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I sure as hell hoped so.

We sat in silence for a few minutes, watching Martinez check the back of a pickup truck before waving it through. The driverlooked more confused than nervous, probably wondering why there was a random checkpoint on a Tuesday morning.

“How are things at home?” Beckett asked, his tone casual but his eyes knowing. We hadn’t talked about my home situation again since I’d mentioned it to him, Lucas, and Hunter at the tavern a week and a half ago.

“Fine.” The word came out more defensive than I’d intended.

“Lach.”

I sighed. “They’re… It’s good having them there. The house feels less empty. Piper cooks these amazing dinners, keeps everything clean without me even asking. She’s trying so hard to contribute, to not be a burden.”

“But?”

“But she’s sad all the time. She tries to hide it, puts on this smile whenever I’m around, but I can see it in her eyes.”

“Like postpartum depression stuff?”

“It has to be more than that. Last night…” I paused, remembering the sound that had pulled me from sleep around two in the morning. “I heard her crying. Not just a few tears, but full-on sobbing like her heart was breaking.”

Beckett was quiet for a moment. “Did you go to her?”

“I stood outside her door for ten minutes trying to decide. In the end, I figured she needed privacy more than comfort from someone she barely trusts.”

“You sure about that?”

I wasn’t sure about anything when it came to Piper. Every instinct I had was twisted up where she was concerned. Part of me wanted to protect her from whatever was causing her so much pain. Another part reminded me that she’d stolen from me once and could do it again. Or worse even, disappear with my son.

And then there was the part that just wanted to hold her, to recreate that one perfect night we’d shared a year ago.

“She needs something,” I admitted. “Dr. Rankine says the fatigue and mood swings could be postpartum depression, but I think it’s more than that. But I have no idea what.”

“You know, Lark’s been looking for help at Pawsitive Connections,” Beckett said, his tone carefully neutral. “Nothing too strenuous, just feeding animals, cleaning stalls, maybe helping with the therapy sessions. The kind of work that keeps your hands busy and gives your mind a break.”

I glanced at him. “You think that would help Piper?”

“I think sitting in that house all day with nothing to do but think about whatever’s eating at her isn’t helping. And Lark’s good with people who are struggling. Patient. Understanding. Plus…” He shrugged. “She wouldn’t mind if Piper brought the baby. Actually told me once she thinks having babies around is therapeutic for some of the animals.”

The idea had merit. Piper needed purpose, needed to feel useful beyond cooking and cleaning. And maybe being around Lark and the animals would help her open up, start healing from whatever trauma she was carrying.

“I’ll talk to her about it,” I said.

“Good.” Beckett checked his watch. “Want me to stick around until you call off the checkpoint?”

“Nah, no point in both of us wasting our whole day. Thanks for the coffee and the conversation.”

“Anytime, brother.” He climbed out of the cruiser, then paused with the door open. “Lach? Whatever’s going on with Piper, she’s lucky to have you looking out for her. Even if she doesn’t realize it yet.”

That didn’t feel true, but I didn’t argue the point.

After he left, I waited another few hours, just in case, before finally calling it. “All units, stand down. Pack up the checkpoint and head back to regular patrol.”

The relief in Martinez’s voice was obvious. “Copy that, Sheriff. Hopefully we’ll have better luck next time.”

Next time. At this rate, every criminal in the state would know we couldn’t execute a successful operation if our lives depended on it, even when we had what felt like solid intel. The drive home felt longer than usual, my mind churning over the failed checkpoint and what it might mean.

I pulled into my driveway to find Piper’s beat-up Honda in its usual spot. Through the front window, I could see her in the kitchen, Caleb in his bouncer on the counter while she cooked. The domestic scene made something loosen in my chest, even as I wondered how long it would last.

“Hey,” I called out as I walked in, hanging my duty belt by the door.