Chapter 50 Lincoln
Chapter fifty
Lincoln
The house is still when I wake up, and morning light filters through the windows, catching on the edges of the ornaments as they hang from the tree. There’s something peaceful about the way the sun rises on Christmas morning. Like the world is as ready for happiness and joy as you are.
I pad down the rest of the stairs barefoot, the wood cool beneath my feet, and for a moment, I let myself linger at the bottom step.
The fire is already going, the lights on the tree are on, and the blankets and pillows from last night are still strewn about the living room, untouched by Beau and his need to keep everything tidy.
It looks lived-in.
Warm.
Lawson’s already in the kitchen, which explains the tree and the fire.
He’s leaning against the counter with a mug of coffee, likely topped with Irish cream—as is tradition.
Next to him is a pan of cinnamon rolls, ready to be put in the oven.
His sleeves are pushed up, and his hair is still damp from the shower it looks like he took this morning.
The smell of sugar, butter, and caffeine hits me, and it pulls a memory loose—Christmas morning when we were kids, our mom humming as she cooked, while Dad hovered as close to her as possible.
Lawson spots me and slides a full mug across the counter. “You sleep?” he asks.
“Like a log,” I respond, taking a deep sip. “You?”
Yep. Plenty of Irish cream.
He snorts softly. “Same.”
I watch my brother for a second. There’s a steadiness to Lawson in the mornings. He uses this time before the rest of the world wakes up to ground himself. To make more sense of it before it starts demanding things from him. It’s when he’s most like my brother instead of my business partner.
I’ve been getting more of my brother back lately, I’ve noticed.
“They still out?” he asks.
“Yeah. We’re gonna need some bigger beds, though.”
He hums in agreement before taking another sip, eyeing me over the rim of his mug. His mouth tips into a small smile before asking, “You okay?”
The image of the three of them still asleep in my room—Abigail asleep in my bed, her hair spread across my pillow, Beau’s arm loose around her waist, Jasper’s knee pressed warm against her calf—tugs at something deep in my chest. Something I wasn’t sure I’d ever get back.
I’m more than okay.
“I am,” I say honestly.
Lawson nods once in agreement before his phone rings from its spot on the counter.
Setting down his coffee, he checks the screen. “It’s Mom.” He immediately answers, putting it on speakerphone and setting it between us. “Merry Christmas, Mama.”
“Lawson,” Mom’s voice comes through bright and warm. “Merry Christmas. Is your brother up?”
I smile even though she can’t see me. “I’m here. Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas to you, too, Sweetheart.
“You guys are up awful early,” Lawson says.
“Your father’s been awake since five,” she replies fondly. “You know how much he loves Christmas.”
There’s a rustle, then Dad says, “You boys fight over the best cinnamon roll yet?”
“Give it time,” Lawson says, and I smile even wider.
There’s a pause, then Mom’s voice shifts. “So,” she says. “Anything you boys care to tell me?”
Lawson shifts uncomfortably. “I’m assuming you talked to Josephine?”
Mom giggles mischievously. “She called last night to tell us Merry Christmas, and she may or may not have mentioned that a certain someone is still living at the ranch.”
Lawson’s eyes meet mine across the counter, something unspoken passing between us. I shrug, and he lets out a sigh as he rubs the back of his neck. “Her name’s Abigail,” he says.
“I know what her name is, Lawson,” Mom replies.
“Of course you do,” I murmur.
“And… what’s she like?” she urges. There’s something about her voice. Like it’s filled with as much hope as it is curiosity.
“She’s… strong,” I respond. “She’s so strong. In a way, you almost don’t notice right away. Like she’s been carrying more than any person should ever have to.”
My brother’s eyes soften. “And she’s beautiful. She’s got this red hair, Mom. You’d think it was stunning. She has no idea how beautiful she is.”
Silence stretches for a moment. Then another before Mom finally speaks again. “Well, that… You boys sound… settled,” she answers gently.
Lawson exhales heavily. “Yeah.”
