Jonah stood behind River, peering over his shoulder with mounting concern. “You’re supposed to wait until the bubbles form before you flip them, man.”
“That’s for basic pancakes,” River shot back, flipping one that was simultaneously burnt on the edges and raw in the middle. “These are Beckett Specials.”
“Inedible is what they are,” Boone muttered and got up to pour himself a fresh mug of coffee.
The door swung open, admitting Jax, Nessie, and Oliver in a burst of cold air. Echo followed at Jax’s heels, her mismatched eyes scanning the room before she settled at her master’s feet. Oliver immediately made a beeline for the dogs, dropping to his knees to greet Goose, who sprawled under the table, tongue lolling in golden retriever bliss.
“Oliver, don’t get dog hair all over your—” Nessie began, but cut herself off with a laugh as King bounded over and knocked the boy flat with enthusiastic face-licking.
No one had noticed them yet, standing there in the hallway, and that familiar urge to retreat—too many people, too much noise, too much of everything—crept up his spine. But Maggie’s hand slipped into his, squeezing tight, and the moment passed.
They both belonged here.
Ghost spotted them first, of course. Nothing escaped those pale, watchful eyes. He nodded once, and the gesture was somehow more welcoming than a dozen hearty greetings would have been.
Jonah was the next to notice them. “Coffee?” he asked, already reaching for clean mugs.
“Please,” Maggie said, and her voice cracked slightly.
If Anson hadn’t been watching closely, he might have missed the way Jonah’s gaze flicked to her bruised throat, the almost imperceptible tightening of his mouth. But he just gave his bright smile and poured two mugs, then also filled a glass of water for Maggie without comment. That was Jonah. Always the caretaker.
“Morning, sunshine,” River called. “And sunshine’s slightly grumpier companion.” He gestured at the smoking pan with a spatula. “Bacon’s a little... well-done.”
“Creamated,” X corrected.
“It’s a crime,” Ghost said glumly, and Naomi patted his shoulder in sympathy. If the man had one passion in life besides security, it was properly cooked bacon.
“I’ll take some anyway,” Maggie said, sliding onto an empty stool. “I’m starving.”
River beamed at her. “Finally, someone with taste.”
“More like someone who’s too polite to tell you your cooking sucks,” Jax said, snagging a strip of the blackened bacon despite his criticism.
Anson took the seat beside Maggie, their shoulders touching, and the casual contact anchored him. He’d spent years avoiding this—the crowded kitchen, the overlapping conversations, the easy camaraderie that felt too much like a family he didn’t deserve.
Us.
She had brought him back to this. To people. To belonging.
“How are you feeling?” Nessie asked Maggie softly, sliding into the seat across from her.
“I’m okay.” She touched her throat self-consciously. “It looks worse than it feels.”
Anson ground his teeth, suddenly wanting to punch Landry all over again, but he kept his expression neutral for Maggie’s sake. Beneath the table, her hand found his knee and squeezed.
“You need anything, you let me know,” Nessie said, passing a plate heaped with eggs. “Hollis sends her love. She wanted to come by, but Claire needed help with Sarah.”
“Is she okay?” Maggie asked, fork poised halfway to her mouth. “Her husband didn’t find her, did he?”
“No, nothing like that. Just… you know… hearing about what happened to you shook her up.” Nessie gave a small, sad smile. “Triggered bad memories.”
Jax put his arm around Nessie’s shoulders and pulled her against his side.
“I’m okay,” she told him and kissed his cheek. “It didn’t bring back bad memories for me. I promise.”
The mood changed, darkened. Too many of the women in their lives had experienced abuse and violence at the hands of men. And every single man in this room—the guys who’d found their person and the bachelors—would lay down their lives to prevent it from happening again. It was a shared understanding that bound them together as surely as the ranch itself.
“Okay, enough doom and gloom.” River turned from the stove with a dramatic flourish, spatula raised like a conductor’s baton. “We should be celebrating the Christmas miracle.”
