Page 117 of The SEAL's Duchess
“Very romantic.” Sarah’s mouth twitched.
“Maybeyoushould try it sometime.”
“Please.” She waved him off. “I’m hardly the hearts-and-flowers type.”
Ellie tugged on Sarah’s belt. “Tantie. El-Lo.”
Sarah dropped to her knees and tweaked Ellie’s nose. “Hello, button. Smells like you’ve been making pancakes.”
“Yes. Eye-vee. Me help.”
Sarah’s gaze flicked Ryder. “Ivy’s been busy.”
Ryder knew that look. Had been on the receiving end of it his whole life. Sarah was checking. Making sure this was real. That Ivy wasn’t here out of obligation, gratitude or some misguidedsense of debt. Ensuring she wouldn’t have to pick up the pieces when it all fell apart.
Ivy joined them in the living room. She met Sarah’s eyes directly, shoulders square, and slid her arm around Ryder’s waist.
“We’re happy,” Ivy said. Quiet but firm. “If that’s what you’re wondering, despite the mountain of visa paperwork I’m working through right now.”
Sarah studied her for a long moment. Her expression softened in a way Ryder rarely saw outside of family moments.
“I’m glad. Really glad.” She jerked a thumb at Ryder. “He’s a pain in the ass, but he’s a good man. You’re good for him. For both of them.”
Ivy’s throat worked. “He’s good for me too.”
“Yeah,” Sarah said quietly. “I know.”
For the first time, his sister didn’t look at him like a man holding himself together with duct tape.
Sarah had spent three years watching him struggle and parent alone while insisting he didn’t need help. Seeing him close himself off because letting someone in risked Ellie’s heart as much as his own.
And now she was standing in his living room giving her blessing to the woman who’d changed everything.
“Well.” Sarah angled her hands on her hips. “Dinner’s at six Sunday. Mom’s making pot roast.”
“We’ll be there,” Ryder replied.
“Good. Because if you don’t show, she’ll drive over here, and you know she has opinions about your kitchen organization.” She glanced around. “Although it looks better than usual. Ivy?”
“I, um, reorganized the spice cabinet.” Ivy blushed. “I’ve had some spare time.”
“Alphabetically?”
“Frequency of use.”
Sarah gave a low whistle. “Mom will love you even more than she already does.”
She headed toward the door, then paused. “Oh—you should know. We got him.”
Ryder straightened. “The guy from the rig?”
“Bill Hainsworth. Picked him up in Anchorage two days ago. Between your description and Jack’s testimony, we had enough for an arrest. We coordinated with the FBI and CGIS on the arrest. Hainsworth’s talking now, and Sinclair’s facing federal charges.”
For a moment he smelled the oil and salt, the vibration of metal tearing apart in his fingertips.
Then, Ivy’s hand tightened on his, and the memory was gone. “And Sinclair?”
“Federal charges. Conspiracy, attempted murder, corporate fraud. He won’t see daylight for twenty years.” Sarah’s expression went hard. “They left you both to die. We’ll make sure they answer for it.”