Neither of us says anything else, clearly not wanting to admit what’s happening to our mother. But she hears the unspoken words anyway. Just like she always has. “So… is this like… Josephine?”
My breath catches before I can stop it, and Law closes his eyes for half a second as he pinches the bridge of his nose. But then he opens them, and a small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah, Mom. Like Joe.”
The quiet that follows that admission feels long enough to be dangerous. “As long as you boys are happy,” Mom says, voice steady and sure. “And as long as you’re treating her right, then I’m happy for you.”
Both of us relax and Dad clears his throat. “From what you’ve told us, and from what Joe has told us, the four of you could use a strong woman like her.”
Lawson chuckles softly. “That’s probably true.”
The four of us talk a few more minutes about easy things. The weather. The cattle. The horses. Then Mom says, “We’ll be home the last week of January.”
Lawson arches a brow. “Actually, home? Or ‘home’ like the last two times?”
Dad laughs. “We’ll be home. Have to meet this new woman of yours if she’s gonna be stickin’ around.”
“She will be,” I say before I can stop myself.
There’s a pause, before Dad simply says, “Then we’ll be home.”
The call ends with I love yous and Merry Christmases, and Mom reminds us to tell Beau and Jas she loves them too.
When she hangs up, Lawson slides the cinnamon rolls into the oven, and the two of us stand there for a moment, steam curling from our mugs, the house humming quietly around us. “Did you ever think this would be our life?” I ask.
“No,” he answers matter-of-factly. But then his face softens. “But part of me isn’t surprised this is where the four of us ended up.”
I nod. “Me either.”
Footsteps sound overhead. Then laughter before low voices begin to drift down the stairs.
A few minutes later, they appear. Beau first, his hair a disaster.
Jas is behind him, looking still half asleep.
But tucked in between them is Abigail, wrapped in one of my hoodies, wool socks covering her feet, cheeks flushed, and eyes bright.
She looks… happy.
All three of them do.
And when my brother crosses the room to kiss her without hesitation, the same expression blankets his face. I follow, pressing my lips to her forehead, breathing her in. The now familiar smell of honey and sage is invading my senses.
I take a second longer than I need to, letting myself get lost in the moment.
Because right now, somehow, it feels… different.
Not perfect or simple.
But real.
It feels like something I might be lucky enough to keep.
The cinnamon rolls barely make it to the table before Beau’s tearing into them like he hasn’t eaten in days.
Abigail laughs, bright and unguarded, tucking her legs beneath her on the rug as we all settle around the tree. The lights shine softly, casting color across her hair, and something about her in this moment—her here, with us on Christmas—hits me harder than I expect.
Lawson hands out another round of coffee, topped with more Irish cream, while Beau hands out unsolicited commentary.
“This feels suspiciously domestic,” he says.
Jas snorts. “You say that like you’re not the one who suggested the matching pajama pants.”
Lawson rolls his eyes, but when Beau pulled them out of wherever he had them hidden, after he got up this morning, my brother was all too willing to put on the festive plaid pants. Especially after he saw Abigail’s face light up at the sight of them.
“They’re festive,” Beau defends.
Abbie grins, reaching for a small stack of gifts tucked behind the tree.
“Okay,” she says, suddenly looking shy. “I didn’t go big or anything, but…
I wanted to get you all something. You’ve done so much for me.
You’ve helped me feel like I got my freedom back and—” Her eyes glisten with unshed tears as her voice cracks.
Softly shaking her head, she continues. “I know this will never equate to how much you’ve given me, but I wanted to do something. ”
She hands one to Lawson first. He opens it carefully, and when he sees the leather recipe book, his breath catches just slightly.
His finger brushes along the words on the front, and from my spot next to him, I can see the words “Sunday Dinner” on the front.
He flips it open, and when he finds one single card tucked inside, he freezes.
I smile at my brother as his eyes scan the recipe for homemade pasta sauce and noodles tucked inside.
“Abigail…” he says her name quietly.
She smiles softly at him. “I thought we could add to it every week. Even on the nights when you pretend to be annoyed with all the chaos,” she says with a wink.
