Page 29 of Stolen Hearts

Rhae took out a jar of baby food and a rubbery spoon. She also dumped a handful of Cheerios on the tray for the baby to feed herself. Denver watched all this.

“You look like I’m dealing with a matter of national security.”

He reached out a hand. “Can I try to feed her?”

Touched deeply, she passed him the spoon. He read the label of the baby food jar. “Mushy mush.”

She laughed. “It doesn’t say that.”

“Might as well.” He gave the grayish pink goo a dubious look before sniffing it. “Smells like fruit.”

“Because it is, silly. Navy loves it.”

He scooped up a big spoonful and before he could get it to Navy’s mouth, she grabbed his hand and guided it to her eager lips. They laughed again and soon he got the hang of feeding her, taking intermittent bites of his own meal.

Companionable silence settled over them. After a while, Denver cleared his throat. “You know…I’d like to hold a family meeting.”

Rhae raised a brow. “A meeting?”

He nodded. “And I want you there, Rhae. You and Navy.”

The weight of his words was an anchor in her chest. She knew what he meant by it—inclusion, commitment.

“Then we’ll be there,” she said softly.

His smile was slow, but it reached his eyes.

In that moment, Rhae knew. This was the beginning of something stronger. Not perfect…not easy. But real.

And just like Denver didn’t know where he stood in a world without his SEAL team, she didn’t exactly know where she stood with him.

But she would fight like hell to keep it.

* * * * *

The Malone family living room was nothing like Denver remembered from his years growing up. Then, the house was a place to avoid, a dark tomb ruled by his father, complete with the iron fist.

Now, it was a blend of warm light, lived-in charm, and history carved into every corner. Pictures lined the walls, new photos placed there with Willow’s eye to detail. Others were older and sun-faded but still proudly displayed.

Fluffy pillows lined the oversized leather couches, and a knit blanket, fraying but loved, draped over the recliner no one dared move from its sacred corner. The one they used to curl up in with their ma, who was gone too soon from their world.

Denver stood near the hearth, hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans. Despite his calm demeanor, his heart thudded against his ribs.

His brothers and their ladies—girlfriends, fiancées and even wives—sat scattered around the room. Carson leaned forward, elbows on knees, his throat visibly working. At his side, Layne’s eyes were huge, as if she already knew what to expect from any gathering with so many Malones involved.

Oaks sat next to Shiloh, their fingers laced together. Colt had his arm stretched along the back of the couch behind Aspen. Gray had Honor tucked close beside him, one thoughtful fist pressed to his mouth like it was the only thing holding his words in.

Willow perched on the ottoman like she always did during serious talks, eyes sharp, scanning faces like she was cataloging reactions for later analysis.

Denver didn’t know how to begin. But the silence stretching longer and longer was starting to make everyone lean in with concern.

“You remember the tree?” he said finally, voice rough.

Colt blinked. “Which one?”

“The one I fell out of. I passed out cold. You guys carried me home. I think I was four.”

Oaks winced. “You split your head open. Mom cried more than you did.”

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