Chapter 21
TWENTY-ONE
Darkness pressed around Dawson as he slipped around the edge of the barn on a perimeter check. The scent of freshly cut grass mixed with the promise of rain. Clouds hid the moonlight, but it didn’t matter. He could’ve navigated it in his sleep.
A twig snapped. Dawson whirled toward the sound, his fingers flying to his weapon.
“Might want to announce yourself.”
A grin lifted the corners of his mouth. “Why do you think I stepped on the twig?”
Dawson chuckled, letting his posture relax.
He hadn’t needed to do the perimeter check, not with members of the Special Forces acting as bodyguards.
But the interview with Sandra had left him edgy and restless.
Plus he had to check on the horses. His mom and dad were visiting his sister, her husband, and the twins a few hours away.
They’d probably spend the night. Thunderstorms were moving in, and his dad’s eyesight wasn’t as good as it used to be.
“Any sign of trouble?” Dawson asked.
“No. Nathan’s covering the north side of the property. We check in regularly, and he’ll alert me if there’s an issue.” Walker checked his watch. “We change shifts at 2300. Jason and Logan will take over.”
“I appreciate everything y’all are doing.
My mom left some casseroles in the fridge, and there’s always coffee, water, and soft drinks in the kitchen.
Snacks in the pantry. Help yourselves.” Dawson smiled.
“Hayley told me she sends snacks with you, but she warned that, and I quote, you raid the fridge like a wild raccoon.”
Walker’s grin widened. “That woman dares to call me a wild raccoon. She’s five months pregnant and eating everything in sight.
” He shook his head with the unmistakable pride of a man completely besotted with his wife.
“We ordered Thai the other night, and she ate all the egg rolls. Crumbs were the only thing left in the bag.”
Dawson shot him a warning look. “I’d be careful about mentioning how much your pregnant wife eats. Especially if you plan on having more children.”
“Right you are. I stand corrected.”
They both laughed. Hayley was known for her good sense of humor, and wouldn’t have found anything her husband just said as offensive. In fact, if she’d been there, she would’ve dished it right back to him.
With a final wave, Dawson headed back toward the house.
The conversation and the warm way Walker spoke about his wife struck a chord.
He’d had that once. With Peyton. He missed it.
The inside jokes and shared meals. Someone to laugh with after a long day.
He could’ve tried to build that with someone else after the divorce, but hadn’t wanted to.
He wanted Peyton. No one else would ever do.
Dawson entered the quiet house. It was late, after ten.
A faint murmur from the living room drew his attention.
He slipped off his jacket and shoes and quietly drifted into the living room.
Peyton sat in a rocking chair, the warm glow of a side table lamp caressing her features.
Nestled in her arms was Grace. The baby sucked a bottle with vigor, eyes fixed on Peyton’s face while she sang a soft lullaby.
The peaceful scene was tender and sweet.
Dawson couldn’t help but think of Samuel.
Grief rippled through him, but the pain wasn’t as sharp or as harsh as before.
Instead, it melted into something warmer.
Gentler. A bittersweet ache that held both the loss of what they'd never have and the unexpected gift of what was right in front of him.
Peyton, singing to a baby she hadn't expected to love. Grace, trusting her completely.
Samuel would never be in her arms. That truth would always hurt. But watching Peyton with Grace, Dawson realized that the love he'd stored up for his son—all that fierce, boundless, ready-to-burst love—hadn't disappeared. It’d just been waiting.
Peyton must’ve registered his presence because she glanced up. Their gazes met. Her expression, softened by talking to the baby, shifted to understanding. A beat passed between them, one that needed no words. Then her lips curved into a smile. “Hey.”
“Hey.” He stepped into the room, drawn in by her silent invitation. “From tangling with bikers to feeding a baby. You’re like a Swiss Army knife.”
A soft laugh escaped her. “It’s been an interesting week, that’s for sure.” Peyton tilted her head to look down at Grace again, and tenderness swept over her face. “She’s so beautiful.”
“She is. And a good eater. An expert crier. So-so in the sleep department.”
“Not anymore. Your mom’s sling trick has made her an expert sleeper.” Peyton wriggled the bottle free from Grace and then positioned the baby on her shoulder to burp her. She winced with the movement, probably from the pull on her wound.
Dawson crossed the room and held out his hands. “Give her to me before you rip a stitch open.”
Peyton scowled. “You’re as bad as your mom. You’ll think of any excuse to grab her away from me.”
He kissed her lightly as he took the baby. The move was automatic. As natural as breathing. And when he tucked Grace on his shoulder and began patting her back, warmth and tenderness spread through him. She smelled of baby powder and soap and a touch of milk.
Peyton rose from the rocking chair and carefully lifted Grace’s head to place a burp cloth on Dawson’s shoulder. Then her expression shifted, the lightness leaving her eyes. Dawson paused in patting Grace on the back to brush a strand of Peyton’s hair back from her cheek. “I know you’re worried.”
“I’ve been praying.” She sighed. “For Lilia, of course. But also asking for forgiveness. I lost my temper with my aunt today. Nana Grace always preached patience and understanding, and grace. She’d be disappointed in me.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.” Dawson returned to patting Grace’s back.
“There’s such a thing as righteous anger, babe.
Jesus flipped over tables, don’t forget.
Sandra’s addiction is awful, but she made choices.
Decisions that hurt her daughter and slowed our investigation.
You did what was necessary to get the truth out of her, and I doubt Nana Grace—or God—would fault you for it. ”
Grace let out a tiny burp, and Peyton smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. She lightly touched the baby’s back, her fingers brushing against Dawson’s.
