Page 171 of Jensen

“You want some coffee?” I call out.

Jensen rolls out from underneath, on his back on a board on wheels. Right alongside him comes Landis on his child-sized board. He’s wearing goggles far too big for him. He tries to take them off, but they get stuck on his nose.

“Come here,” Jensen says, pulling him over and working the goggles off. He sets them aside and accepts the coffee.

“Can I have coffee?” Landis says.

“Nope,” Jensen says, reaching out to ruffle his hair. “You’ve got all the energy you need as it is.”

All the cracks in my heart mend every time I see them together. It only took a few months for Landis to start following Jensen around like a lost puppy. Leland rarely interacted with him except at dinner, so the prospect of a man spending time with him, especially one who knows as many neat things as Jensen does, was a whole new world.

I kept apologizing to Jensen for how Landis was shadowing him, talking a mile a minute.

“I’m sorry. He’s just really taken with you,” I said.

He kissed my forehead. “You want me to be his father or not?”

Sniffing, I nodded. “Yeah, I do.”

“Then don’t apologize.”

That healed me. It made me realize having a son from my first marriage isn’t a negative to him, it’s a bonus. The more I watched them together, the more I realized Landis might be the best thing to ever happen to Jensen after what he went through.

“Can I have some of that cake from the fridge?” Landis says, interrupting me from my thoughts.

“Nope. It’s almost dinner,” I say.

Jensen stands, coffee in hand. “What’s for dinner?”

“Pork belly,” I say. “Greens and rice.”

He gives me a look that says everything without him having to speak a word. Draining the mug, he hands it back.

“We’re just finishing up in here,” he says. “I’ll get Landis cleaned up when we’re done.”

“Yeah, Mom, we’re fixing the carburetor,” says Landis, sitting back down on his board.

I open my mouth, but he snaps his goggles on and lifts a hand.

“Don’t worry. It’s okay if you don’t know what that is,” he says.

My jaw drops. Jensen is biting the inside of his cheek so hard, it hallows. The way my son has soaked up every ounce of Jensen’s sass is incredible. Landis scoots back under the truck and starts whistling tunelessly. Jensen dips his head, but I see that dimple come out. Lord, do I love seeing it.

“I’m going out to get the greens from the garden,” I say. “I’m leaving the door open. Keep an ear on Delia. The monitor is on the counter.”

I turn, but he catches me, pulling me close and kissing my mouth. Quick as a flash, he grabs my ass before ducking down and sliding under the truck. My face is flushed when I go back into the kitchen to make more coffee, this time for myself. The coffee maker hums, sputtering. The rich scent fills the room as I carry it through the front hall out to the porch.

There’s a truck coming up the drive, hauling a trailer. I squint, shading my eyes. It slides to a halt, and the door busts open, Deacon Ryder stepping out.

I met him a few weeks after Jensen came back. He’s the human equivalent of a right hook. Big, bold, tattooed from head to foot, and unashamed of anything. His wife, Freya, is from Eastern Kentucky, the same as me. She’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever met, and we hit it off right away. Together, they own Ryder Ranch, one of the biggest suppliers of top-tier barrel racers in Montana.

Deacon touches the brim of his hat. “Mrs. Childress.”

I smile. I never wanted Leland’s last name, but when I get called by Jensen’s, it makes my toes curl, just thinking about how he’s all mine. It helps he’s got a good, strong mountain name, the kind that makes me proud to be where I’m from.

Deacon opens the side door and lifts Freya out. She’s wearing one of his hats and a sundress, boots on her feet. Usually, she has her baby in her arms, but I don’t see him today.

“Where’s Slate?” I call.