Page 147 of The Lilac River

I was determined to be the man my father had never been. Kind. Present. Good.

And watching Billy and Bertie under the endless blue Colorado sky, I knew I was getting it right. Maybe not perfect. But right.

Lily perched herself on the arm of my chair, a steaming mug of coffee in hand, her other hand slipping into mine like it belonged there. Like it always had.

"Still playing with that stick, huh?" she teased, her smile so beautiful it almost hurt to look at. The way the afternoon light caught her hair made my breath catch.

"Christmas is gonna be really cheap this year," I joked, kissing her knuckles.

She laughed softly and the sound wrapped itself around my ribcage and stayed there. Warm and safe. Home.

God, I loved her.

She was everything. My anchor. My peace. My chaos. My home.

"I love you," she murmured, gazing out over the ranch, the home we’d fought for, the life we’d built from the ashes of what our fathers had left behind. Her voice was soft, reverent, like she was still surprised it was real.

"We earned it, Lila," I said, pulling her closer. "Every damn bit."

Emotion swelled inside me; a fierce, grateful ache that made my throat tight and my chest stretch wide. How had I ever thought I could survive without her? Without this?

In front of us, Gunner’s truck rumbled up the new driveway, music blaring through the open windows. Bertie leaped out like a cannonball, hair flying, boots barely touching the gravel.

"Hey, Momma! Daddy!" she called, waving as she made a beeline for her brother. "Billy! You playing in the dirt again?"

Lily shook her head fondly. "We’re totally surplus to requirements now."

I chuckled, my heart a big messy puddle at my feet. Bertie still called her "Momma" with a pride that shattered me every time. Lily had slipped into our lives so seamlessly, it felt like she’d always been ours, mine and Bertie’s. No seams. No stitching. Just meant to be.

As Gunner stomped up the porch steps, strawberry milk staining his shirt like battle scars, I grinned.

"What happened to you?"

"Your wife's best friend!" he bellowed, pointing at Lily with righteous fury. "Your precious Cassidy threw her milkshake on me because I said she was wearing an interesting outfit.” He flung his hands in the air. “Thank God I was last in the pickup line and no one else saw me.”

Lily giggled. “Sounds like you deserved it,” she suggested, eyes twinkling.

Bertie paused from playing with Billy and threw a look of disbelief. “He’s telling porky pies, Daddy,” she chimed in.

I looked at my brother and grinned. “Is that so?”

“I am not.” Gunner threw his hands in the air again. “You’re the one telling porky pies, Roberta Louise Miller.”

Bertie stood up and gasped. “He full-named me.” She strode forward, chin high and indignant. “Uncle Gunner Wilber Miller, you full-named me.”

Both Lily and I roared with laughter, Lily probably because she had no idea his middle name was Wilber after our great-grandpa. I was lucky and got Grandpa’s name, my son’s name,William. Poor old Wilder got stuck with great-great-grandpa Cedric. That one was hard to live down.

“Excuse me,” Bertie cried, hands on hips. “Has everyone forgotten me? That this is my beef?”

Even Gunner roared laughing as Bertie looked at each of us with consternation on her cute little face, dead serious in her denim dress and glitter sneakers.

“What did he really do, Munchkin?” I asked, still chuckling and enjoying every damn minute. “How did he upset Miss. Turner?”

Bertie gave Gunner the stink eye and then turned a smile on me. “He asked her if she was starring in a kid’s TV show seeing as she was dressed like one.”

I laughed until my sides hurt, clutching Lily against me, our laughter spilling across the porch and out into the warm air.

God, I loved our life.