“Have you ordered?” I ask as we slide into the booth. I position myself so I'm facing the door, Lily tucked against my side. Jake gives me a knowing look. He's doing the same thing with Emma.
“Luke and Harper are getting the drinks.”
I glance at the bar. Luke’s easy to pick out—tall and imposing, his blond hair shaggy and a little long since we retired from the unit. Next to him is Harper Garrett. She’s got deputy sheriff written all over her, even in civilian clothes.
Luke and Harper come over holding three drinks each. Harper looks at Lily, then me and the way I’m holding her, and then back at Lily. “Oh my God, am I the only one not getting any?” she says as she holds out what looks like a Shirley Temple to Emma.
“Yep,” Emma says cheerfully. She tips her head toward Luke. “You have options though.”
Harper glances at Luke and shakes her head. “I’m notthatdesperate.”
“It’s less desperate and more statistically inevitable.” Luke grins, setting our beers on the table. He pulls a chair from another table and sits on it backward, crowding Harper.
She doesn't move away.
I look at him.
The corner of his mouth turns up. Then he faces everyone. “We should kick off this early celebration with a toast.” He raises his beer. "To Uncle Luke, the fun one."
"The irresponsible one," Jake corrects as he lifts his bottle.
"Same thing." Luke grins and clinks his bottle against Jake's, and then he leans in and kisses Emma’s cheek.
I lift my beer and catch Jake's eye. There's weight in that look—the acknowledgment of what this means. A baby. New life. Something worth protecting at all costs.
Emma clinks glasses with everyone and then hums as she sips her drink.
"Living dangerously," Luke teases her.
"I like to live on the edge." She cuddles into Jake.
The conversation flows easy after that. Harper tells a story about breaking up a fight at the high school baseball game last week. Luke keeps finding excuses to lean closer to her, and she keeps pretending not to notice. Emma asks Harper about people they know, and I think Jake is copping a feel under the table based on the blush on Emma’s cheeks. Lily relaxes incrementally against my side, her hand resting on my thigh.
For a moment—just a moment—it feels normal.
Then the door opens.
74
MASON
Cole Turner walks into the Rusty Spur like he owns the place.
He's dressed casually—jeans, boots, a dark jacket that probably costs more than most people in Iron Ridge make in a month. Turner walks to the bar and orders a drink. He moves with the easy confidence of someone who's never had to worry about consequences.
Jake doesn’t move but I can tell he has visual on Turner.
I feel Lily freeze beside me. I lift her hand and kiss the inside of her wrist to reassure her. Then I press my lips to her temple. "Don’t worry. We’ve got this."
Turner takes his drink and turns, surveying the room like he's looking for someone. His gaze lands on our booth and he smiles.
Conversation at our table comes to a standstill.
Luke chuckles. “Talk about a party pooper. Officer Hot Stuff, you should go arrest Turner for disturbing the convivial air of a public place.”
Harper’s eyes narrow. “Careful, cowboy. Keep talking like that and people are going to mistakenly think that you read.”
Luke props his chin in his fist. “See? This is the kind of encouragement that keeps me trying.”
