“I’m done,” Danny announced, dropping onto the couch beside me with a groan. “Done being pregnant, done waiting, done with everything except having this baby right now.”
I wrapped an arm around his shoulders, pulling him against my side. “Two more weeks,” I reminded him, pressing a kiss to his temple. “You’ve got this.”
“Easy for you to say,” he grumbled, but there was no heat in it. “You’re not the one carrying around what feels like a bowling ball attached to your internal organs.”
Before I could respond, the sound of approaching vehicles caught my attention—multiple engines, coming up our long driveway. I straightened, instantly alert. Our property was private, ten acres of prime Montana real estate situated between Carter’s place and the main ranch house. Visitors weren’t common, especially unannounced ones.
“Stay here,” I said, already moving toward the door.
Danny rolled his eyes. “It’s probably just Rawley checking on the fence line again. Or Macon bringing back those tools he borrowed.”
I reached the front window in time to see Rawley’s massive truck pulling up, followed by Macon’s SUV. And was that Hooper’s motorcycle bringing up the rear?
“What the hell?” I murmured, watching as doors began opening, people spilling out like clowns from a circus car.
Rawley emerged from his truck first, already barking orders in that commander’s voice of his, his baby boy wrapped in his arms. Macon followed, carefully extracting a car seat from the back of his SUV where Carter waited with what looked like a giftbag. Jojo practically bounced from the passenger seat, arms full of what appeared to be cooking dishes covered in foil.
And there was Hooper, dismounting his bike with his customary lack of grace, a package tucked under one arm and a six-pack in the other.
“They’re here,” I called to Danny, unable to keep the surprise from my voice. “All of them.”
Danny appeared at my side, eyes widening as he took in the scene through the window. “What are they—“
The front door flew open without warning, and Jojo burst in, his face split in a wide grin. “Surprise!” he called, brandishing a casserole dish that smelled like heaven. “Housewarming!”
Behind him streamed the rest of the Black Butte crew—Rawley with a case of beer under one arm, his son under the other, Macon carrying their baby girl in one arm and a toolbox in the other, Carter with gift bags and a sleeping baby slung across his chest, Decker laden with more food, and Hooper bringing up the rear with his characteristic lack of coordination.
“What...” Danny started, then stopped, clearly overwhelmed. “You didn’t have to do this.”
Carter stepped forward, setting his gift bags on our empty dining table. “Of course we did,” he said with a smile. “It’s tradition. New house, new baby—double celebration.” He reached into one of the bags, pulling out a beautifully wrapped box adorned with pink and blue ribbons. “And every new parent needs a proper send-off.”
I stood in the center of our almost-empty living room, surrounded by the people who’d become my family, watching as Danny’s face transformed with surprised delight. Our home—barely furnished, still smelling of fresh paint and sawdust—suddenly felt complete in a way no amount of furniture could have achieved.
These people. This place. This life.
It was more than I’d ever dared hope for.
An hour later, and I barely recognized our house. What had been an empty shell with a couch and a bed was now filled with the sounds of conversation and laughter, the smells of Jojo’s cooking wafting from the kitchen, and the occasional squeal from the babies being passed from person to person.
I stood in the doorway, beer in hand, and tried to take it all in. My house. Our home. Transformed in the space of an afternoon by the people who’d become our family.
Decker had somehow produced a folding table that now dominated our dining room, covered with enough food to feed a small army. Jojo’s casseroles, Carter’s fancy appetizers that looked too pretty to eat, and a mountain of desserts that made my sweet tooth ache just looking at them.
In the living room, gifts were piling up—everything from practical baby gear to handmade quilts to a suspiciously shaped package from Hooper that I was pretty sure contained something that would get me shot if the sheriff ever found it.
The whole thing had the feel of a military operation—Rawley directing traffic, Macon quietly assembling furniture that had appeared from nowhere, and Hooper running interference with the babies so everyone else could work. They’d brought everything: food, gifts, tools, and enough beer to drown a horse.
Even Sterling would have been impressed by the efficiency.
As soon as I could, I slipped out the front door, needing a moment to process. The late afternoon sun painted the porch in golden light, warming the wooden boards beneath my feet. Rawley and Macon were already there, perched on the railing with beers in hand, watching Hooper roll around on a blanket in the yard with two wiggling bundles.
“Your brother would have a field day with this,” Rawley said without looking at me. “All this domestic bliss in one place. He’d probably have an aneurysm.”
I dropped into one of the rocking chairs Carter had insisted we needed—“Every porch needs rocking chairs, Burke. It’s basically a law.”—and took a long pull from my beer.
“Sterling’s got a softer side than he lets on,” I said. “Might surprise you.”
Macon snorted, his eyes never leaving his daughter as Hooper made ridiculous faces at her. “The day Sterling Callahan admits to having feelings is the day pigs fly, hell freezes over, and I join the fucking ballet.”
