~ Burke ~
I watched Danny from across the kitchen, his head bent close to Carter’s while they pored over some baby catalog Jojo had ordered. The afternoon light caught in his hair, turning the edges gold, and I couldn’t help but smile at how animated he’d become these past few days.
Since he’d told me about the baby, it was like a switch had flipped—the fear was still there, hovering at the edges, but there was something else now too. Hope. The kind that made his eyes brighter, his laugh easier. The kind that made me want to build walls around him and our future, sturdy enough that nothing—not Dennis, not the past, not a goddamn hurricane—could tear them down.
“You see these?” Jojo was saying, pointing to something in the catalog. “Organic cotton, breathable, but still warm enough for winter nights.”
Danny nodded, serious as a heart attack. “How many do we need?”
“At least six,” Carter answered, adjusting his glasses. “Babies are basically vomit factories with cute faces.”
Jojo elbowed him. “Don’t scare him! It‘s not that bad.”
“Says the man who went through twelve onesies in one day last week,” Carter muttered, but he was smiling.
I took my chance and backed out of the kitchen while they debated the merits of snap buttons versus zippers. This conversation could go on for hours, and I had somewhere to be.
The screen door creaked as I pushed it open, stepping onto the wide front porch where I knew I’d find Rawley and Macon at this time of day. Sure enough, there they were—two ex-SEALs side by side in weathered Adirondack chairs, boots propped on the railing, watching the sun paint the distant mountains inshades of purple and gold. Rawley had his usual tumbler of amber whiskey, while Macon nursed what looked like a plain soda with lime.
Typical.
I leaned against the porch support beam, feeling the sun-warmed wood against my shoulder. My heart was hammering against my ribs like I was about to jump out of a plane without checking my chute. Ridiculous. These were my friends, not a firing squad.
“You gonna stand there all day or you got something to say?” Rawley didn’t even look at me, just took another sip of his whiskey.
I cleared my throat. “I was hoping I could talk to you about something.”
Macon snorted and looked away, eyes fixed on the horizon like he knew exactly what was coming. Rawley just lifted a single eyebrow, waiting.
I‘d rehearsed this speech a dozen times in my head, but now that the moment was here, all my carefully chosen words scattered like startled birds. I swallowed hard against the dryness in my throat.
“I want to buy a plot of land here on the farm,” I said, the words coming out faster than I meant them to. “To build Danny a house. To build us a house.” I shifted my weight, uncomfortable under their steady gaze. “It doesn’t need to be a big plot, just something big enough for a house and a yard for the kid to play in. I’ll pay fair market value, of course.”
The silence stretched for three heartbeats. Four. Then Macon barked out a laugh that left me blinking in confusion.
Rawley’s mouth twitched at the corner—the closest thing to a smile I’d seen on him in weeks. He reached for a manila envelope sitting on the small table between their chairs and held it out to me.
“We‘re putting in a private drive between here and Macon and Carter’s place,” he said, voice matter-of-fact. “I’ve reserved a ten-acre plot halfway between the two for you and Danny.” He nodded toward Macon. “Macon’s already called the builder who did his place. He’ll break ground whenever you’ve got your design ready to go.”
I stared at the envelope, not quite able to make my hand reach for it. “You... what?”
“Take the damn thing before my arm falls off,” Rawley growled, but there was no heat in it.
My fingers trembled as I finally grasped the envelope, the paper smooth and surprisingly heavy. I flipped it open and pulled out the contents—a deed, already drawn up, with both my name and Danny’s printed neatly at the top. Ten acres of prime Montana ranchland, with rights to the well water and access to the creek that cut through the back forty.
My vision blurred. I blinked hard, not willing to let these two see me lose my shit over a piece of paper. But it wasn’t just paper. It was a future. A home. Something I hadn’t realized how desperately I wanted until I held it in my hands.
“How long have you been planning this?” I managed, my voice rougher than I’d like.
Rawley took another sip of whiskey, eyes on the horizon. “Since the night we found Danny.”
The words hit me like a physical blow. They’d known—from that very first night, when Danny was still covered in bruises and blood and I was half out of my mind with rage and fear—that this was where we‘d end up. That Danny would stay. That I’d want to build something permanent with him.
“I don’t—“ I started, then stopped, unable to find words big enough. “Thank you,” I finally said, barely above a whisper.
Rawley just grunted, lifted his glass in a silent toast, and returned to watching the sunset wash the mountains in gold.
Macon finally turned to look at me, his usual stoic expression softening just a fraction. “Carter’s already sketching out nursery designs,” he said, voice low. “Fair warning.”
