You’re good with your hands.
Fuck, I’d like to use them again on her. Could I even handle it? I fucking doubt it. Having sex with a woman like Freya in that hotel room after months of wanting was one thing. Now she’s carrying my baby in that voluptuous body of hers, it makes me almost sick with greed.
I shake my head.
Work, Easton.
I grab a piece of plywood I need to make a template for my crib sides. I place the wood on my workbench and draw out the curved lines of my design, erasing over and over. I need to get the shape right.
I decided against a sleigh-bed style originally as that’s too classic. Toocould have been store-bought,so I started over and drew something out of my imagination instead.
The new design is whimsical, and I know Freya will love it. I got the idea when Kat came by the shed looking for Santi. She and I got to talking about toys and strollers and baby books, and she told me about her favorite book when Theo was younger.
I Love You to the Moon and Back.
And the idea hit me almost instantly for the crib to be two large crescent moons with cutout stars and hearts. I knew it was right because while I drew, I imagined Freya standing in a softly lit nursery, resting her hand on the wood I carved and polished, her strong arms reaching down for our baby and bringing them to her breast.
I don’t know if I’ll be standing beside her or in the doorway…but I know I’ll be there.
My throat goes tight. I always wanted to be a dad, but I didn’t know how much it meant to me until now. Nobodycan understand a feeling they’ve never had. It’s a sucker punch. I’m doomed when the little one gets here; I’ll probably lose all my ability to say no.
I finish sketching the shape I want, clamp it to my horse, and to get to work with my jigsaw. I have to go slowly, inch by inch on the shape.
The concentration settles me. Steel on wood. Pressure. Resistance. The shavings curl and fall where they’re supposed to. There’s no chaos in this. Just problems and solutions. You pay attention. You adjust. You make it right.
My shoulders loosen with each millimeter of progress.
My mind drifts away from all the shit out there toward possibilities.
I’m in the zone when I hear boots crunching on gravel outside, and I pull up my jigsaw.
Gabriel steps into the doorway first, expression carved from granite. Rio is right behind, hands in his pockets, but tension radiates off him in waves.
Two men who don’t show up together unless something’s wrong.
I set the jigsaw down, wiping sawdust off my hands.
“What’s going on?” I ask, already bracing.
Gabriel’s jaw flexes once. “There’s news around town that Freya is keeping the Marshall case open.”
As I told Freya, nothing stays quiet in this town.
Rio crosses his arms. “Why’s that?”
“It’s Freya’s case,” I say because she’s in charge. Not me. “You should ask her.”
“That was a courtesy question,” Rio states. “She thinks there’s foul play.”
It’s obvious, but I don’t confirm.
Gabriel steps farther into the workshop, only a few steps away from my horse, and glances down at my handiwork. “We thought she should know there was another incident at the quarry ten years ago. Another death. A young woman.”
Rio leans against the wall, boot up.
“What happened?” I ask, but from the ominous feeling that entered this shed with them, I already know what’s coming.
“Same as Zoe,” Gabriel answers. “Ran her car off the cliff. No foul play noted.”
