Chapter Eleven
~ Burke ~
I watched Danny from across the kitchen, his head bent close to Carter’s while they pored over some baby catalog Jojo had ordered. The afternoon light caught in his hair, turning the edges gold, and I couldn’t help but smile at how animated he’d become these past few days.
Since he’d told me about the baby, it was like a switch had flipped—the fear was still there, hovering at the edges, but there was something else now too.
Hope. The kind that made his eyes brighter, his laugh easier.
The kind that made me want to build walls around him and our future, sturdy enough that nothing—not Dennis, not the past, not a goddamn hurricane—could tear them down.
“You see these?” Jojo was saying, pointing to something in the catalog. “Organic cotton, breathable, but still warm enough for winter nights.”
Danny nodded, serious as a heart attack. “How many do we need?”
“At least six,” Carter answered, adjusting his glasses. “Babies are basically vomit factories with cute faces.”
Jojo elbowed him. “Don’t scare him! It‘s not that bad.”
“Says the man who went through twelve onesies in one day last week,” Carter muttered, but he was smiling.
I took my chance and backed out of the kitchen while they debated the merits of snap buttons versus zippers. This conversation could go on for hours, and I had somewhere to be.
The screen door creaked as I pushed it open, stepping onto the wide front porch where I knew I’d find Rawley and Macon at this time of day.
Sure enough, there they were—two ex-SEALs side by side in weathered Adirondack chairs, boots propped on the railing, watching the sun paint the distant mountains in shades of purple and gold.
Rawley had his usual tumbler of amber whiskey, while Macon nursed what looked like a plain soda with lime.
Typical.
I leaned against the porch support beam, feeling the sun-warmed wood against my shoulder. My heart was hammering against my ribs like I was about to jump out of a plane without checking my chute. Ridiculous. These were my friends, not a firing squad.
“You gonna stand there all day or you got something to say?” Rawley didn’t even look at me, just took another sip of his whiskey.
I cleared my throat. “I was hoping I could talk to you about something.”
Macon snorted and looked away, eyes fixed on the horizon like he knew exactly what was coming. Rawley just lifted a single eyebrow, waiting.
I‘d rehearsed this speech a dozen times in my head, but now that the moment was here, all my carefully chosen words scattered like startled birds. I swallowed hard against the dryness in my throat.
“I want to buy a plot of land here on the farm,” I said, the words coming out faster than I meant them to.
“To build Danny a house. To build us a house.” I shifted my weight, uncomfortable under their steady gaze.
“It doesn’t need to be a big plot, just something big enough for a house and a yard for the kid to play in. I’ll pay fair market value, of course.”
The silence stretched for three heartbeats. Four. Then Macon barked out a laugh that left me blinking in confusion.
Rawley’s mouth twitched at the corner—the closest thing to a smile I’d seen on him in weeks. He reached for a manila envelope sitting on the small table between their chairs and held it out to me.
“We‘re putting in a private drive between here and Macon and Carter’s place,” he said, voice matter-of-fact.
“I’ve reserved a ten-acre plot halfway between the two for you and Danny.
” He nodded toward Macon. “Macon’s already called the builder who did his place.
He’ll break ground whenever you’ve got your design ready to go. ”
I stared at the envelope, not quite able to make my hand reach for it. “You... what?”
“Take the damn thing before my arm falls off,” Rawley growled, but there was no heat in it.
My fingers trembled as I finally grasped the envelope, the paper smooth and surprisingly heavy.
I flipped it open and pulled out the contents—a deed, already drawn up, with both my name and Danny’s printed neatly at the top.
Ten acres of prime Montana ranchland, with rights to the well water and access to the creek that cut through the back forty.
My vision blurred. I blinked hard, not willing to let these two see me lose my shit over a piece of paper. But it wasn’t just paper. It was a future. A home. Something I hadn’t realized how desperately I wanted until I held it in my hands.
“How long have you been planning this?” I managed, my voice rougher than I’d like.
