Page 56 of Hawkeye

“I suppose asking whether you noticed was insulting.” Her dimple appeared. “Why didn’t you ask what I was doing?”

“You wanted the surprise.” I glanced toward the covered display. “I wanted to see how you told the story.”

Josie pulled the cloth away. The deep walnut case beneath it had hand-cut joinery, with corners fitted so cleanly that no hardware interrupted the grain. My father’s compass rested beside his old search-and-rescue radio, every scrape and worn edge preserved exactly as he had left it. The photograph of nine-year-old me standing beside him on the ridge sat above them, framed by a section of the original topographic map he used when he taught me to read the backcountry.

Josie had cleaned the radio, stabilized the leather compass case, repaired the torn folds in the map, and built supports that made every piece appear untouched while protecting it from further damage. She had taken the things my father used to shape me and given them the same care she offered every bit of history placed in her hands.

“You remembered every detail,” I murmured, moving closer to the case.

Josie slipped her hand into mine. “You aren’t the only one who listens.”

Clara pointed toward the contour lines behind the photograph. “That’s our ridge.”

Josie blinked down at her. “How can you tell?”

“The cut in the hill and the creek.” Clara traced the route through the air without touching the glass. “Grandpa taught Daddy there, and now Daddy teaches me.”

Josie’s eyes shone when she looked back at me. “I wanted her to know where it came from. Not only the skills. The man who gave them to you.”

I caught the back of her neck and pulled her against me, pressing my forehead to hers while Clara resumed explaining the map to the clock. “You built our daughter a way to know him. Thank you.”

Her mother arrived several minutes later to collect Clara for the sleepover she had been discussing for a week. Jacqueline and Stryker’s daughter, Jane, was waiting at the ranch, along with enough activities and snacks to convince both girls that sleeping was an unnecessary waste of time. Clara hugged us, reminded Josie that the clock still needed encouragement, and skipped outside with her overnight bag swinging from one small hand.

“Tomorrow afternoon,” Josie’s mother called as she followed her toward the car. “I’m under strict instructions not to bring her home before lunch.”

“Make it two,” I replied.

Josie shook her head as the car pulled away. “She’ll be awake before sunrise and demanding pancakes.”

“Jacqueline volunteered.”

“She did not volunteer for dawn.”

“She married Stryker. She understands poor decisions.”

Josie’s dimple deepened as she turned toward me. I kissed her slowly beside the display, holding her close while the workshop settled into afternoon quiet around us. The gratitude in my chest was too large for a few words, and Josie understood that before I ever tried to find them.

Clara was twenty miles away at the ranch, asleep in Jacqueline and Stryker’s guest wing with their daughter. Jacqueline had sent us a photograph of both girls tucked beneath separate blankets, followed by a message promising they would remain there until well after lunch. Josie and I had eaten dinner, returned home long enough to change, and driven back to the workshop so she could take one final humidity reading before sealing my father’s display case for the night.

The boutique had been closed for hours. Josie’s mother was at home across town, the workshop doors were locked, and the security panel showed nobody else inside the building. I checked it once, turned the dead bolt, and found my wife watching me from beside her grandfather’s workbench.

She had changed into a short teal dress that hugged her tits and round belly before flaring over her hips. Her hair was loose, her lipstick was brighter than the clip she had worn earlier, and the look in her amber-brown eyes told me she had noticed exactly how long my attention remained on her legs. My cock hardened immediately, pressing against my zipper as I crossed the room.

“You’re staring,” Josie observed, resting her palms on the scarred wood behind her.

“I’ve been thinking about that dress on this floor since dinner, baby doll.”

Her gaze dropped toward the thick ridge beneath my jeans. “That explains why you barely spoke during dessert.”

“I was planning.”

“That sounds dangerous.”

“It usually works out well for you.”

Josie’s eyes warmed as I stopped between her legs. Her fingers moved over the front of my shirt before she glanced down at the workbench and traced one of the repaired seams with her thumb.

“You really had the contractors reinforce this.”