Page 64

GRACE

The late afternoon sun is warm against my bare shoulders and brighter than it has any right to be this far into fall. I tug the hem of my shirt down over my belly. There's a loose stone on the porch step I kick away in case one of the kids trips and falls.

My pink cowboy boots are scuffed now. The leather has softened with worn-in creases, and little nicks and scratches tell the story of a dozen mornings and more than a few midnight wanderings.

They still feel a little flashy and ridiculous but entirely mine, and a gift I'll carry in my memory for the rest of my days.

A scream of laughter erupts from the yard.

“Don't you dare pour that on her head, Matty!” I call without turning.

I don't need to look. The kids are in full hyper mode, racing in and out of the hose spray, soaked to the bone.

Matty's shirt is already plastered to his back.

Junie's tutu is drooping, but she's still wearing it with defiance I deeply respect.

Eli watches from the porch swing, a shy smile tugging at her lips, sketching in the book I bought her on my last trip into town.

Dylan flicked through it last night and smiled.

Beau rests his head on her lap, staring up at her like the two of them are having some kind of telepathic conversation.

Inside, someone's banging around. The screen door creaks and then slams.

“You make supervising look like an art form?” Cody grins at me, holding out a glass of lemonade before kissing my cheek. “You're glowing, darlin'.”

“Too much sun,” I lie.

He winks. “Too much love, maybe.”

I roll my eyes because there can never be too much love, and it sure is overflowing in this house. Maybe glowing is this: radiating so much peace and love from the inside that it shines through flesh to illuminate my complexion.

The kids scatter like wild things, attracting Beau's attention until he's off the porch and barking happily as he herds the chaos in loose, lazy circles. I watch them, one hand resting lightly over the slight swell of my belly.

It's still early, but I know. My body knew before the test confirmed it.

Dylan knows, too. He's been watching me more closely over the past few mornings, making sure I'm eating enough and getting extra sleep. He hasn't said a word, but his touch lingers longer when he passes me a plate or opens a door. A silent promise: I see you. I've got you.

I know he's more watchful because of what happened with Nora. He still blames himself for missing the signs of her spiral until it was too late. We heard news about her last week, and it wasn't good.

Three months ago, she'd checked into rehab.

Dylan didn't say much about it, only that she'd finally agreed to go, and he hoped it would stick.

The kids were her motivation, and he even went to visit to offer her the support he's so good at.

When he returned, he said Nora looked clearer, like someone finding their way back through the fog.

She sent Eli and Junie a drawing she'd done in art therapy.

A wildflower in bloom. On the back, she wrote, I'm trying to be good soil, girls.

I cried when I read that. So did Dylan, but he did it quietly, covering it up by pressing a firm kiss to my temple and holding me close while he barely breathed.

The respect I have for his care and consideration of the mother of his children is immense.

He knows his girls will never be entirely at peace without a positive relationship with Nora.

Then, last week, the call came.

She was gone from the facility. Left in the middle of the night, and didn't tell anyone where she was going. A few days later, Cash Bradford saw her in a motel near the interstate and called it in, worried.

She was alone and drinking again, singing loudly.

Since then, Dylan holds Eli and Junie a little tighter at night and lingers longer at their door before he goes to sleep. I don't push him to talk about how he feels, but I sit with him in the quiet to let him know I'm here.

Nora isn't evil. She isn't broken beyond repair. She's… stuck. Caught between wanting to be better and struggling to live with the ache that comes in the sober spaces. I hope she finds her way, for all their sakes.

I suspect Corbin is also aware of the pregnancy. I've caught him regarding me as we make bread together, as though he can sense something he's had the gift of experiencing three times before. He has that remarkable intuition that tunes him to me so perfectly.

Behind me, the gravel crunches, and a battered old sedan pulls up and parks crookedly beside the barn. The engine ticks as it cools.

My heart jumps and then melts.

“Mama,” I breathe.

She steps out in a swirl of loose cotton skirt and a tired floral blouse, with three wide-eyed foster kids who spill from the car and trail behind her like ducklings.

Two boys and a girl are nervous, clinging to each other, unsure of what comes next.

They're new, but they won't be for long.

What I've learned about kids in the system is that they learn to adapt quickly.