Rawley took another sip of whiskey, eyes on the horizon. “Since the night we found Danny.”
The words hit me like a physical blow. They’d known—from that very first night, when Danny was still covered in bruises and blood and I was half out of my mind with rage and fear—that this was where we‘d end up. That Danny would stay. That I’d want to build something permanent with him.
“I don’t—“ I started, then stopped, unable to find words big enough. “Thank you,” I finally said, barely above a whisper.
Rawley just grunted, lifted his glass in a silent toast, and returned to watching the sunset wash the mountains in gold.
Macon finally turned to look at me, his usual stoic expression softening just a fraction. “Carter’s already sketching out nursery designs,” he said, voice low. “Fair warning.”
I laughed, the sound coming out thick with emotion. “Of course he is.”
I looked down at the deed again, tracing my finger over Danny‘s name printed next to mine. Daniel Jenkins. Soon to be Daniel Callahan, if I had anything to say about it. The thought sent a jolt of something electric through my chest—pride, or maybe just pure, unfiltered happiness.
“You got room in the budget for a ring?” Rawley asked, eyes still fixed on the mountains.
I stared at him. “I—yeah. Been saving. How did you—“
“Figured as much,” he cut me off. “Good.”
And that was that. No speeches, no big emotional declarations. Just three men watching the sun sink behind the mountains, two glasses catching the last golden rays of daylight, and a piece of paper that meant everything.
I carefully folded the deed back into its envelope, already thinking about how I‘d tell Danny, what his face would look like when he realized we had a home—a real home, not just borrowed space in someone else’s house.
“I should get back,” I said, tucking the envelope under my arm. “Before they buy out the entire baby store.”
Macon nodded. Rawley lifted his glass again. Neither of them looked at me, but I could feel their satisfaction like a physical thing, warm and solid between us.
I turned to go, then paused at the screen door. “I mean it,” I said, not looking back. “Thank you. Both of you.”
“Get out of here,” Rawley growled, but I heard what he wasn’t saying.
Family takes care of family.
And somehow, against all odds, that‘s what we’d become.
After everyone left or went to settled down for the evening, I found Danny out on the wraparound porch, settled into one of the wooden rocking chairs I’d fixed up last summer.
The evening light was soft around him, turning the world golden at the edges while the breeze ruffled his hair like a gentle hand.
He’d taken to coming out here in the evenings, said the fresh air helped with the nausea, but I suspected it was more than that.
This was the spot where you could see the entire valley spread out below, all the way to the tree line and beyond.
The perfect vantage point to watch for danger—or to dream of possibilities.
Tonight, it looked like he was doing the latter, his expression thoughtful but unguarded in a way that still made my chest ache every time I saw it.
He didn‘t hear me step onto the porch, too caught up in whatever was playing behind those hazel eyes. The lantern above cast dancing shadows across his face, highlighting the angles that had started to soften since he’d moved in with me.
He wasn‘t so thin anymore, didn’t have that hunted look that had haunted him for weeks after Dennis. The bruises had faded completely now, leaving nothing but smooth skin where purple and yellow had once bloomed like poisonous flowers.
I paced the wooden floorboards twice, manila envelope clutched in my sweating palm. The boards creaked under my boots, finally catching his attention. He looked up, his smile immediate but curious.
“Hey,” he said, voice soft in the evening quiet. “You disappeared earlier. Everything okay?”
I cleared my throat, suddenly feeling like I had gravel lodged there. The envelope felt too light and too heavy all at once, like it might float away if I didn’t grip it hard enough.
“Danny,” I started, then stopped, recalibrating. “I’ve been talking with Rawley and Macon today.”
His eyes tracked from my face to the envelope and back, caution creeping in at the edges of his expression. Old habits. I hated that he still expected bad news around every corner, but couldn’t blame him either.
“About?” he prompted when I didn’t continue.
I moved closer, stopping directly in front of his chair. My fingers fumbled with the edges of the envelope as I forced the words out.
