Some of the tightness in my chest loosens. It’s hard to feel like you don’t belong when two small people act as if you’re part of their morning.
“Here you go,” Jesse says, setting a plate in front of me.
Eggs, toast, bacon, all steaming and golden. It smells of comfort. Of a world where things aren’t on fire.
“Thank you,” I say, letting the warmth of the plate soak into my hands.
He grins. “Cooking is my love language. Don’t tell my kids, or they’ll start leaving dirty dishes on my pillow to feel emotionally secure.”
“Daddy,” Caleb says through a mouthful of bacon, “you already do our dishes.”
“Yes,” Jesse says. “And I will remind you of this kindness when you’re teenagers.”
Marshall sets my coffee down within easy reach. “Sugar’s on your right. Cream’s on your left,” he says. “Food first. Worry later.”
“Is that ranch policy?” I ask.
“Something my mom used to say,” he replies, gaze flicking toward the window again.
I stir sugar and cream into my coffee, the smell curling up into my nose, settling the frayed part of me.
Wyatt taps his phone, then clears his throat.
“Update,” he says. “Crews held the line on the east side overnight. Wind dropped after three. That helped.”
“That’s good,” Jesse says.
“It’s not bad,” Wyatt corrects. “But it’s not over.”
My fork pauses halfway to my mouth.
“What about… the valley?” I ask.
The word “home” might crack if I say it out loud.
He looks at me, eyes soft. “No new evacuations since last night. They’re watching it. If anything shifts, we’ll know.”
I nod and pretend that helps more than it does.
I glance at Marshall.
He’s eating in that mechanical way people do when they’ve forgotten how to taste. His eyes are unfocused, somewhere far past the wall, where the ranch is.
“You okay?” I ask him quietly.
He blinks.
“Fine,” he says automatically.
One of my eyebrows lifts. “You know you don’t have to say that, right?”
His mouth quirks, humorless.
“I hate being away from the ranch,” he admits after a beat. “Feels wrong. But I know staying there last night would’ve been worse.”
“You moved the animals,” Jesse points out, not looking up from buttering toast. “We moved Abilene’s bees. You got everybody out and here. That’s not nothing.”
“Doesn’t feel like enough,” Marshall mutters.
