Page 42 of Montana Justice

Piper

Six months later

The smell of pancakes filled the kitchen as I flipped another golden disk onto the growing stack. Behind me, Caleb’s delighted squeal mixed with Sadie’s answering giggle—the soundtrack to every morning now. Six months of mornings like this, and I still couldn’t quite believe they were real.

“No, no, no,” I said without turning around, recognizing the particular pitch that meant trouble. “Whatever you two are plotting over there, the answer is no.”

More giggles. Definitely plotting.

I risked a glance over my shoulder to find both twins had somehow gotten hold of their sippy cups and were conducting what looked like a science experiment involving gravity and Cheerios.

At eleven months, they were mobile enough to be dangerous but not quite coordinated enough to execute their grand plans. Thank God.

“How do they always know when I’m not looking?” I asked the pancakes.

“Twin telepathy.” Lachlan’s voice came from the doorway, rough with sleep but warm with amusement. “Pretty sure they’re planning world domination one Cheerio at a time.”

He crossed the kitchen in bare feet and pajama pants that hung low on his hips, mail tucked under one arm. My heart did that stupid flutter thing it always did when I saw him in the morning—hair sticking up at odd angles, that sleepy smile that was just for us.

“Coffee?” I asked, already reaching for his favorite mug.

“You’re an angel.” He dropped the mail on the counter and wrapped his arms around me from behind, pressing a kiss to the spot where my neck met my shoulder. “Mmm. You smell like syrup.”

“Charming.” But I leaned back into him anyway, letting myself have this moment. These small, perfect moments that I’d never thought I’d get to keep.

A crash from the breakfast nook made us both turn. Sadie had managed to knock her entire bowl of Cheerios onto the floor and was looking at the mess with scientific interest. Caleb watched his sister with obvious admiration.

“I’ve got it,” Lachlan said, already moving. “You save the pancakes.”

This was our dance now. The rhythm we’d found in the chaos of raising twins while rebuilding our lives from the ground up.

He handled breakfast cleanup while I plated food.

I’d get them dressed while he packed the diaper bag.

We’d switch off who wrestled them into car seats, depending on who had the most patience left.

It was messy and exhausting and absolutely nothing like the family I’d imagined when I was young and stupid enough to believe in fairy tales.

It was better.

“Hey,” Lachlan said suddenly, his voice different. Serious. “You need to see this.”

He held two envelopes, both looking official enough to make my stomach clench. That familiar spike of fear—would this be the thing that destroyed our carefully built peace?

“Which one first?” I managed, setting down the spatula with hands that wanted to shake.

“This one.” He handed me the thinner envelope, his eyes steady on mine. “It’s okay. Open it.”

The return address was the county courthouse. My fingers fumbled with the seal, tearing the paper more than necessary. Inside, a single sheet of official letterhead. I had to read it twice before the words sank in.

“It’s official. Probation.” The word came out choked. They’d told us at court this was the sentencing, but seeing it here officially in my hand made it real. “Two years’ probation. No jail time.”

“The DA came through,” Lachlan said quietly. “The circumstances, the duress, your cooperation in taking down the trafficking ring—Judge Hernandez agreed minimum sentence was appropriate.”

Two years of checking in with a probation officer. Two years of staying out of trouble—which wouldn’t be hard since the most dangerous thing I did these days was try to bathe both twins at the same time. Two years was nothing compared to what I could have faced.

“Hey.” Lachlan’s hand cupped my cheek, thumb brushing away a tear I hadn’t realized had fallen. “This is good news.”

“I know. I just—” I looked over at the twins, who had moved on from Cheerio experiments to what appeared to be competitive babbling. “I was so scared they’d take me away from them.”

“Never.” The fierceness in his voice made me look back at him. “I would have fought anyone who tried. Beckett would have helped. Hell, half the town would have shown up at that courthouse. You’re not going anywhere.”

“What’s the other envelope?”

His smile turned soft, almost nervous. “Open it.”

This one was thicker, heavier paper. Legal documents that required multiple signatures and?—

“Adoption papers.” I had to sit down. Right there on the kitchen floor, legs suddenly unable to hold me. “You’re—these are to legally adopt the kids.”

