Roxie points a warning finger at me. “You joke, but I have the label maker charged and ready.”
We all laugh, the morning as easy, warm, and simple as it always is these days. After we finish eating, Chance nudges Dillon with his elbow. “Are you ready?”
“As I’ll ever be,” Dillon says, grinning like a kid hiding fireworks behind his back.
“Ready for what?” Roxie asks suspiciously.
“Come outside,” I say, taking her hand. “We have a surprise for you.”
She stands, her eyebrows drawing tight with suspicion, as we lead her through the back doors onto the deck. There, she stops dead, her breath catching when she sees what we’ve done. The deck is twice as big as it used to be, with fresh railings, new boards, and enough room for two tables and a grill, but she goes straight to the swing.
Her hands fly to her mouth as she stares at a huge porch swing, custom-made from reclaimed timber, suspended with thick ropes, and wide enough for four adults. Or two exhausted grown men and a couple of newborns.
“Did you…” She trails off, her voice barely above a whisper as she turns to look at us over her shoulder. “Did you build this?”
“Chance did,” Dillon says proudly. “Boone and I helped by providing moral support and snacks and running interference so you wouldn’t come out here while he was busy.”
Chance shrugs, but he’s glowing with pride too. It’s a pretty damn impressive achievement. “Babies like rocking. You like rocking. It made sense.”
She turns and hugs us one at a time. We wrap her up in our arms, guiding her to the swing when we break apart.
“There’s more,” I say, reaching into my back pocket and pulling out a small black box.
Roxie’s eyebrows jump up. “Boone?—”
“It’s not what you think,” I tease. “I’d marry you again in a heartbeat, but this isn’t another ring.”
She takes the box from me, her fingers trembling a little as she flips open the top to reveal the necklace inside. At the center sit four small gemstones in a clustered pendant, a deep blue for Chance, warm amber for Dillon, green for me, and a soft rose quartz for her.
There are two empty settings at the bottom. She glances up at me, but I don’t wait for her to ask me to explain. “It’s for when they’re born. We’ll have their birthstones put in when we know exactly what they are.”
Tears fill her eyes, but before they can spill, Dillon bends over and brushes his thumbs over her cheekbones. “Uh-uh. None of that today. In the great state of Montana, it’s illegal to cry on a brand-new porch swing.”
She laughs through the emotion, clutching the necklace to her heart and sweeping her gaze across the deck. “Thank you. Really. I love it all, but you seriously don’t have to keep surprising me with gifts.”
I shrug. “We might not have to, but we want to. You changed our lives, Rox. Before you, we’re just working. Surviving. Making anonymous donations and thinking that’s as good as it was going to get.”
Dillon and Chance bring the new grill up from the garage, and the rest of the day passes in one of those rare, perfect late-spring hazes. It’s May, warm enough for short sleeves but cool enough for comfort. Wildflowers paint the hillside in yellows and purples, and all the snow is finally gone from the peaks.
Deer wander through like curious neighbors. We sit outside until evening, eating lunch on the new deck and debating baby names. These last few weeks, we do that just about every damn day.
“Colt,” Chance suggests. “If one of them is a boy.”
“You cannot name our child after a weapon,” Roxie insists.
“It’s a solid name!”
“It’s also a gun.”
Dillon chews on the inside of his cheek before he suddenly grins. “What about something mythological? Like Argo. Or Perseus.”
“We’re having babies,” she says flatly. “Not Greek demigods.”
“What about Nolan?” I offer eventually, but at this point, they’re going to be Baby A and Baby B forever if we can’t find names we all like.
Roxie gives me a soft smile. “I like Nolan, but I’m not sure.”
Chance mutters, “It’s better than Perseus.”
