Page 181 of Knotting the Cowboys

"River, look at this." I wedge my fingernails into the gap, feeling the board give slightly. "It's loose, but differently than the others. Like it's meant to come up."

He leans closer, our shoulders touching as we both examine the spot. "You're right. It's been cut. See the edges? Too clean for a break."

Working together, we pry at the board until it lifts free with surprising ease. Beneath is a cavity in the floor, deliberately carved out, and nestled inside like a secret waiting to bediscovered is a wooden box. My breath catches as I recognize the craftsmanship—the same delicate rose pattern that decorates the kitchen cabinets, the bathroom mirror frame, all the little touches my grandfather added to make this house beautiful.

"Oh," River breathes, and the sound is pain and recognition combined. His hands shake as he reaches for the box. "Oh, Celeste."

"This was hers?" My voice comes out whispered, like speaking too loud might make the box disappear.

"She had it with her when she first came. Said it was the only thing she grabbed when she ran." River lifts the box with reverent care, cradling it like the precious thing it is. "I helped her find hiding spots for her important papers, but I never knew she'd hidden this."

My heart pounds as I watch him trace the rose pattern with one finger. This woman I never met but whose ghost shapes so much of our present, who loved these men and trusted them with her daughter but not all her secrets. Just like me.

"We should—" River starts, then swallows hard. "The others should be here."

I nod, understanding instinctively that this is a pack moment, not something to be discovered in isolation. "I'll get them."

But River's already calling out, his voice carrying that particular note of urgency that brings people running. "Cole! Mavi! Austin! You need to come here. Now."

The thunder of feet on stairs makes Luna look up from her horse-chewing project, eyes wide with interest. Cole appears first, taking in our positions on the floor and the box in River's hands with quick assessment.

"Is that—" He stops, recognition flooding his features. "Celeste's box."

Maverick and Austin crowd into the nursery behind him, Austin automatically moving to check on Luna before his attention catches on what we've found. The way their faces change—surprise to recognition to grief—tells me everything about how much this simple wooden box means.

"Where did you find it?" Austin asks, voice hushed as he scoops Luna from her playpen and settles cross-legged on the floor beside us. She immediately reaches for the box, drawn by that mysterious baby radar for things they shouldn't touch.

"Hidden under the floorboard," I explain, watching their faces. "River recognized it."

"She was always hiding things," Maverick says roughly, dropping to join our impromptu circle on the nursery floor. "Notes, pictures, anything that mattered. Said she learned not to keep precious things where they could be taken."

The words hit too close to home. How many times have I done the same, secreting away pieces of myself where Blake couldn't find them to destroy? Even here, even safe, I still hide my grandfather's letters under my mattress, still keep my mother's ring in a sock at the back of my drawer.

Cole kneels between River and me, his solid presence anchoring our little circle. "Should we—can we open it?"

River's hands tremble on the box lid. "She's gone. It's not violating anything if—she'd want us to know. She'd want Luna to have it."

"Then open it," Austin says softly, adjusting Luna on his lap so she can see. "Let's meet the parts of her she couldn't share while she was alive."

River lifts the lid with infinite care, as if the contents might evaporate if handled roughly. The scent that escapes is lavender and old paper, somehow still holding the essence of the woman who treasured these items enough to hide them beneath our feet.

Inside, everything is arranged with meticulous care. Bundles of letters tied with ribbon that might once have been purple but has faded to gray. A stack of Polaroid photos held together with a worn rubber band. A tiny hospital bracelet, the kind they put on newborns, so small it seems impossible Luna ever fit into it. And beneath it all, what looks like a journal, its cover worn soft with handling.

"Letters," River says unnecessarily, lifting the first bundle with shaking hands. "She wrote letters."

Luna makes a sound—not quite word, not quite babble—and reaches toward the papers with determined baby hands. River looks at her for a long moment, this child who carries her mother's eyes if not her coloring, then carefully unties the ribbon.

"If we're doing this," he says quietly, "we're doing it together. All of us."

I shift closer to Austin, who's managing Luna while she attempts to investigate everything at once. My hand finds his shoulder in silent support as River unfolds the first letter. The handwriting is careful, precise, like someone who learned that even words on paper could be used as weapons if you weren't cautious.

"My dear friends," River reads, voice already thick with emotion. "If you're reading this, then something has happened and you found my hiding spot. I hope it's because Luna was jumping on the bed and broke through the floor—she has your stubborn streak, Austin, I'm sure of it."

Austin makes a sound between laugh and sob, pressing a kiss to Luna's dark hair. She babbles something that sounds almost like agreement, still reaching for the letters with grabby hands.

River continues, his voice finding steadiness in the rhythm of Celeste's words. "I came to you broken, though I hid it well. That first night, when the storm drove me to your door and Coleanswered looking like he'd wrestle the thunder itself to keep it from frightening me—I knew I'd found something special. You didn't ask questions. Didn't demand explanations. Just offered soup and a warm bed and the kind of safety I'd forgotten existed."

I watch Cole's face crumple slightly, watch him fight to maintain composure. These strong men undone by words on a page, by the ghost of someone they couldn't save. My eyes burn but I blink back tears, needing to be present for this moment, to witness their grief and love tangled together like the faded ribbon in River's hands.

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