Page 41 of Daddy's Heart

"Yeah," he agrees, pressing his forehead against mine. "I am. But I'm your idiot."

"Damn right, you are." I cup his face in my hands. "And you're not getting rid of me that easily."

"Good," he says, kissing me again. "Because I'm never letting you go."

Twelve

Emery

Two days later...

"Mama!"

Legend's voice cuts through the parking lot like a fire alarm made of pure joy. I don’t even see him at first—I justfeelhim. That sound slices right through my chest, and suddenly my arms are bracing for the incoming blur of elbows and sticky hands.

Then he’s on me, full throttle, all limbs and peanut-butter breath, and I’m laughing before I even think about it, spinning him around while he giggles like I’ve just rescued him from the moon.

"Hi, baby," I breathe into the crook of his neck. He smells like sunshine, dirt, and graham crackers—the full childhood trifecta. "I missed you so much."

"I missed you too!" he says in one long exhale, already wriggling to be let down. "Grandpop let me feed the chickens—one of thempooped—and Grandmama let me make cookiesbymyselfand I didn’t even burn them! Then we watched movies with popcorn and I only spilled it twice!"

He stops to inhale and looks up at me, eyes bright. “Are we going home now?”

“We are.”

I take his hand and turn toward my grandparents, who are standing by their car, watching us like they’ve just witnessed a Hallmark commercial come to life. Grandmama's got that soft smile that means she’s already planning a scrapbook page in her head, and Grandpop just nods like,yep, we kept him alive another weekend.

“Thanks for bringing him,” I say, already bracing for the stories.

Grandmama pulls me into a hug that smells like cinnamon and fabric softener. “Our pleasure, sweetheart. He’s just the best.”

“Speak for yourself,” Grandpop chimes in. “This one had me up at 5:45 asking for pancakes shaped like ‘realistic police cruisers.’ He’s got standards, apparently.”

Legend tugs on my hand. “Mama, can we play cops and robbers when we get home? I’ll be the good guy again. You can be the sneaky robber.”

“We’ll see,” I say, which is mom-code foryes, but please let me pee first.

And then—I hear it. That low, unmistakable growl of a truck engine behind me. My stomach tightens before I even turn.

Colt.

He pulls into the spot next to mine like something out of a country song—the kind that makes you roll your eyes but secretly hum along. His black pickup is spotless (which makes me irrationally angry, because who has time to keep a truck that clean?), and he steps out like he's walking onto a damn movieset. Boots shining, uniform crisp, and that badge flashing just enough to saydon’t test me, son.

I told him my grandparents were dropping Legend off today. I just wasn’t sure he’d actually show. It’s one thing to say you’re ready for a kid, another thing entirely to meet him in real life—with chicken poop stories and pancake demands.

“Sheriff Boone,” I say, trying to sound calm and not like I’m two seconds from breaking out in hives.

“Ma’am.” He nods, eyes landing on mine for a beat before they drop to the small human now glued to my leg.

"And you must be Legend."

Legend eyes him suspiciously, like he's checking for a hidden agenda. “Are you arealpoliceman?”

“I am.”

Colt squats down, making himself smaller, more human. Smart move. Three-year-olds are natural interrogators and willsmell your fear.

“I’m Sheriff Colt. Your mama’s told me all about you.”

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