“They’ve set aside a ten-acre plot of land between here and Macon and Carter’s place,” I said, the words coming in a rush now. “Just enough for a house and a yard for our kid. I want to build you a home there, our home.”
My voice caught on the last words, the enormity of what I was offering—what we were being given—suddenly overwhelming. I slid the deed across the little round table that sat between the chairs.
Danny’s breath hitched audibly. He reached toward the paper, then drew his hand back like it might burn him, or worse, disappear the moment he touched it. His eyes lifted to mine, wide and questioning, then dropped to where my hand rested on the table beside his, trembling slightly.
“You did all this for me?” he whispered, voice barely there.
I nodded, heart pounding so loud I was sure he could hear it. “For us,” I corrected gently. “For our family.”
He closed his eyes, the word “family” seeming to wash over him like a physical touch.
Then he leaned forward, dropping his forehead into my open palm in a gesture so trusting it made my throat tight.
His skin was warm against mine, alive and real and here.
So different from the first time I’d touched him, when he’d flinched away like a wounded animal.
When he looked up again, his eyes were shining with unshed tears. I watched his throat work as he swallowed hard.
“I want that with you,” he said, the words simple, but carrying the weight of everything between us—the fear and hope and impossible journey that had led us here. “A home. Our home.”
He stood up suddenly, wrapping his arms around me with a fierceness that took me by surprise.
I held him just as tightly, one hand cradling the back of his head while the other pressed against the small of his back.
He buried his face in my shirt, and I felt the dampness of tears soaking through to my skin.
“Thank you,” he murmured against my chest. “Thank you for not giving up on me.”
I pulled back just enough to cup his face in my hands. “Never,” I said, the word a vow. “Not in this lifetime or any other.”
We stood together against the porch railing, the golden hour light washing over us, painting everything in honey and amber.
The ranch spread out below us—the main house where Rawley and Jojo lived with little Ethan, the newer farmhouse where Carter and Macon had built their life, and now, somewhere in between, the future home that would be ours.
A perfect triangle, connected and separate all at once.
“Does this mean we’re staying?” Danny asked, the question cautious but hopeful. “For good?”
I brushed my thumb across his cheekbone, wiping away the tear track there. “If that’s what you want. This can be our forever place, Danny. You, me, and the little one.”
His hand drifted to his stomach—still flat, but holding all our tomorrows. “I never thought I’d have this,” he admitted, voice catching. “A home. A family. People who actually want me around.”
“Not just want,” I corrected, pressing my forehead to his. “Need. I need you, Danny Jenkins. Like air or water or blood pumping through my veins.”
He laughed, the sound watery but real. “That’s the cheesiest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
“And I meant every word of it,” I grinned, relief and joy flooding through me.
We stayed like that as the light faded and the first stars appeared, wrapped in each other’s arms, the deed forgotten on the table behind us. We didn’t need the paper to tell us what we already knew—that we’d found our place in the world, that it was here, with each other.
“When can we start building?” Danny asked eventually, his voice steady now, filled with that quiet determination I’d fallen in love with.
“Tomorrow, if you want,” I said, pressing a kiss to his temple. “We can meet with the builder, start picking out designs. Carter’s already planning the nursery, according to Macon.”
Danny laughed again, the sound filling the space around us with warmth. “Of course he is.”
He turned in my arms to face the valley again, leaning back against my chest as we watched the last rays of sunlight disappear behind the mountains. His body was solid against mine, a perfect fit, like we‘d been designed to hold each other just this way.
“Our home,” he whispered, testing the words. “Our family.”
I wrapped my arms more securely around him, one hand settling protectively over his stomach. “That’s right,” I agreed. “Ours.”
And in that moment, with the stars coming out above us and the future spread out before us like a promise, I knew that whatever came next—Dennis, the pregnancy, the terrifying leap into parenthood—we’d face it together, standing on our own piece of earth, in a home built with our own hands.
Day by day, just like I’d promised him, but now with roots that went bone-deep.