“Already signed by me.” He crouched in front of me, taking my hands. “Just need your signature and the judge’s approval. My lawyer says it’s basically a formality at this point, but I wanted it official. Both twins, legally mine. No questions, no loopholes. Mine.”

“Ours,” I corrected, but I was crying too hard to sound stern about it.

“Yeah.” He pulled me against his chest, and I realized he was shaking too. “Ours.”

Sadie chose that moment to voice her displeasure at being ignored, her imperious baby demands echoing through the kitchen. Caleb immediately joined in, because heaven forbid his sister get all the attention.

“Our very loud children want pancakes,” I said against Lachlan’s chest.

“Then we better feed them before they stage a full revolt.”

By the time we got both twins settled with cut-up pancakes and fruit, the coffee was cold and we were both covered in syrup. Typical morning, really.

“I need to get them ready,” I said, checking the time. “Lark’s expecting us by nine.”

“About that.” Lachlan pulled out his phone. “Beckett asked if we could do dinner tonight. All of us, at Resting Warrior.”

“Sure. Everything okay with him?”

“More than okay, apparently.” Something in Lachlan’s voice made me look up. “He’s actually bringing her.”

“She’s good for him.” I thought about the woman who’d turned Beckett’s world upside down in ways none of us had expected. “Once you get past all the complications.”

“The complications almost got them both killed.”

“But they didn’t.” I reached over to squeeze his hand. “Sometimes the best things come from the most impossible situations.”

Lachlan lifted my hand to his lips. “Speaking from experience?”

“Maybe a little.”

Later, at Pawsitive Connections, I settled both twins into the double stroller while Lark updated me on the morning feeding schedule. The April air still held a leftover winter’s bite, but the sun was trying its best to warm things up.

“Duchess is being dramatic about her grain again,” Lark said, rolling her eyes. “I swear that horse holds grudges. She’s still mad I trimmed her mane last week.”

“I’ll sweet-talk her.” I adjusted Caleb’s blanket as he tried to grab his sister’s toy. “She never stays mad at me long.”

“Because you spoil her rotten with those carrots you sneak her.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

The twins started fussing, ready to be free of the stroller and explore. Lark helped me transfer them to the soft play area she’d set up in the barn’s heated office. Safe, contained, and visible through the window while I worked.

“Go on,” she said. “Duchess is waiting for her morning worship session. I mean grooming. Definitely meant grooming.”

The barn smelled like hay and horses and possibility. Six months ago, I’d collapsed right here, breaking apart at the sight of Duchess’s twins. Now, I drew strength from this place, from the work that kept my hands busy and my heart steady.

Duchess whinnied when she saw me, already stretching her neck over the stall door for attention. Her twins—not so little anymore at six months—watched from the paddock, all long legs and attitude.

“Morning, beautiful,” I murmured, running my hand along her neck. “Hear you’re being difficult about breakfast.”

She nudged my pocket, checking for contraband carrots. Some things never changed.

As I groomed her, I found myself thinking about tonight’s dinner. About Beckett and his new woman. About how we’d all found our way through darkness to something better. Not perfect—perfect was for fairy tales. But real and solid and worth fighting for.

“Mama!”

I turned to see Lark holding Sadie up to the office window, my daughter’s face pressed against the glass in delight. Caleb was probably trying to climb something he shouldn’t.

My children. Both of them. Here and safe and loved.

The adoption papers were just a formality. These babies had been Lachlan’s from the moment he’d held them. Had been ours from that first night we’d sat in the rocking chair, planning how to bring Sadie home.

But having it legal, official, recognized by the same system that could have torn us apart—that meant something too.

I waved at Sadie through the window, laughing when she smacked the glass in response. Duchess nudged me again, demanding attention.

“I know, I know. You’re the real baby here.”

Tonight, we’d gather with our chosen family, all of us survivors in our own ways. We’d eat too much and laugh too loud and celebrate whatever happiness Beckett had found. The twins would be passed around like the treasures they were, spoiled by too many aunts and uncles.

And tomorrow, we’d do it all again. Messy mornings and scattered Cheerios and work that filled my soul.

It wasn’t the life I’d imagined, but it was the life I’d fought for.

And it was perfect.