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We stand there, the space between us lighter somehow, a thread of understanding tugging at the rough edges.

“Thanks for letting me come today,” I say, meaning it.

Brody tips his hat back a fraction, eyes squinting. “That’s Conway’s doing.”

I grin. “You didn’t stop me.”

He grunts, mouth twitching. “Don’t push your luck, citygirl.” He’s two paces further away when he calls over his shoulder, “And don’t forget what I said.”

He strides toward the barn, leaving me with the knowledge that I’ve earned at least a sliver of ground. The Brody Delaney puzzle isn’t solved by a long shot, but I feel like I’ve unpicked the first thread.

20

BRODY

I watch from the porch as Grace disappears with the kids down the dirt path toward the fence line and the rusty old swing set. Beau trots happily beside them, tail wagging like a damn fool. Their voices float back on the evening breeze—off-key nursery rhymes, squeals of laughter. Bright sounds that don’t belong out here in all this space and silence.

Junie’s leading the pack, strutting like she owns the land, dressed in her glittery tutu. Matty’s spinning in circles, arms flailing, scuffed knees still healing from the last time he fell over. The twins are already plotting mischief, racing ahead to climb the fence even though they’ve been warned a thousand times. Rory bounces along on Grace’s hip, his grin so much like Levi’s, it makes me want to laugh.

But it’s Eli that stops me cold.

That kid rarely smiles and hasn’t skipped since her mom left with a single suitcase and no note, like none of us mattered, especially her kids.

Now? She’s running after Beau, skipping, cheeks flushedwith pure joy as Grace calls after her to “be careful, wild girl.”

My jaw tightens with a raw, gnawing ache I don’t have a name for, and feel ridiculous for allowing. The screen door slams behind me. Time to get inside before someone notices me standing, watching like a goddamn sap.

Inside, the big dining table is set up like a council of war. Chairs scraped into place, steaming coffee mugs ready, papers spread out before Conway, ready for strategic discussion. My eldest cousin could make the drafting of a shopping list as serious as a National Security review. The overhead light flickers once, like it knows what’s coming.

Conway stands at the head, arms crossed, eyes dark and steady. His gaze flicks around the room, waiting for everyone to settle. Levi leans back on his chair like he owns the joint, Harrison’s already scribbling something on the notepad he keeps in his pocket, and Lennon’s got his usual clipboard balanced on one knee.

The tension is a living thing in the room.

I take my spot at the end, folding my arms across my chest. The chair creaks beneath me, loud in the quiet.

Conway’s voice cuts through like a blade. “All right. Let’s get started.”

I already know what my answer is going to be.

Levi’s the first to speak, naturally. He pushes his chair back on two legs, arms braced loosely behind his head. “I guess I overstepped.” His eyes dart around, surprisingly concerned about everyone’s responses. “Pushed the boundaries. I know what’s at stake… I shouldn’t have…”

Conway’s jaw ticks. “It isn’t only about what happened between you and Grace, Levi.” He shoots a look at Jaxon, too, who sits stiff and silent at the far end, eyes dark under the brim of his hat. “It’s about what all this means. She was supposed to write an article to help us find the woman we need. Now you, Jaxon, and others are suggesting she’s the woman we should focus on. Is that the case?”

The table falls quiet.

Lennon clears his throat and flips a page on his clipboard. “We should talk about the pros and cons. All of us. Then we can decide how to move forward.”

“Or if we should move forward at all,” I mutter.

Conway’s eyes flash to me, but he doesn’t call me out. Not yet. Cody, ever the peacemaker, leans forward. “Look, I like her. The kids adore her. Beau barely lets her out of his sight. That says something.”

McCartney snorts softly. “Yeah, the dog’s smitten.”

“So Beau’s influencing our wife choices, now?” I say, biting back a sarcastic smile.

Corbin speaks next, his voice soft but firm. “She’s good with the kids. She jumped in without being asked around here. She works hard and makes it look easy. That all means something, too.”

“Means she’s doing her job,” I say, voice flat. “That’s what she’s here for. To get under our skin, experience our life, so she can write the damned article.”