Chapter 2
The Secret Ingredient
Joy Davis
(Engaged to Bear Bollinger)
Joy pressed her palm flat against her stomach before she could stop herself.
She dropped her hand immediately, glancing around the main room at Linear Tactical to see if anyone had noticed. They hadn’t. The Christmas Adam gathering was in full chaos mode, and nobody was paying attention to her nervous habits.
Eight weeks. She was eight weeks pregnant, and the only person in this room who knew was currently across the space helping his uncle move a table that Charlie had decided was three inches too far to the left.
Joy watched Bear lift his end of the table without complaint, his shoulders flexing under his flannel shirt. He caught her eye and gave her a small smile—the private one, the one that said I see you and we’re in this together and later all at once.
She looked away before her face gave something away.
Through the frost-covered windows, she could see Velvet Mornings parked in the lot.
The bright pink food truck with its purple accents looked almost defiant against the gray Wyoming winter, a splash of color refusing to be dimmed.
She’d driven it here out of habit more than necessity.
Serving from it tonight was impossible—the cold would be brutal—but having it nearby felt right. Like keeping a piece of herself close.
For the gathering, she’d kept her contribution simple.
One dish. A brown butter pecan tart with bourbon caramel drizzle, currently waiting with the other desserts being piled onto the long table against the far wall.
She’d spent six attempts perfecting that recipe, and she’d only ever made it for Bear.
Bringing it tonight felt like sharing a secret.
Not the secret. But a secret.
“Joy!” Sloane waddled toward her, one hand pressed to her lower back, the other cradling her enormous belly. Baby #2 for her and Callum. “Please tell me you brought that tart. The one Bear mentioned. I’ve been thinking about it for three days.”
“It’s over there with the other desserts.”
“Thank God.” Sloane lowered herself onto a nearby chair with the careful precision of someone whose center of gravity had shifted dramatically. “This baby wants sugar. Constantly. Callum keeps trying to get me to eat vegetables, and I keep telling him the baby has spoken.”
Joy laughed, but something twisted in her chest. In seven months, that would be her. Swollen ankles and weird cravings and a body that didn’t feel like her own anymore.
The thought should have been exciting. Instead, it sent a spike of panic through her so sharp she had to focus on breathing.
“You okay?” Sloane’s eyes narrowed. “You went pale.”
“Fine. Just warm in here.”
It wasn’t warm. Linear Tactical’s heating system was fighting a losing battle against the Wyoming cold, and Joy could see her breath if she stood too close to the windows.
But Sloane accepted the excuse with a nod, already distracted by her husband, Oak Creek’s sheriff, approaching with a glass of water and a look of gentle concern.
Joy slipped away before she had to watch them be tender with each other.
The main room was a study in controlled chaos.
Kids darted between adults, shrieking about something involving a stolen candy cane.
The music had shifted from traditional carols to something with more bass, probably River’s doing—Bear’s only sister had strong opinions about holiday playlists and zero respect for tradition.
In the far corner, Annie and Zac had found a pocket of quiet.
Annie was listening to something Zac was saying, her expression patient and focused, one hand resting on his forearm.
Around them, the party churned—kids screaming, adults laughing, someone dropping something in the kitchen—but Annie didn't flinch.
Didn't look away from her husband. She existed in her own calm center, unruffled by the disorder.
She'd been like that as long as Joy could remember. Steady. Present. The kind of woman who could stitch up a wound and soothe a terrified child in the same breath.
Joy wondered if that was something you were born with or something you learned. If it could be taught. If she had any hope of finding it in herself before she had to. Joy had never been the calm, steady, unruffled type.
Her hand drifted toward her stomach again. She caught it, redirected it to straighten her sweater.
“I saw that.”
Charlie Bollinger, Bear’s mom, appeared at her elbow like a very small, very determined ghost. The woman barely cleared five feet, but she had a presence that made people twice her size step back.
“Saw what?” Joy kept her voice light.
“You’ve been fidgeting all night. Adjusting your clothes, watching everyone else, barely talking.” Charlie’s eyes were sharp. “Something’s going on with you.”
Joy’s heart hammered against her ribs. “Nothing’s going on.”
“Mmhmm.” Charlie didn’t look convinced. “You’d tell me if something was wrong?”
“Of course.”
“Because you've been family since long before my son put a ring on your finger. Whatever it is—”
“Charlie!” Finn’s voice cut across the room. “The garland is falling again!”
Charlie sighed, the sound carrying decades of affectionate exasperation. “That man. I told him to use the heavy-duty hooks.” She squeezed Joy’s arm. “We’re not done talking about this.”
She marched off toward the garland crisis, and Joy let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.
Three times. She’d almost told Charlie three times tonight.
Once when Charlie had asked why she wasn’t drinking the spiked cider. Once when Charlie mentioned that Bear seemed different lately—happier, more settled—and asked if Joy knew why. And just now, when Charlie’s concern had been so genuine, so motherly, that Joy had nearly cracked.
She wanted to tell someone. The secret was getting heavier by the day, pressing against her chest, demanding to be spoken. But every time she opened her mouth, fear closed her throat.
What if something went wrong? What if she lost the baby and had to untell everyone? What if she couldn’t do this—couldn’t be a mother, couldn’t be the kind of parent a child deserved?
She’d barely figured out how to be herself again after the attack.
Some days she still flinched at shadows, still woke up with her heart racing, still felt like she was performing normalcy rather than living it.
How was she supposed to be responsible for another human being when she could barely keep herself together?
“Hey.” Bear’s voice was low, close to her ear, and then his hand was sliding around her waist from behind. “You’re doing the thing.”
“What thing?”
“The thing where you spiral and don’t tell anyone.”
Joy leaned back into him, letting his solid warmth anchor her. “I’m not spiraling.”
