Page 50 of Daddy's Heart

Colt hugs him so tightly, I half-expect the bow tie to pop off again.

“You were perfect, buddy. Absolutely perfect.”

Legend turns to me, wide-eyed. “Mama, did you cry too?”

I nod, swiping at my cheeks. “Happy tears, baby. The very best kind.”

Two hours later we’re in Jack and Delaney’s driveway, shoving overnight bags and three car seats into the back of their SUV like we’re playing emotional Tetris.

“You’resurethis isn’t too much?” I ask Delaney for the third time.

She rolls her eyes, smiling. “Emma’s been begging for a sleepover with her cousins for weeks. And Jack’s already in pajamas and emotionally prepared.”

Jack snorts. “Speak for yourself. Ruby gave me the stink eye when I adjusted her seat. I think she’s planning a coup. But Colt gave me one of his tree carvings to guard the entrance to my mountain, so we’re all square.”

“Colt’s been secretive about this night forweeks,” Delaney says, buckling Mason into his seat with practiced speed. “You guys go. We’ve got this.”

Colt reappears behind me, hands sliding around my waist. “I’ll have that eagle sculpture done for you next week.” Jack nods.

“Awesome, brother. Thanks for fitting us in, I know you’re Mr. Big Shot now making those things for all the fancy pants ranches out in Montana or Telluride or wherever the fuck you’re shipping them.”

“Welcome, asshole.” Colt shakes his head as Jack flips him off, disappearing with Delany. His little chainsaw carving as become quite the little business. He got featured on the cover of Montana Monthly after someone bought one of his carved Grizzly bears that he had up for sale in town at one of the fairs.

Turns out, the guy that bought it was some big shot western and folk-art collector. After that, the orders started rolling in and Colt quadruples his prices. I love when he comes in covered in sawdust with that gleam in his eyes, dragging me outside to show me his newest creation.

“I’ve got one surprise left,” he murmurs. “And no, it doesn’t involve matching pajamas or bedtime stories.”

I smirk. “Is it wine and silence?”

“Better.”

“Better than wine and silence? That’s a bold claim, Boone.”

He grins. “Trust me?”

I lean back against him and sigh. “Always.”

We wave goodbye to the kids and the rest of the Boone circus, who are still wrangling diaper bags, snack wrappers, and a toddler who may or may not have taken her pants off. Colt laces his fingers through mine and leads me to his truck. Not the official sheriff’s vehicle, thank God, but his personal pickup. It still smells like pine trees and motor oil and him.

“So,” I say, sliding into the passenger seat and giving him the side-eye. “You planning to murder me in the woods, or...?”

“You’ll see.” His grin is maddening.

He takes us out of town, onto those winding mountain roads I’ve grown to love, the kind that wrap around the ridges like ribbon and smell like earth and freedom. I assume we’re heading toward the cabin—our cabin—but instead he veers off down a gravel road I’ve never seen before.

“Colt...”

“Patience, baby girl.” He says it like he knows that’s the exact opposite of what I have.

After twenty minutes of silence and increasing suspicion, punctuated by one very suspicious deer that stared at us like it knew what was coming, he pulls off to the side of the road.There’s nothing around us but trees, silence, and that soft hum that comes with being deep in the middle of nowhere.

I glance around, eyebrows raised. “Are we... broken down? Or is this adeliverancesituation?”

Colt doesn’t answer. Instead, he gets out, rounds the truck, and opens my door with exaggerated formality. I squint at him, and that’s when I see it. He’s put on his sheriff’s hat, and something in his expression has shifted. Gone is the playful dad-husband look, replaced by something darker. Intent. Amused. Slightly dangerous in thattake-me-to-church-and-confessionkind of way.

“Ma’am,” he says, voice gone full Sheriff Boone. “I’m gonna need you to step out of the vehicle.”

Oh, we’redoing this.

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