I laughed, the sound coming out thick with emotion. “Of course he is.”
I looked down at the deed again, tracing my finger over Danny‘s name printed next to mine. Daniel Jenkins. Soon to be Daniel Callahan, if I had anything to say about it. The thought sent a jolt of something electric through my chest—pride, or maybe just pure, unfiltered happiness.
“You got room in the budget for a ring?” Rawley asked, eyes still fixed on the mountains.
I stared at him. “I—yeah. Been saving. How did you—“
“Figured as much,” he cut me off. “Good.”
And that was that. No speeches, no big emotional declarations. Just three men watching the sun sink behind the mountains, two glasses catching the last golden rays of daylight, and a piece of paper that meant everything.
I carefully folded the deed back into its envelope, already thinking about how I‘d tell Danny, what his face would look like when he realized we had a home—a real home, not just borrowed space in someone else’s house.
“I should get back,” I said, tucking the envelope under my arm. “Before they buy out the entire baby store.”
Macon nodded. Rawley lifted his glass again. Neither of them looked at me, but I could feel their satisfaction like a physical thing, warm and solid between us.
I turned to go, then paused at the screen door. “I mean it,” I said, not looking back. “Thank you. Both of you.”
“Get out of here,” Rawley growled, but I heard what he wasn’t saying.
Family takes care of family.
And somehow, against all odds, that‘s what we’d become.
After everyone left or went to settled down for the evening, I found Danny out on the wraparound porch, settled into one of the wooden rocking chairs I’d fixed up last summer. The evening light was soft around him, turning the world golden at the edges while the breeze ruffled his hair like a gentle hand.
He’d taken to coming out here in the evenings, said the fresh air helped with the nausea, but I suspected it was more than that. This was the spot where you could see the entire valley spread out below, all the way to the tree line and beyond. The perfect vantage point to watch for danger—or to dream of possibilities.
Tonight, it looked like he was doing the latter, his expression thoughtful but unguarded in a way that still made my chest ache every time I saw it.
He didn‘t hear me step onto the porch, too caught up in whatever was playing behind those hazel eyes. The lantern above cast dancing shadows across his face, highlighting the angles that had started to soften since he’d moved in with me.
He wasn‘t so thin anymore, didn’t have that hunted look that had haunted him for weeks after Dennis. The bruises had faded completely now, leaving nothing but smooth skin where purple and yellow had once bloomed like poisonous flowers.
I paced the wooden floorboards twice, manila envelope clutched in my sweating palm. The boards creaked under my boots, finally catching his attention. He looked up, his smile immediate but curious.
“Hey,” he said, voice soft in the evening quiet. “You disappeared earlier. Everything okay?”
I cleared my throat, suddenly feeling like I had gravel lodged there. The envelope felt too light and too heavy all at once, like it might float away if I didn’t grip it hard enough.
“Danny,” I started, then stopped, recalibrating. “I’ve been talking with Rawley and Macon today.”
His eyes tracked from my face to the envelope and back, caution creeping in at the edges of his expression. Old habits. I hated that he still expected bad news around every corner, but couldn’t blame him either.
“About?” he prompted when I didn’t continue.
I moved closer, stopping directly in front of his chair. My fingers fumbled with the edges of the envelope as I forced the words out.
“They’ve set aside a ten-acre plot of land between here and Macon and Carter’s place,” I said, the words coming in a rush now. “Just enough for a house and a yard for our kid. I want to build you a home there, our home.”
My voice caught on the last words, the enormity of what I was offering—what we were being given—suddenly overwhelming. I slid the deed across the little round table that sat between the chairs.
Danny’s breath hitched audibly. He reached toward the paper, then drew his hand back like it might burn him, or worse, disappear the moment he touched it. His eyes lifted to mine, wide and questioning, then dropped to where my hand rested on the table beside his, trembling slightly.
“You did all this for me?” he whispered, voice barely there.
I nodded, heart pounding so loud I was sure he could hear it. “For us,” I corrected gently. “For our family.”