The moment all the kids notice each other, their nerves are gone.

Junie runs to greet the girl, shouting, “Do you like sparkles? I have, like, a hundred!” and drags her toward the swing set. Matty offers the boys sweets from his pocket, and the twins plot some game that involves yelling and chasing each other with sticks.

They're immediately embraced into the joyful mess.

I meet my mom halfway across the yard and fold her into a grateful embrace.

It's been hard to be away from her, and I miss popping in for pancakes and distracted conversation more.

Now I have my own chaotic family, and the mess and noise are like my childhood home, it's familiar and welcome and no longer something I want to escape.

She pulls back and grips my face between her rough hands. “You look different. Did you change your hair?”

“Nope.”

I pull her into another hug that says what I can't: Thank you for always showing up. For showing me, even when I wasn't ready, that home isn't made of walls and silence but of people.

“I hope the new kids like noise,” I murmur against her shoulder.

She chuckles. “They'll learn.”

Behind Mom's old car, Brody pulls up in the truck we use for town runs. He strolls over, all easy swagger and an open expression that doesn't quite fit. He's dusty (because, hell, when aren't they), clutching a brown paper parcel with crushed corners and twine looped twice around the middle.

“Special delivery,” he says, holding it out to me.

I blink at the return address, my heart skipping a beat.

It's from the publisher.

My fingers fumble with the knot, my breath catching as the paper falls away to reveal the first print run of my novel, Rugged Love. The title, bold and romantic, arcs across the cover, and an illustrated cowboy leans against a fence post, as if he has secrets and a soft heart.

“Get out here,” Brody yells to his brothers, who are all currently inside, then moves to kiss my momma's cheek.

The porch goes quiet as the others gather, waving at Mom and then peering over my shoulder.

Harrison's the first one to clap and cheer. He's been my partner in crime on this journey towards authordom, providing the best suggestions and finding all my naughty typos. The rest follow, scaring Beau into a frenzy.

Brody's voice rumbles low. “Guessing that one's based on me?”

I look up, arching an eyebrow. “Wouldn't you like to know”?

He gives me a look, half teasing, half something else, and mutters, “I'm better looking.”

“Considering I'm the one who drew it, I think it's more likely to be me!” McCartney says, reaching out to take a copy that he studies, smiling softly before he opens the cover to find his credit as an illustrator.

I couldn't be prouder that he's finally getting the recognition he deserves, both for his work on my book and the launch campaign that will start soon, as well as for his country-style art, which he's now selling in original and print form from a website I helped him establish.

He's even taking the occasional portrait commission after I convinced him to add the option, and the drawings he creates of children are my favorites.

I run my fingers over the cover, barely able to believe it's real. Words I thought I'd never write. A dream I thought I'd buried under deadlines and city noise. My heart engraved into three hundred pages.

Now it's here. Held in my hands. Surrounded by everything I never dared imagine I could have.

My heart is so full.

But it isn't the book that makes it beat like this.

It's the family around me and the future I never saw coming.

“Not to minimize this amazing achievement in any way,” Corbin says, approaching to put his arm around my shoulder, “but dinner's ready.”

I kiss his warm cheek and whisper in his ear, “Did I ever tell you I find your culinary skills extremely, unbelievably sexy?”

His already warm cheek heats to a pink, and he slaps my ass playfully, thankfully out of sight from a Mom, who's already making her way inside on Levi's arm.

***

Later, I'm at the kitchen sink, elbow-deep in soapy water, when Corbin leans against the counter and says, “Mark's coming for lunch tomorrow.”

I glance over my shoulder, my heart skipping like it always does when his name comes up. The kitchen incident and his anger have been difficult for me to forget, but I'm thankful that he's listened to Conway and is putting aside his judgments so he can be part of Caleb, Hannah, and Matty's lives.

“Just him?” I ask.

Corbin nods. “Said Jess has a school thing. He's bringing lemon pie. His recipe this time.”

That makes me smile. “God help us.”

I'm mostly grateful that Corbin isn't holding his breath anymore, and the worry about Mark is in the past.

“I'm glad,” I say, drying my hands. “About him coming. About all of it.”

Corbin watches me for a moment, a stillness in his expression. “Are you worried?”