Lawson doesn’t speak for a moment. He just closes it and presses the thumb into the leather before looking over at her.
Setting the book down, he leans forward until he’s on all fours.
Abigail meets him in the middle of our makeshift circle and presses a small kiss to his lips. “Thank you, Honey,” he says softly.
“You’re welcome,” she replies before they go back to their spots.
She gives Jasper his next. He opens the small box and stares at the silver charm in his palm. His fingers curl around it, gripping it tightly as he looks up at her. “Red,” he murmurs. “This is—”
“It’s the birth flower for May. Lily of the Valley. Joe said you’d like it. I just thought… You have the tattoos of your and your sister’s birth flowers… I thought maybe you’d want mine with you, too.”
His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t say anything else. Instead, he just reaches around his neck, clasping the new silver chain and charm firmly in place next to the one his sister gave him all those years ago. He stares at Abigail in wonder as he softly places his palm over the charm.
Beau opens his gift next. It’s a small brown leather notebook with his name stamped in simple letters on the front. “For the quiet moments you pretend you don’t need,” Abigail says.
Beau’s quiet for a moment as he turns the books over in his hands, swallowing harshly. Then, he sets it in his lap and holds Abigail’s face in his hands as he whispers, “You see me.”
“I do,” she replies with a soft smile.
Then it’s my turn.
I take my time opening it, like if I rush, I might miss out on something important. When the paper gives way, I slide the box free and lift the lid.
It takes my brain a second to register what I’m looking at.
And when it does, my chest locks up.
The original deed to the ranch.
Not a copy. Not a reprint. The real thing—aged paper, ink softened by time, the ranch name written at the top in that old looping script I’ve seen a hundred times in the country records—tucked behind glass in an intricate frame.
“How did you get this?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
Abigail smiles. “I had a little helper.”
I look at Lawson. He doesn’t deny it. Just lifts his coffee mug and winks.
My grip on the frame tightens without me meaning to. Shaking my head, I say, “This place…” I start, then stop and try again. “This place exists because of all of you.”
Abigail rests her hand along the back of my neck, her thumb moving in soft circles, urging me to look at her. “That’s true,” she says gently. “But it’s because of you, too. I want this to remind you of that. That you’re not forgotten about. That everyone in this room values you more than you know.”
Something cracks.
It’s not loud or dramatic. Just a slow, deep shift in my chest, I was in no way prepared for.
I’ve spent my whole life being the responsible one. The steady one. The one who handles the paperwork, the negotiations, the contracts. All the things that go unnoticed unless something goes wrong.
I’ve never needed praise.
I’ve never even asked for it.
I knew what I needed to do and what was expected of me.
But this?
This feels like being seen.
“This should be in the office,” I say finally, because if I say anything else, my voice might give me away. It might hint at those three words that are on the tip of my tongue.
She smiles. “Put it wherever you’d like. It’s yours.”
I nod, swallowing hard. “Thank you.”
It doesn’t feel like enough, but it’s all I’ve got.
“Alright,” Lawson says, clapping his hand against his thigh. “It’s our turn.”
The four of us exchange a look before Jasper stands and reaches out his hand. “You gotta come with us.”
Confusion flickers across Abigail’s face as we lead her outside in nothing but our pajamas, coats, and boots. Griffin lifts his head as we enter the barn, and then she sees it.
The saddle.
Rich leather with red stitching, the same shade as her hair. Perfectly fitted. Just for her.
Her hands come up to her mouth. “Oh,” she breathes.
Lawson steps closer as she runs her hands along it. “It’s yours.”
Jasper grins. “Custom fit. For you. For him.”
Beau tilts his head. “Figured it was time you stopped borrowing one of ours.”
“I—” Her eyes shine as her voice breaks. “This is too much.”
“No,” Lawson says gently.
“It’s never enough,” I add.
She presses her forehead to Griffin’s neck, blinking hard, then turns back to us. “This means…” she starts.
I step forward. “It means you belong here.”
And she does.
She always has.