the most responsible option."
