Page 59 of Promised to the Cowboy

He smiles. “You.”

She dissolves into laughter, clutching his arm for balance.

I can’t help but laugh with her.

Kitty’s joy seems to spill into every corner of the room, bright and completely unselfconscious, and I find myself thinking how close the world came to losing that light. A poisoned well. One drink too many from the wrong tap, and this tiny woman with the enormous smile almost never laughed again.

My gaze drifts to Luna.

She catches me looking and offers that same quiet, steady smile from earlier. The faint, silvery scars disappearing beneath the collar of her shirt are almost hidden now. A reminder of the barn fire that almost claimed her life.

I look around the kitchen. Ben bounces his grandson on his knee. Shay steals a kiss from Henry as she passes him another dish. Tom pretends to grumble while Kitty laughs at him.

And Gabriel, watching all of them with that quiet affection he rarely puts into words.

These aren’t stories anymore.

They’re people. People someone tried to destroy.

And somehow, despite everything, they’ve chosen laughter anyway.

The back door opens again.

“We’re here,” Ethan calls.

He steps inside first, Jenna tucked against his side. Daniel follows with a casserole dish balanced in one hand, while Delaney comes in behind him carrying two bulging tote bags that almost certainly contain enough supplies to survive the apocalypse.

Jacob is last.

He pauses just inside the doorway, brushing the dust from his boots before he looks up. His gaze finds Gabriel first. For the briefest moment, an emotion I can’t name passes between them.

Gabriel gives the smallest nod.

Jacob returns it.

It isn’t much. A lifetime of things left unsaid, compressed into a nod.

But I do.

Then Jacob looks at me and the corners of his mouth soften. “Afternoon, Evie.”

Sadness lingers in his eyes, not fresh or sharp, but something older that’s settled deep.

Delaney appears beside me. “How are you feeling?”

“Good.”

“Morning sickness?”

“Mostly gone.”

“Heartburn?”

“A little.”

She pulls a small notebook from her jeans pocket and scribbles something down.

I stare. “Are you writing this down?”