Rawley, who’d been pretending not to notice, snorted. “They’ve already done that,” he said, pointing at Carter’s belly. “That’s how we got into this mess.”
Everyone cracked up, even Jojo, who clapped a hand to his mouth to stifle the giggles. Carter just went pink, but he laughed too, holding his stomach as if to keep the baby from joining in.
Hooper, always the wild card, raised his glass. “To the future spawn! May he have his mother’s brains and his father’s ability to break a man’s arm in under five seconds.”
“Not a high bar,” muttered Rawley, but he tipped his beer anyway.
The world narrowed to this: the table, the pie, the laughter. I’d been in a thousand mess halls, war zones, and bars, but I’d never felt anything close to the heat coming off this battered plank table in the Montana dusk.
A new voice joined in, gravelly and edged with something older than the hills. Walter Jenkins, the caretaker from the Hargrove place, had wandered up the drive without anyone noticing. He set a six-pack on the table—homemade, labels peeled off, probably more fuel than drink—and pulled out a battered harmonica from his shirt pocket.
He played a riff, then nodded at Jojo. “You still remember that song your mother used to sing?”
Jojo blushed, but nodded. “Only the dirty verses.”
Walter grinned. “Those are the best kind.” He played the first few notes, and Jojo launched into a Montana folk tune, the kind that made you want to stomp your boots and punch the ceiling. The chorus was easy, and soon the whole table joined in—even Carter, who had no musical ability, but made up for it with volume.
The words were about mountain men and river women, about chasing dreams and losing bets, about winters so cold the whiskey froze in the bottle. It was a song built for the end of the world, or the start of a new one.
I found myself singing along, voice rusty but true, and when Carter threw an arm around my neck and pulled me in for the last verse, I let him. I let all of it happen, the noise, the affection, the freedom of not having to look over my shoulder every goddamn second.
The song ended, and for a heartbeat, no one moved.
Then the spell broke, and the table exploded back into talk—plans for the house, jokes about baby names, threats to bring the pie to the next town hall and see if anyone there could do better.
The sun dropped below the ridge, turning the world violet and gold. I watched Carter watch it, eyes bright, face relaxed in a way I’d never seen. He leaned against me, head tucked under my chin, and whispered, “I never thought family could feel like this.”
I squeezed his shoulder, careful of the healing tattoo there, and said, “This is just the beginning.”
He smiled, and I felt the universe shift around that point of gravity.
The peace held, for a while.
Long enough for Jojo to sing another verse, for Walter to tell a story about a mountain lion he’d once chased off with a shovel,for Rawley to sit back and just watch it all, arms folded, pride radiating off him like heat.
Long enough for me to forget, for just one moment, that the outside world was waiting to claw it all back.
The spell broke with the crunch of tires on gravel.
Every head turned, silence rolling out like a wave. Down the drive, the headlights flared, the light glinting off a car so black it looked like it absorbed light. Mercedes, new model, Texas plates.
Carter stiffened at my side, breath caught.
“Stay here,” I said, and stood up, every inch of me locked and loaded.
The car rolled to a stop, engine idling. The door opened, and out stepped a man in a suit—blue, sharp, every edge pressed so crisp it could have been cut from steel.
Barrett.
He looked at us, at the table, at Carter with his head high and eyes clear. Then he smiled, just a little, and said, “You got any pie left?”
The table relaxed, and Jojo, ever the diplomat, waved him over. “Pull up a chair, stranger. You look like you could use a drink.”
Carter exhaled, the tension leaking out in a rush.
Barrett came to the table, sat beside Carter, and nudged his shoulder. “Heard you’re building a house.”
Carter nodded.