“Bug.” His thumb traced a small circle on her hip. “I can feel you vibrating.”
She closed her eyes. “Your mom cornered me.”
“About?”
“She knows something’s different. She just doesn’t know what.”
Bear was quiet for a moment. His chin rested on top of her head, and she could feel his chest rise and fall against her back.
“What did you tell her?”
“Nothing. I almost—” Joy broke off, shaking her head. “Three times tonight, Bear. I almost told her three times. I’m terrible at this.”
“You’re not terrible. You’re just not used to keeping things from people who love you.”
“When we tell her, she’s going to cry.”
“Oh, definitely. Big, loud, Charlie Bollinger tears. Probably grab your face with both hands. Possibly shriek.”
Joy laughed despite herself. “Your aunts too. All of them—real and honorary.”
His arms tightened around her. “It’s going to be chaos.”
“Good chaos?”
“The best kind.”
Joy turned in his arms, looking up at him. His brown eyes were steady on hers, warm and certain in a way that made her chest ache.
“I’m scared,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “Not just of telling them. Of all of it.”
“I know.”
“What if I can’t do this? What if I’m—” She stopped, the words sticking in her throat. What if I’m too broken. What if the attack took something from me I can’t get back. What if I ruin this kid the way I’ve ruined everything else.
Bear cupped her face in his hands, his thumbs brushing her cheekbones. “You’re going to be an incredible mother.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Yeah, I do.” He pressed his forehead to hers. “I’ve known you since you were eight years old, Joy. I’ve watched you fight for everything you have. You don’t give up. You don’t back down. And you love harder than anyone I’ve ever met.”
Her eyes burned. She blinked rapidly, refusing to cry in the middle of a party.
“What if loving hard isn’t enough?”
“It’s enough.” His voice was rough. “It’s more than enough. And you won’t be doing it alone.”
She kissed him then, quick and soft, not caring who might be watching.
“Get a room!” Finn’s voice rang out from across the space.
Bear didn’t look away from her. “Mind your business, old man!”
“I’m just saying, there are children present—”
“Finn.” Charlie’s tone brooked no argument. “Leave them alone and come hold this garland before I strangle you with it.”
Joy pressed her face into Bear’s chest, laughing. This was her family. The chaos and the teasing and the love that showed up sideways, wrapped in insults and holiday decorations.
And soon, there would be one more.
The thought didn’t terrify her quite as much as it had five minutes ago.
“I should go check on my tart,” she said, pulling back reluctantly. “Make sure no one’s tried to sneak an early taste.”
Bear raised an eyebrow. “You think someone would dare?”
“I think Uncle Dorian and Uncle Boy Riley both would absolutely dare, and I want to catch them in the act.”
She slipped out of his arms and made her way toward the dessert table, weaving through clusters of conversation and narrowly avoiding a collision with two kids playing some elaborate game that seemed to involve a lot of running and very little logic.
The long table against the far wall was half-arranged, desserts clustered in groups waiting to be organized. Joy spotted her tart immediately—the caramelized pecans gleaming under the overhead lights, the bourbon drizzle catching the glow like liquid amber.
But it wasn’t Dorian or Boy Riley hovering near the table.
Lincoln stood at one end, his dark brows drawn together in concentration. He was studying the arrangement of desserts like it was a complex equation—which, knowing Lincoln, it probably was in his mind. Everything was data to him. Everything had an optimal configuration.
What surprised Joy was that he wasn’t alone.
Marie stood beside him—Jess and Ethan's three-year-old, a tiny thing in a green velvet dress with a crown of blonde curls.
She had her head bent close to her Uncle Lincoln's as they examined something on the table, her small face arranged in an expression of intense concentration that looked almost comically adult on someone who still needed a step stool to see over the counter.
They were deep in discussion. Serious. Conspiratorial, almost.
Joy slowed her approach, watching them.
Lincoln picked up a pie and moved it three inches to the left with surgical precision.
Marie shook her head, pointed somewhere else.
He moved it back, then shifted a plate of brownies instead.
Marie said something else, and Lincoln actually paused—which was unusual for him.
He usually had his answers ready before other people finished their questions.
But he was listening to her. Really listening, his head still tilted, his fingers tapping against his thigh in that self-soothing rhythm Joy had noticed since they were kids.
Marie reached past him to adjust a cake stand, and their shoulders brushed. Neither of them moved away.
Joy’s eyebrows rose.
Whatever those two were doing, it had clearly started with Charlie’s directive to organize the dessert table. But watching them now—the way they moved around each other, the quiet intensity of their focus—Joy suspected it had become something else entirely.
Lincoln said something, and Marie giggled adorably. Lincoln looked briefly startled by the sound, then something in his expression shifted. Softened.
Joy pressed her lips together to hide her smile.
Those two were either about to create the most perfectly organized dessert table in Linear Tactical history, or they were about to stumble into something far more complicated.
Possibly both.
Probably both.
She changed course, deciding her tart could wait. Let them have their moment, their quiet conspiracy of sugar and strategy. She remembered what it felt like to be on the edge of something—terrified and thrilled, not quite ready to name it.
Joy made her way back to Bear, who raised an eyebrow at her return.
“Tart okay?”
“Tart’s fine.” She tucked herself against his side, watching Lincoln and Marie across the room. “Your cousin has a new assistant.”
Bear followed her gaze and snorted. “God help us. Those two are going to reorganize the entire table by some metric only they understand.”
“Probably already have.”
*
* Books from characters in this chapter:
Joy Davis (& Bear Bollinger) – HERO MINE
Sloane Webb (& Callum Webb) – HERO’S HEART
Marie Bollinger (parents Jess & Ethan – HERO FOREVER and all the Linear Tactical books)