“No,” I say. “I used to be, but after his last visit, he seemed to get used to me. Now it feels like an extension of this messy, complicated life that somehow feels simple.”

Corbin pulls me in by the waist and presses a kiss to my temple, whispering, “You gonna spill your secret tonight?”

I jerk my head back, but then smile at his cheeky grin, which lights up his face and crinkles his eyes.

“I think I might. After all, I have all the people I love most in the world around me. ”

He squeezes my hand. “Then I'll wait to tell you how happy I am.”

I touch his cheek and then drift to the table to help Mom seat all the kids, ready for the hearty stew that Corbin and Dylan have prepared.

Dylan wipes his hands on a towel, nods at Corbin, and then sets down a steaming pot in the center, still bubbling like a cauldron.

Nash herds the twins into the kitchen, McCartney argues with Cody over the correct stew-to-bread ratio, and I glance around the table and feel something tighten in my chest.

I'm not nervous or anxious, just so full of love that I'm breathless from gratitude.

I slide into my seat beside Corbin, who gives me a quiet, knowing glance. Dylan's eyes meet mine, and I flash him a small smile.

When everyone's finally settled, chatter bouncing off walls, I clear my throat.

No one hears me the first time.

“Hey,” I try again, louder. “Can I… can I say something before we eat?”

Conversations taper off, heads turning. Caleb looks up, eyes wide. “Is it story time?”

“Sort of,” I say, smiling at him. “It's a story we're just starting.”

Corbin squeezes my hand under the table, warm and steady.

I glance at my mom and all the men who have embraced me into this home, and feel tears swell in my throat. I can't wait anymore.

“I'm pregnant,” I blurt out.

The room goes still.

For one perfect heartbeat, there's nothing but shocked breathing.

Then Cody lets out a cheer that's somewhere between a shout and a yodel.

“What!” McCartney hollers. “No way! ”

Corbin finally breaks into a grin, his joy spilling out like light through a crack. “I knew it.”

Dylan reaches across to hold my hand. “I knew it, too.”

Rory's clapping and hopping in his seat.

“We're getting a baby?” Eli asks.

My mom's hand flies to her mouth, eyes welling up as she wraps her arm around my shoulder and kisses me hard on the cheek. “That's the best news, sweetie. You're going to make an amazing mother.”

Conway stands, his eyes fixed on me possessively and lifts his glass. “To the newest piece of this beautiful chaos.”

The room explodes into congratulations, questions, and laughter.

There are a few R-rated jokes about the inevitability of my conception with eleven men in my bed that thankfully go over the heads of the kids, but not my mom, who blushes.

Corbin wraps his arm around my shoulders, kisses my temple again, and murmurs, “Have I told you how happy you make us?”

“You have,” I smile. “But I'll never tire of hearing it.”

This baby is coming into a world full of noise, love, hands ready to hold, and voices ready to sing them home.

And I wouldn't change a single thing.

***

The porch creaks under the weight of our makeshift family.

Eleven men spread across rocking chairs and steps; boots kicked off, plates of dessert balanced on knees.

Laughter rolls lazily through the warm evening air, mixing with the faint hum of cicadas and the joyful shrieks of kids chasing fireflies out in the yard.

I sit on the swing, Beau sprawled at my feet, his tail thumping every time a child races by.

Rory trips and falls, giggling, and Levi is off the step in a heartbeat, scooping him up and holding him close.

“Come here, son. You've got to be careful.” He kisses his cheek, brimming with so much love and pride that it squeezes my heart.

Matty shrieks something about cops being stronger than cowboys that makes everyone laugh.

The land stretches out around us like it's cradling the house in both hands. Moonlight lies softly across the pasture. Cows groan in the distance, sleepy as the night. The air smells like hay, smoke, and home.

I hold my notebook in my lap, but I'm not writing. I'm watching. Relaxing. Belonging.

I won't wait much longer to start my next book, but I'm not quite ready yet. My own story is reaching a climax, and I want to enjoy it.

“You still think this place is in the middle of nowhere?” Conway asks, stepping onto the porch with two mugs of warm, sweet tea.

“No,” I say, and it's the truest thing I've said all day. “I think it might be the center of everything.”