The stew is probably burning.
The horses are still tied to the rail.
The world hasn’t magically made everything right.
But Janey is still here. She has chosen this home, our child, and this impossible love we’re no longer pretending we can live without.
And as she presses one trembling hand to her belly, I cover it with mine.
Whatever comes next, we’ll handle it like a family.
Chapter 22
Janey
The house feels different after my parents leave.
The air still feels thick with everything we said out on the porch. Every word echoes inside me, like a bell that won’t stop ringing. I keep seeing my mother’s face, my father’s pain, and hearing my own voice saying things I never thought I’d have the courage to say.
My legs shake so badly I almost stumble on the first step.
Mason catches me at once, his arm banding around my waist. “Easy, sweetheart.”
“I’m okay,” I whisper, but the words come out thin.
Brookes is on my other side, his hand warm at the small of my back. “You don’t have to be okay yet.”
The gentleness in his voice nearly undoes me.
They guide me inside with their big bodies close around mine, like they’re afraid the whole world might come crashing through the door after us. The house smells likebeef stew and fresh bread, rich and warm and, after everything that happened, painfully domestic.
The pot still simmers on the stove.
I stare at it for a second, strangely dazed. “I forgot about dinner.”
Mason looks toward the stove, then back at me, his mouth softening. “Dinner can wait.”
“No.” My voice shakes. “I don’t want to wait. I just… I want normality, even if it’s for a minute. And you’ve been working all day. You need to eat.”
Brookes’s expression softens, the fierce protectiveness easing into tenderness. “Then normal is what you get.”
Mason pulls out a chair at the big wooden table. “Sit down, sweetheart. You’ve had a hell of a night. Let us take care of you.”
I sink into the chair gratefully. My body feels wrung out, but my mind is still spinning. I can still hear Mom’s voice. Still see the flash of betrayal on her face when Dad asked if Mason and Brookes were good to me.
Are they good to you?
The answer had been so easy.
Yes.
They’re good to me in every way that matters.
Brookes moves quickly around the kitchen, filling bowls with stew while Mason slices the fresh bread I baked earlier. Cabinet doors open, spoons clink, and the kettle starts to hum as Mason puts water on for tea. They work together like they always do and this time, I get to watch.
With broad capable shoulders, worn jeans, and sun-browned hands, they’re cowboys who can mend fences, break horses, calm nightmares, and make me feel like the most precious thing they’ve ever held.
Brookes sets a steaming bowl in front of me, then bends to kiss the top of my head.
