Page 65 of Wings
"Fifteen minutes," she repeated, already pulling my shirt over her head. "Don't leave without me!"
"Never," I promised, and meant it.
The Harley's engine ticked as it cooled in the empty parking area, just us and one dusty Subaru. This felt perfect. Kiara sat pressed against my back, arms still wrapped tight around my waist like she wasn't quite ready to let go. The picnic basket balanced on her lap, secured by bungee cords that had taken me ten minutes to get right.
"We're here, baby girl." I kicked the stand down, feeling her shift behind me.
"It's so pretty!" She was already craning to see around me, voice bright with wonder. "Look at all the flowers! Are those lupines? The purple ones?"
I helped her off first, hands spanning her waist as I lifted her clear. The yellow sundress fluttered in the morning breeze, daisies dancing across the fabric. Her sandaled feet hit the gravel with a little bounce, like she couldn't contain the energy thrumming through her.
"Steady." But I was smiling, watching her spin in a slow circle to take it all in.
The meadow stretched before us like something from her coloring books—purple lupines mixed with orange California poppies, patches of wild mustard adding splashes of yellow. The trail entrance was marked by a wooden sign, worn smooth by weather and time. Beyond that, pine trees promised shade and secrets.
"Can I?" She gestured at the flowers growing right up to the parking area's edge, already gravitating toward them.
"In a minute." I unstrapped the picnic basket, testing its weight. She'd added something when I wasn't looking—the container had a suspicious rattle that sounded like colored pencils. "Let me just—"
"Daddy!" Her gasp cut me off, finger pointing at a smaller sign I'd noticed on the website. "Butterfly Garden, half a mile! Can we go? Please please please?"
The excitement in her voice was everything I'd hoped for. Three days of worry, of second-guessing, of apologizing for things that weren't her fault—all of it falling away as she bounced on her toes.
"That's the plan, angel." I snagged the basket in one hand, held out the other. "Come on."
The trail wound through tall grass that whispered against our legs. Morning sun warmed my shoulders, brought out the scent of pine and wildflowers and that particular smell of wild places. Clean. Untouched. Nothing like the oil and exhaust of Ironridge.
Kiara stopped every dozen feet. First for a patch of Indian paintbrush—"Look how red!"—then for an interesting rock that might have mica in it. A lizard sunning on a boulder required a full minute of silent observation. When a blue butterfly danced past, she actually squeaked.
"He's showing us the way," she declared, tugging me forward. "Following the butterfly path."
I let her lead, content to watch her explore. This was what I'd wanted—to see her lost in simple joy, forgetting everything but the moment. No hypervigilance, no checking over her shoulder, no apologies bubbling up every time she spoke.
"Daddy?" She'd stopped at a cluster of wild roses, breathing in their scent. "This must have taken so much planning."
"Worth it." I shifted the basket to my other hand, reaching out to tuck escaped hair behind her ear. "You've been so brave this week. So strong. But I could see the weight you were carrying."
Her face fell slightly. "I'm sorry—"
"No." I cut her off firmly. "That's not what this is about. You did everything right, baby girl. You were perfect."
"But—"
"This is all for you." I gestured at the trail, the flowers, the promise of butterflies ahead. "Because my brave girl told Daddy the truth even when it was scary. Good girls who are honest get special rewards."
Her eyes went soft, that particular look that meant she was sinking into our dynamic. "Rewards?"
"So many rewards." I started walking again, drawing her along.
She went quiet for a moment, processing. Then: "I love you."
"Love you too, angel."
The trail curved, following a small stream that gurgled over smooth stones. She had to investigate that too, crouching carefully in her dress to peer at minnows darting through the shallows. I stood guard, basket at my feet, watching her wonder at tiny fish like they were treasure.
This. This was what we were protecting when we ran supplies to injured brothers. This was why the Heavy Kings existed—to carve out spaces where innocence could survive. Where beautiful girls could chase butterflies without fear.
"Oh!" She shot upright, pointing ahead. "I hear water! Bigger water!"
