Page 84 of 11 Cowboys

Grace flinches, and so do I. It’s a flicker in my jaw that I feel all the way down to my bones like a jolt of pain. Mark doesn’t wait for an answer. He stalks further into the room like he’s got a right to it. “Jesus, Corbin. A year. That’s all it took? You bring some pretty stranger into the house to play mommy while the ground has barely settled over Sadie?”

The twins stiffen. One of them drops a piece of blue dough, and it lands with a soft thud.

Grace steps back instinctively, eyes flicking to me. “I should give you two some privacy.”

“No.” My voice comes out steady, and I touch her wrist gently.

Mark snorts, disbelief carved into every line of his face. “This isn’t only about you, Corbin. This is about my sister. This is about her kids. And what you’re doing. This setup with eleven men and one woman? It’s insane. It’s—hell, it’s sick.”

I take a breath, deep and slow. “It isn’t sick, Mark.”

“Oh really? You’ve got kids in every room of this house; half of them call you Daddy, and now what? You’re auditioning for a bride like it’s reality TV?”

Grace shifts uncomfortably but I keep my hand steady on her wrist.

“This isn’t about replacing your sister,” I say quietly. “No one could ever do that. This is about giving the kids a home that’s full of fun and warmth, that still has love in it, not just silence and grief and waiting. They deserve that. Weall deserve that.”

Mark shakes his head, jaw tight. “It’s unstable.”

“It’s honest,” I counter. “There are no lies here. No pretending. These kids are surrounded by men who show up. EVERY DAY. We make meals. We wipe tears. We braid hair and patch knees and sit through math drills and bed-wetting and every damn thing that parenting requires. And we don’t quit.”

He folds his arms, eyes narrowing at Grace again. “So, she’s fine with this circus?”

“I didn’t come here to play as anyone’s replacement.” Grace swallows, visibly trying to hold her ground. Her voice is soft but clear. “I came to write a story.”

Mark laughs. “So, she’s a journalist? Isn’t it embarrassing enough that you placed that ad? Now you want to humiliate yourself in the papers, too? You think this is what my sister would’ve wanted?”

“I don’t think she’d want you shouting and scaring her kids. She wouldn’t want you to disappear out of our lives when we needed your support. She wouldn’t expect me to wallow in grief for the rest of my life, and she sure as hell would have wanted as many kind and loving people to be positive influences in her children’s lives.”

I inhale a long breath while he glares at me, nostrils flaring. Quieter, I say, “I think she’d want the children to have more than a father hollowed out by grief. I loved her, Mark. I still do. But she’s gone, and I’m still here. So are the kids. And we deserve to keep loving and living.”

For a second, Mark doesn’t say anything. He’s braced, breathing hard, like he’s trying to wrestle his own grief and anger into submission.

Then, behind us, the screen door slams.

Heavy boots cross the floor, and Conway folds his arms across his massive chest, the room shrinking around his presence.

“You’ve had your say,” Conway says, voice low and calm. Deadly calm. “Now let me have mine.”

Mark doesn’t respond, but his posture tightens like he knows what’s coming.

“You weren’t here, Mark. Not after the funeral. Not when the kids woke up screaming for their mom, night after night. You didn’t watch Corbin lose twenty pounds. Didn’t watch him dig fence posts with blistered hands because it was the only thing that kept him from falling apart.”

His voice is even, but the words land like hammer strikes.

“I did.” Conway turns his head, his gaze hard. “We all did. And through all of it, he stayed present. He showed up. Every day. For his kids. For this family. For your sister’s memory. You wanna be pissed? Fine. But don’t walk into this house and act like you’ve got the moral high ground because you share blood.”

Mark opens his mouth, then shuts it again. His jaw flexes.

“And don’t,” Conway continues, “stand here and make assumptions about Grace. She might be here to do a job, but she’s become family. So, unless you’re ready to show up and help, you can take your judgment and walk it right back out the way you came.”

Mark glares at him. Then at me. Then Grace.

To her credit, she doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t even blink.

He looks at the twins one last time, gives them a stiff nod, then turns to the door.

“This isn’t over,” he mutters.