Page 37 of Forgiveness River

They returned to the tactical displays, where the family had gathered around a 3-D rendering of Blackwell’s hunting lodge. Tommy pointed out entry points while Duncan described the interior based on his memory from a charity event held there the previous year.

“The great room has twenty-foot ceilings with those floor-to-ceiling windows,” Duncan explained, his artist’s hands sketching quick details on a notepad. The artist’s eye that made him exceptional with a brush also made him exceptional at finding what others missed. “Beautiful for views, terrible for defense. Anyone inside is visible from three angles on the approach.”

“Unless the weather cooperates,” Hank noted, glancing toward the windows where clouds had begun gathering on the horizon. “Storm’s coming in. Could provide cover if it hits during the operation.”

“Or create complications with visibility and communication,” Colt countered. “We need to prepare for either scenario.”

Raven watched them work, these brothers who’d grown up racing through pine forests and building forts by the river, now using those same bonds and shared instincts to protect their own. The tactical discussion continued, but beneath the terminology and strategies, she sensed something else—the unshakable foundation of family that had withstood generations of challenges.

And she was part of it. Not just as Wyatt’s wife, but as herself—Raven O’Hara, a woman with her own strength and determination, her own stake in this fight.

“The communication hub will be here,” Blaze said, pointing to a diagram of the ranch house. “Secured lines, real-time updates, family protection detail with Tommy coordinating.”

“I’ll manage the comms,” Raven said, stepping forward. All eyes turned to her, and she felt Wyatt tense beside her. But she continued with confidence born of years running her own business. “I have experience coordinating multiple suppliers and shipments across time zones. Different context, same skill set. I can keep information flowing while you focus on the tactical elements.”

A moment of silence followed her offer. Then Tommy nodded, respect evident in his expression. “Makes sense. We need someone with a clear head who can prioritize incoming information and relay it to the right teams.”

“Are you sure?” Wyatt asked her quietly. Not challenging, not doubting—simply confirming.

“I’m sure,” she replied, meeting his gaze steadily. “I need to be part of this. Not as a liability to protect, but as an asset to utilize.”

Something shifted in his expression—pride, love, and a new respect all mingled together. He turned to the others. “Raven will coordinate from the command center here. She’ll be our central point of contact for all teams.”

The planning continued with renewed focus, roles assigned based on skills rather than sentiment. The O’Haras were known for their second chances. It was practically a family tradition.

Hours later, as the tactical gear was checked one final time and communication channels tested, Raven found herself alone with Wyatt in the kitchen. He stood by the window, watching the rain pattern against the glass, his profile outlined by the fading afternoon light.

“Penny for your thoughts,” she said softly, coming to stand beside him.

He turned, meeting her gaze. “I was thinking about the time mom made that pie and had you bring it outside. You weremaybe sixteen. And the dogs rushed you and you dropped it trying to dodge them.”

“And your brothers wrestled the dogs away and salvaged what they could,” she remembered, laughing despite the tension of the day. “And they still ate it. Colt said the five-second rule extended to ten for homemade desserts.”

“You’ve always fit in this family,” he said. “You’ve always belonged.”

Raven leaned toward him slightly, drawing strength from his presence. “We’re going to get through this,” she said, not a question but a statement of fact.

“Yes, we are,” he agreed. “And then we start rebuilding. For real this time.”

“No more motels on the outskirts of town?” she asked, a hint of their old teasing in her voice.

“No more anything that puts distance between us,” he promised, his expression serious despite her lightness. “When this is over, when Moss is in custody and the threat is eliminated, we start fresh. A clean slate.”

“Not clean,” she corrected gently. “I don’t want to erase what we’ve been through, Wyatt. The pain was real. The distance was real. We acknowledge it, learn from it, and build something stronger because of it.”

His smile was slow and warm, reaching his eyes in a way she hadn’t seen in too long. “When did you get so wise?”

“Somewhere between finding a motel receipt in your pocket and watching you take down three armed men to save me,” she replied with a small smile. “Turns out, mortal danger is clarifying.”

He sobered at the reminder of how close they’d come to losing each other. “About tomorrow,” he began.

“Don’t,” she interrupted, placing her fingers against his lips. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep. Don’t tell me you’ll becareful when we both know you’ll do whatever it takes to stop Moss.” She replaced her fingers with her lips, kissing him softly. “Just come back to me. That’s enough.”

The sound of multiple vehicles approaching interrupted the moment. Through the window, they saw the DEA convoy arriving, agents in tactical gear emerging into the light rain that had begun to fall.

“It’s time,” Wyatt said, reluctance evident in his voice.

Raven nodded, stepping back though their hands remained linked. “I’ll be right here. Your voice in the dark if you need it.”

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