I stretched against him. Every muscle humming. "Not bad, Blackwood."
"Notbad? Afterthat?"
"I'm a tough critic."
"You're going to kill me, Callie Monroe."
"Noted."
We puttered. That was the only word for it — we puttered around the campsite like two people playing house on a mountain. He got the fire going, and I wrapped myself in a blanket and curled up in my chair and watched the valley emerge from the mist, silver and gold, the kind of morning that felt like the world was starting over.
He made my tea. He'd packed it — the Earl Grey, the good tin from my kitchen. I didn't know when he'd taken it. I didn't care. I wrapped both hands around the tin cup and closed my eyes, and the warmth of it and the smell of it and the sound of him cooking eggs behind me was the closest thing to perfect I'd ever experienced.
"Bacon's almost done," he said.
"I could stay here forever."
"Say the word."
We ate breakfast with our shoulders touching and the fire popping and the mist burning off below. His hand on my knee. My head on his shoulder. The kind of silence that doesn't need filling because it's already full.
"What time is it?" I asked. Not because I wanted to know.
He checked his phone. "Eleven-fifteen."
"And the handover's at —"
"Four."
My shoulders went up. Just an inch. The familiar tightening, the internal clock starting its countdown — the one that lived in my body like a second heartbeat, ticking down to giving her back.
Clay didn't sayit'll be fine.Didn't sayshe'll be okay.Didn't try to fix it or counsel me through it.
He put his hand on the back of my neck. The same spot. The same steady pressure.
"I see you," he said. "And I'm here."
I leaned into his hand. Breathed.
"We should pack up," I said.
"I'll come back later to clean up. Let's just ride down and get our girl."
Our girl.I looked at him. He hadn't even hesitated.
I kissed him. Quick. Fierce. Tasting of Earl Grey and bacon and morning air.
We saddled the horses and rode down through the cedars, the light warm on our faces, and I held the reins with steady hands and thought:This is what safe feels like. This is what it was supposed to feel like all along.
Chapter 15
Callie
The gas station smelled like diesel and burnt coffee and the chemical sweetness of air freshener trying too hard.
I hated this place. The neutral ground — Savannah's term, the custody-agreement term, the clean legal language for a parking lot where I handed my daughter to a man who didn't deserve her and stood there watching taillights until the emptiness hit.
But today was the return. Today, the taillights were coming toward me.
