Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 24910 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 125(@200wpm)___ 100(@250wpm)___ 83(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 24910 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 125(@200wpm)___ 100(@250wpm)___ 83(@300wpm)
Emma’s crouched by the edge of the clearing, showing our youngest son a butterfly that’s landed on her outstretched hand. Her red hair catches the light, turning it into a halo around her head, and her smile... God, that smile still knocks the breath out of me. I’ve seen her face a thousand different ways—angry, laughing, lost in concentration behind her camera—but this, with our boys surrounding her and that soft, unguarded look in her eyes, it’s something I never thought I’d get to see.
Behind me, my brothers are lounging on the porch, doing what they do best—teasing me whenever they think they can get a rise. Holt nudges me with his boot, his grin as lazy as ever. “Look at you, Slate,” he drawls, taking a long pull from his beer. “Mister Family Man, all domesticated and whatnot. Never thought I’d see the day.”
I roll my eyes, but I can’t help the smile that tugs at my mouth. “Yeah, well, things change, don’t they?” I shoot back, taking a sip of my own beer. The cool bite of it is a welcome relief against the heat, but my gaze drifts back to Emma, watching as she guides our middle son’s hands over the grass, showing him how to hold a frog without hurting it. My chest tightens with a warmth I never expected to feel again, something too big, too real to ignore.
Zane props his feet up on the porch railing, leaning back in his chair. “Who would’ve thought? Slate Warner, wrapped around three little fingers. And a fourth, if you count Emma.” He winks, and the other brothers chuckle, the sound rumbling through the air like distant thunder.
I shake my head, adjusting my grip on the beer bottle, my shoulders relaxing as I watch Emma with our kids. “You guys just don’t get it. Not until it happens to you,” I mutter, but there’s no real bite in my words. Maybe I’ve softened over the years, but when I look at them—my family, my life—I know I wouldn’t change a damn thing.
Colt raises his beer in a mock toast, smirking at me. “Yeah, yeah. We’ll believe it when we see it. But don’t think we’re letting you off easy, Slate. You still owe me from last time we went fishing.”
I snort, turning to shoot him a grin. “You keep dreaming, Colt. I’m the one who caught the biggest trout that day, and you know it.”
The banter flows easy between us, a rhythm we’ve had for years, but my mind keeps drifting back to Emma, to the life we’ve built here on Devil’s Peak. As the sun dips lower, stretching shadows over the clearing, I excuse myself from the porch and wander down to where she’s still kneeling in the grass, brushing dirt off our youngest’s jeans as he chatters about the butterfly that’s just flown away.
I stop a few feet away, just watching for a moment, letting the sight of her sink in. The way she moves, the way she smiles at the boys, the way she fits into this place like she was always meant to be here... It’s enough to make my heart stutter, even after all these years. The breeze catches a strand of her hair, lifting it, and she looks up, catching me staring.
A slow, playful smile tugs at her lips, her eyebrow arching in that way that always gets under my skin. “What, you just going to stand there staring at us, Slate Warner?” she teases, her voice light, but there’s an edge of something deeper in her eyes—something that makes my pulse jump.
I step closer, sliding an arm around her waist, pulling her against my side. Her body fits against mine like it was made to be there, warm and solid, the way it always has. “Can you blame me? Best view in the whole damn valley,” I murmur, my voice rough around the edges with everything I feel for her, everything I can’t put into words.
She laughs, the sound vibrating through me, and she leans into me, her hand slipping into my back pocket, giving a little tug that sends a shiver straight through me. “Flatterer. But don’t think that means you’re off the hook for bath time tonight.”
I grunt, pressing a kiss to the top of her head, my lips brushing against the soft scent of her hair. “Yeah, yeah. You know I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Our boys come barreling past us, racing each other back toward the lodge, their laughter trailing behind them like music. I watch them go, squeezing Emma’s waist, my voice dropping lower, more serious. “You know, sometimes I think about what would’ve happened if you hadn’t come back, if we hadn’t—”
She cuts me off, pressing a finger to my lips, her expression softening, her eyes shining with that steady love I’ve come to depend on. “No more what-ifs, Slate. We made it through all that. And we’re here now. That’s what matters.”