Page 204 of Knotting the Cowboys

"Is growing the next generation," I interject, hands cradling my belly. "And managing the Foundation. Ensuring Celeste's vision stays centered in everything we do."

"You've become pillars of this community," Pearl observes, her ancient eyes bright with approval. "From refugees to leaders in less than a year. That's the Sweetwater Falls magic—we recognize quality when it shows up on our doorstep."

As the afternoon shadows lengthen and the crowd begins to disperse, I find myself back at the podium, looking out over what we've built. The buildings stand strong against the mountain backdrop, purpose-built for healing. Gardens already take shapebetween structures, Wendolyn's contribution to creating beauty alongside function.

The whole property hums with potential, with promise, with the peculiar energy of dreams made manifest through community effort and stubborn refusal to let trauma win.

"We did it," I whisper, not sure if I'm talking to my pack, to Celeste's memory, or to the twins swimming inside me.

"No," Cole corrects gently, his arms wrapping around me from behind. "We're doing it. Present tense. This is just the beginning."

He's right. Tomorrow, the real work begins. Lives to shelter, stories to hold, healing to facilitate. But today—today we celebrate the audacity of hoping, the courage of building, the miracle of turning our worst moments into someone else's lifeline.

The sun paints everything golden as the last guests depart, and I swear I can smell roses on the breeze.

The blanket beneath us has seen better days—worn soft from countless picnics, stained with memories of Luna's first attempts at self-feeding, one corner permanently wrinkled from the time River used it to wrap an injured fawn. But here on the highest hill of our ranch, with the Rockies painted in shades of amber and rose by the setting sun, it feels like the finest tapestry ever woven.

I lean back against Cole's chest, his solid warmth the perfect support for my aching back. The twins have been particularly active today, probably inspired by all the ceremony excitement,and every position except this one—surrounded by my pack—seems to make them practice their eventual soccer careers against my ribs.

"Comfortable?" Cole murmurs against my ear, his arms adjusting to better support my weight. His hands span my belly with protective tenderness, feeling each movement of the lives we've created together.

"Perfect," I assure him, though comfortable might be stretching the truth at eight months pregnant with twins. But comfort is relative, and being held by Cole while our family spreads around us transcends any physical discomfort.

Luna sits in my lap, her small weight barely noticeable compared to my passenger load. She's abandoned her fancy ceremony dress for her favorite overalls—the ones with embroidered stars that Austin found at a craft fair. Her attention fixes on the sky with that intensity she brings to everything, those impossible mismatched eyes tracking the first brave stars emerging in the darkening canvas above.

River sits to our left, guitar across his lap, fingers finding quiet melodies that blend with the evening breeze. He's not playing any particular song, just letting the music flow like water over stones, creating a soundtrack for our sunset that feels both improvised and inevitable. The golden light catches in his dark hair, and when he glances up to smile at us, I see none of the haunted shadows that used to live in his eyes.

"See that bright one?" Austin points from his position on our right, tracing patterns in the sky for Luna's benefit. "That's Venus. Not actually a star at all, but a planet like Earth. Just reflects the sun's light so brightly we can see it before full dark."

"Venus!" Luna attempts, though it comes out more like "Veenus." She points with chubby fingers, delighted by this new word. "Pretty star-planet!"

"Exactly right, clever girl." Austin's praise makes her beam, and she settles deeper into my lap to await the next astronomical revelation. He's endlessly patient with her questions, her mispronunciations, her toddler logic that makes perfect sense in her developing mind.

Maverick maintains his post slightly apart from our tight cluster, but still within arm's reach. Even here, in our safest space with no threats for miles, his instincts keep him partially alert. But I can see the relaxation in his shoulders, the way his usual rigid posture has softened into something approaching peace. His eyes scan the property below—the main house, the new Foundation buildings, the paddocks where River's therapy horses graze—with satisfaction rather than suspicion.

"All quiet?" I ask him, knowing he needs the acknowledgment that his vigilance is noticed, appreciated.

"All perfect," he corrects, allowing himself a small smile. "Perimeter secure, motion sensors functioning, and approximately zero threats unless you count the rabbit trying to breach the garden fence."

"The criminal," River murmurs with mock severity, fingers never pausing in their guitar exploration. "Shall we post wanted posters?"

"Luna make poster!" our girl offers enthusiastically. "Draw bad bunny!"

The laughter that ripples through our group is easy, unforced, the kind that comes from deep contentment rather than humor. These are the moments that heal us—not the grand gestures or dramatic rescues, but the quiet evenings when we're just a family watching the sky change colors.

"Did you ever imagine we'd end up here?" Cole asks, his breath warm against my neck. The question seems prompted by nothing and everything—the view, the peace, the impossible journey from that first fire to this moment.

I consider the question, watching the sun sink lower toward the mountain peaks. "When you pulled me from that burning house? No. I couldn't imagine anything beyond the next breath, the next day without Blake finding me." My hand covers his on my belly. "But maybe some part of me hoped. Even then, covered in soot and terror, some tiny voice said 'these men are different.'"

"We were already yours," River says quietly, his music gentling to match the moment. "From that first night. Just took us a while to figure it out."

"Took Celeste to show us," Austin adds, and her name brings the familiar bittersweet ache. "Her trust in us, even when trusting seemed impossible—that changed everything."

"Made us a pack," Maverick contributes from his watchpost. "Gave us purpose beyond ourselves."

Luna yawns hugely, the excitement of the day finally catching up with her. She turns in my lap, burrowing against my chest with the boneless trust of a secure child.

"Sing, Mama?" she requests sleepily.

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