I shifted him so the warmth from my body would bleed through the fleece and keep him down for another hour or two.
Liam stared at the baby, but not in the way I’d expected. Not like a man weighing the cost of what he’d given up or even what he might get back. It was more scientific than sentimental—a cataloging, a memorization, as if he was prepping himself for a lineup later.
“He looks like you,” he said, but his tone left the question open.
I grinned, didn’t show teeth. “That’s what everyone keeps saying.”
He nodded, once. Then he picked up the mug, sipped, and said, “I almost turned back, you know. Twice.”
I let that sit, and then I asked, “Why didn’t you?”
He met my eyes, and for a second I saw something like the man from the photo in the letter—tired, but not out. “You told me once you never run from a problem you can just drive around,” he said. “Figured I’d take the scenic route.”
It was the first time all night he’d come close to a joke. I laughed, quiet, and the sound made the baby stir and resettle.
Liam finished his tea, set the mug down, and folded his hands together. The tremor was gone now. He squared his shoulders, and I recognized the move—not submission, but the prepping for a fight, or maybe just a confession.
I braced for it.
He said, “Thank you. For keeping him safe.”
Not much, but enough.
I nodded, and the clock on the microwave clicked over to midnight.
We were still there, two men and a sleeping baby, when the woodstove finally ran out of noise and left only the breathing of the house to fill the silence.
It took him a few more minutes to get to the talking part. I didn’t rush him, just let the time go soft at the edges, like the heat around the woodstove. The kitchen clock clunked through every second, the tick so loud it sounded like it belonged to another house entirely.
Liam watched the baby, then the woodstove, then the grain of the table, as if looking anywhere but at me. I could see him winding up, picking an entry point for whatever it was he’d come to unload.
He started in the middle, which was classic. “They posted my picture to three different community boards,” he said, voice low enough that the baby wouldn’t have woken even if he was listening. “Not me, technically. My old work badge photo. The lawyer wrote up a whole thing—‘concerned family, missing, last seen near Casper.’” He picked at a splinter in the table, worrying it loose and then setting it gently aside.
I didn’t say anything. Just waited.
He licked his lips, took another run at it. “I wore a coat from the donation bin at the gas station. Not even close to my size. I kept the hood up, even when it wasn’t snowing. I mapped two different routes and changed cars three times. I stopped in Cody for an hour because there was a rumor she—Eleanor—had a spotter at the westbound junction.” He paused, let the words settle. “Nobody followed, but you can never be sure.”
He didn’t go for the big reveal, the moment where a man might look up and ask for help or sympathy. He just rolled on, matter-of-fact: “There was a post up on the main page for two days before someone took it down.” He glanced at me then, just a flicker, not quite meeting my eyes. “That’s how I found out she was using the lawyers already.”
The kettle let out a low hiss as it cooled. I was surprised at how much of this I already knew, or had guessed. Maybe Rawley’s paranoia was contagious.
He picked up his mug, hands steadier now, and drained it. “I made it here with one stop, but I wasn’t sure the car would make it up the drive without someone noticing.” His mouth twitched up at the corner. “Should have worn better shoes.”
I nodded. “You did good.” There was no right thing to say, so I just said the thing that was true.
He looked at me, really looked, like he was trying to determine if I was just saying it to fill the air. “She’s not going to stop,” he said. “You know that, right?”
I did. But I also knew what kind of stopping power a pissed-off ranch full of ex-military weirdos and queer farmhands could generate. “She’s not going to find him here,” I said, and I let the certainty stand. No softening, no promise I couldn’t cash.
He stared at me, and there was a moment where something behind his eyes flickered, then reset. Not surprise—more like confirmation.
“Sheridan?” he asked.
“Sheridan,” I confirmed. “Her people were seen at the feed store. Rawley’s got runners on every road out of town. Even the goats know to keep their heads down.”
That got a sound from him. Not laughter, not quite, but a soft snort that let me know I’d bought him another minute of peace.
He leaned back, looked at Emilio, then at me, and said, “I don’t think I’m ever going to be able to thank you enough.”
