“Full house,” he says around a grin.
“Getting there.”
And it is. The table that used to feel half-empty is crowded now. Elbows bumping. Butter passed from hand to hand. Three conversations happening at once. Ethan arguing with Gabriel about server encryption. Henry bouncing Max gently when he stirs. Miss Maggie threatening violence against anyone who touches the bacon before she’s done plating. Jacob asking Angus about fencing on the north pasture. Ben listening. Actually listening.
This table used to feel like a battlefield.
Jacob and his silence.
The empty chair where Mom should have been.
Now it’s full. Loud. Alive.
Delaney did this. Not single-handedly—but she was the catalyst. She and Kitty both. Two mail-order brides who walked into fractured families and somehow made them whole again.
Under the table, her hand finds my thigh. Squeezes once.
I cover it with mine.
And hold on tight.
Outside, snow falls—slow and quiet—settling over the ranch like a promise.
This year, Christmas feels exactly right.
The crowd thins out slowly. Our cousins head back to Havenridge with their wives. Delaney watches Kitty go withsomething raw and tender in her expression. Gabriel disappears upstairs. Miss Maggie starts prep for dinner, humming off-key.
I’m on the porch with cooling coffee when Ethan finds me.
He leans against the railing. Doesn’t look at me directly—that’s Ethan. More comfortable with screens than eye contact.
“Traced LandCorp higher,” he says. “Board of directors, but they’re shielded behind six layers of corporate structure.”
“Names?”
“Not yet. Getting closer, though. Whatever they’re after under that ridge, it’s big enough to justify a multi-state operation.”
I nod. File it away. The fight isn’t over. It was never going to be over just because we bought ourselves breathing room.
“Keep digging. Don’t burn yourself out.”
“Three months,” he says. “Three months to build a case and get ready for whatever comes next.”
“Good work.”
He heads inside. I stay on the porch, watching the snow-covered land stretch toward the ridge.
We’re not scrambling anymore. Not reacting to every hit LandCorp throws. We’re building. Planning. Preparing.
That’s a different kind of war. One I know how to fight.
The screen door creaks. Gabriel, this time. He joins me at the railing, and we stand in silence. Comfortable enough. Snow drifts through the wind, carrying the clean scent of hay and winter.
“You did good.” His voice is rough. Unused. “With the bank. With her.”
“Thanks.”
More silence. I wait. Gabriel’s never been one to fill quiet with noise.
