We meet him on the porch.
“Ms. Cruz?” he asks.
“Yes.”
“The electrical grid,” I say. “We had some storm damage. We’re working on it.”
“Show me,” he says.
We walk toward the barn. The guys flank me. Boone is on my left. Knox on my right. Rhett is behind me. We walk in a formation, a wall of solid muscle and determination.
The inspector stops in front of the electrical box. He frowns. “The door is missing.”
“Temporarily,” I say smoothly. “We’re replacing the hinges. We had to strip the interior for the storm damage. We’re waiting on a new part.”
He eyes the box. “Did you rewire the breakers?”
“We bypassed the main line,” Rhett says. “It’s temporary, but it’s up to code. We have a permit number right here.” He points to a piece of paper taped to the side.
The inspector looks at it. He grunts. “Let’s see the barn.”
We walk to the barn. The tarps are gone. The roof looks rough, but it’s covered. The wood is stacked neatly under the eaves.
“It’s old,” the inspector says. “The wood is rotting in places.”
“We have the lumber to replace it,” I say. “We’re waiting on the foundation to dry before we start.”
He walks the perimeter. He kicks at a post. He checks the hinges on the big doors.
“Structural integrity is sound,” he mutters. He looks at the roof. “The tarps are holding. No water intrusion.”
He walks back to the house. He looks at the fence line. We didn’t have time to fix the breaks in the lower pasture, so we parked the bulldozer in front of them, making it look like we are about to start repairs.
“Good,” the inspector says. He scribbles on his clipboard. “The house is old. The wiring is a mess. But you’ve managed the exterior hazards. The barn is secure. The livestock are watered and fed. You’re not in violation of animal welfare codes. That’s the main thing.”
He rips a sheet off the clipboard and hands it to me.
“Structural inspection passed,” he says. “You have thirty days to repair the roof and update the wiring. If you fail to make progress, I’ll be back with a red tag.”
I take the paper. My hand is shaking.
“Is that it?” I ask.
“That’s it for today,” he says. “Good luck, Miss Cruz. You’re going to need it.”
He gets back in his car. He drives away.
I stand there. The paper burns in my hand. We passed.
The relief is so intense it hits me like a physical blow. My knees buckle. I start to go down.
Boone catches my arm. He holds me up, his grip strong and sure.
Knox steps closer, his shoulder brushing mine, ready to catch me if I fall.
Rhett is behind me, his hand resting lightly on my lower back, steadying me.
For a suspended moment, we are one. A unit. A solid, unshakeable front. I feel the warmth of their bodies, the strength of their presence. I don’t feel like a lawyer fighting for her life. I feel like the center of a pack. And it feels right.
