Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 55305 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 277(@200wpm)___ 221(@250wpm)___ 184(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55305 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 277(@200wpm)___ 221(@250wpm)___ 184(@300wpm)
And as she presses one trembling hand to her belly, I cover it with mine.
Whatever comes next, we’ll handle it like a family.
Chapter 22
Janey
The house feels different after my parents leave.
The air still feels thick with everything we said out on the porch. Every word echoes inside me, like a bell that won’t stop ringing. I keep seeing my mother’s face, my father’s pain, and hearing my own voice saying things I never thought I’d have the courage to say.
My legs shake so badly I almost stumble on the first step.
Mason catches me at once, his arm banding around my waist. “Easy, sweetheart.”
“I’m okay,” I whisper, but the words come out thin.
Brookes is on my other side, his hand warm at the small of my back. “You don’t have to be okay yet.”
The gentleness in his voice nearly undoes me.
They guide me inside with their big bodies close around mine, like they’re afraid the whole world might come crashing through the door after us. The house smells like beef stew and fresh bread, rich and warm and, after everything that happened, painfully domestic.
The pot still simmers on the stove.
I stare at it for a second, strangely dazed. “I forgot about dinner.”
Mason looks toward the stove, then back at me, his mouth softening. “Dinner can wait.”
“No.” My voice shakes. “I don’t want to wait. I just… I want normality, even if it’s for a minute. And you’ve been working all day. You need to eat.”
Brookes’s expression softens, the fierce protectiveness easing into tenderness. “Then normal is what you get.”
Mason pulls out a chair at the big wooden table. “Sit down, sweetheart. You’ve had a hell of a night. Let us take care of you.”
I sink into the chair gratefully. My body feels wrung out, but my mind is still spinning. I can still hear Mom’s voice. Still see the flash of betrayal on her face when Dad asked if Mason and Brookes were good to me.
Are they good to you?
The answer had been so easy.
Yes.
They’re good to me in every way that matters.
Brookes moves quickly around the kitchen, filling bowls with stew while Mason slices the fresh bread I baked earlier. Cabinet doors open, spoons clink, and the kettle starts to hum as Mason puts water on for tea. They work together like they always do and this time, I get to watch.
With broad capable shoulders, worn jeans, and sun-browned hands, they’re cowboys who can mend fences, break horses, calm nightmares, and make me feel like the most precious thing they’ve ever held.
Brookes sets a steaming bowl in front of me, then bends to kiss the top of my head.
“Eat a little, darlin’.”
Mason sits on my other side and slides a thick slice of buttered bread onto my plate. “You need your strength.”
My throat tightens. “You both keep saying that.”
“Because it’s true,” Mason says.
Brookes reaches beneath the table and rests his hand on my thigh. “And because taking care of you is the only thing keeping us from walking out to the road and yelling at the dust cloud your mother left behind.”
A laugh breaks out of me before I can stop it. It’s watery and shaky, but it’s real.
Mason’s eyes warm. “There she is.”
I pick up my spoon and take a bite. Warmth spreads through me, little by little. The stew is full of beef, potatoes, carrots, and herbs; real comforting ranch food, meant to fill empty stomachs and warm hearts. For a few minutes, we eat quietly, then Brookes reaches over and rests his hand on my thigh.
“You were incredible out there, Janey. Standing up to them like that… I know how hard that was for you.”
I stare down at my bowl. “I was terrified.”
“I know,” he says.
Mason sets his spoon down. “You stood there and told the truth even though it cost you. That’s courage, Janey.”
My eyes sting again. “I don’t feel courageous.”
“You looked it,” Brookes says softly. “You looked like a woman choosing her life.”
A woman choosing her life.
No longer a daughter asking permission, or a frightened girl waiting to be told she’s done right or wrong.
A woman.
A mother in waiting.
Loved by two men who had stood beside me and never once tried to speak over me.
“I meant every word,” I whisper, staring down at my bowl. “I’m tired of hiding. Tired of being scared all the time. Tired of loving you both like it’s shameful.”
Mason’s jaw tightens. “There is nothing shameful about this.”
“I know that now.” I lift my gaze to his. “But part of me didn’t until I heard myself say it to her.”
Brookes’s hand stills on my leg. “And now?”
I look at both of them. Mason is strong and fierce, his dark eyes watching me like he’d hold up the roof to keep me safe. Brookes is all rough tenderness and quiet devotion, his hand resting on me, in a way that’s warm and anchoring.