Page 60

“I’ll paint CJ’s too.”

“I don’t think babies get nail polish, honey.”

Navy’s face fell but then screwed up with determination.

Knowing firsthand how Navy painted outside the lines, Whitley picked up the blue polish. She scooted closer to CJ and dabbed the tiniest bit of polish onto one impossibly small pinky nail.

Navy let out a squeal. “Do them all!”

While Whitley painted his whole hand, she listened to the conversation around them.

“We’re thinking about building,” Rhae said, one hand stroking baby Maren’s tiny back. “Denver and I chose a plot of land on the property. Close enough to walk to everyone.”

Protests erupted immediately from Layne, Aspen, Shiloh, Juliette and Honor.

Willow gave Rhae a sympathetic smile. “The girls think we should all live here. No one wanted me to move to my own house either, but let’s face it—I still basically live here.”

“Very true. This is a family compound. Nobody’s going far.”

Whitley felt a flush of anguish climb her throat. The family had been so welcoming. And she’d crashed their peace.

Willow studied her. “Whitley?”

She capped the nail polish. “I’m sorry for bringing drama into all of your lives. This isn’t really who I am.”

Aspen snorted softly. “Sweetie, we’ve all had drama.”

Whitley looked at the faces of the women.

Willow met her stare. “Obsessed feed store employee,” she deadpanned.

Whitley’s eyes widened.

“Stalker.” Juliette’s addition was just as casual.

“Oh my god.” Whitley pressed a hand to her mouth.

They went around the room one at a time, trading horror stories with an ease that made it obvious their worst nights were behind them. Now they could almost joke about the stalkers, exes and close calls while eating snacks and lounging amidst sleeping babies.

Whitley hung on every word, laughing at times, and the tight knot in her chest loosened with each story they shared.

When it was Rhae’s turn, something warred on her face. “I thought Denver was dead. Then I found out he was alive.” She gave a wry smile. “And then I wanted to kill him myself.”

They all laughed, and Whitley settled in the corner of the sofa again, feeling easier. She wasn’t the only broken thing to ever walk through these doors needing help.

The front door opened sometime later, and as soon as Denver walked into the room, Whitley shot to her feet, already looking for Wyatt.

Then he was there, face scrubbed clean of the black paint and hot as hell.

Before she consciously decided to move, she’d crossed the room and thrown herself into his arms.

He crushed her tight to his chest, and she breathed in the scent of him, underlaid with gunpowder. He’d fired his weapon.

Shaking a little, she drew back to meet his gaze. “Did you get him?”

He compressed his lips and she knew the answer before he spoke the word.

“No.”