“I wish I knew where Lilia was. It doesn’t make sense, Dawson.
She would contact me if she could. It’s getting harder and harder to believe that she’s simply hiding out somewhere.
” Her expression was haunted. “Someone attacked Lilia at that train depot. We have the blood to prove it. Marvis could’ve grabbed Lilia, and then sent men back for Grace and the backpack, probably assuming the evidence was inside.
But I got in the way. All the other attacks—the kidnapping attempt, shooting at me and you—were Marvis, trying to either frame Cade or get his hands on the evidence.
It’s the only thing that makes sense, right? ”
Dawson couldn't refute her. He'd considered the same scenario.
“I know the odds.” Her voice grew soft as her chin trembled. “Lilia probably died on the night of the train depot attack, and we just haven’t found her body yet. But I don’t want to believe she’s gone. Does that make me foolish?”
“No.” He pulled her closer, into a sideways hug. “It means you have faith, even when things look bleak.”
She snuggled into his embrace, and holding her, along with Grace, undid the last of his resistance. The shields he'd built. The fear. The stubborn refusal to risk his heart again. All of it crumbled, quietly and completely, in the space of a single breath.
He didn't want to say goodbye or let Peyton go.
He never had. What he wanted was right here—messy and uncertain and terrifying—and he was done pretending otherwise.
He pressed a kiss to the top of her head before releasing her in order to gently set Grace down in the baby swing.
She fussed slightly before he turned on the device and it swayed. Her eyelids fluttered closed.
Drawing a breath, Dawson turned to face Peyton. His wife. His ex. His everything. “I love you, Peyton.”
She froze, the baby blanket she’d been folding swinging comically from her hands. Her eyes widened and then filmed with new tears. “I love you too.”
Undone by her emotions, he crossed to her.
Gently, he removed the baby blanket from her hands and took them in his.
“Things are a mess right now. I know. The timing is terrible. But I have a bad habit of hiding my feelings, waiting for the perfect time to share them with you, and it only created bigger problems.” He squeezed her hands.
“So I’m saying it. Out loud. I love you.
I've never stopped. And I don't know what comes next, or how we rebuild something we both broke, but I know I want to try. If you do.”
Tears spilled over her cheeks. She didn’t bother to wipe them away.
“I don’t know what comes next either, but I know I want to face it with you by my side.
” Peyton drew in a breath to steady herself.
“I hurt you, Dawson. Made promises and broke them. So I won’t make any now.
What I will say is that I’m not the same person I was five years ago, and if you give me the chance, I’ll show you that. Every day.”
“You already are. I see it, Peyton.” He released her hands to wipe her tears with his thumbs. “We both made mistakes. But I believe in second chances.”
“So do I.”
She rose on her tiptoes, her lips brushing against his. Dawson pulled her closer, mindful of the injury at her side, and returned the kiss. His world centered, a peace settled over him unlike any he’d ever felt. This was right. He felt it. In his heart and soul.
God had been leading them here. Through the grief, the distance, and the broken years. All of it—every painful step—had brought them to this moment. And while the future wasn’t certain, Dawson would never regret loving Peyton.
Grace fussed from the swing. Dawson broke off the kiss, his heart racing and his breath shallow. He glanced over his shoulder at the baby in time to see her lift her legs. An eruption echoed in the room. His eyes widened, and a laugh bubbled up. “Well, that’s one way to ruin a romantic moment.”
Peyton giggled and then held her side. “Oh, don’t make me laugh. It hurts.”
Dawson reluctantly released her to stand over the swing. “Think she’s done?”
Grace sent up a wail of discontent as if to answer his question. Her little fists waved in anger. Dawson quickly unstrapped her from the swing. “Well, don’t yell at me. You’re the one who did it.”
Peyton doubled over, alternating between laughing and wincing. “Stop, I beg of you.”
He lifted the baby out of the swing, and his mouth dropped open. “Good grief, she’s covered in it. Changing table, stat. This is gonna be a two-man job. We might have to hose her down.” He winked. “I did that once with Oliver. Mom yelled at me.”
Peyton gasped. “You did not.”
“He was eighteen months old, and it was in the dead of summer.” Dawson hurried to the guest bedroom, where his mom had set up a crib and changing table for Grace. “Oliver loved it. So did Marcus. I’m pretty sure he changed his poopy diapers like that all August.”
He set Grace down on the plastic surface, but then Peyton pushed him out of the way. “I’ll do it. I don’t want you to get the hose.”
“Want gloves? A gas mask?”
She pressed her lips together. “I’m going to bust a stitch if you keep making me laugh, and then you’re going to explain to the doctor what happened.”
“I don’t care,” he teased. “I know all the doctors in Knoxville.”
Peyton popped open Grace’s onesie. The GPS tracker attached to the pacifier clip fell to the side, hitting the plastic mat with a thump.
Grace flailed her arms and legs, dressed only in a lightweight T-shirt, and hollered.
Peyton spoke to her in soothing tones, calming her, and then grimaced.
“Okay, the hose might not be a bad idea. I’m pretty sure she’s gonna need a bath.
” She reached for the wipes, pulling two out, and the empty package fluttered to the carpet.
“Do you mind getting the extra wipes? They’re in the backpack. ”
Dawson turned away, spotting the black bag in the corner. He unzipped the main compartment and rummaged through the remaining supplies. No wipes. He checked the side pockets. Empty. “I don't think there are any more.”
“There has to be. Check the bottom.”
He upended the bag, dumping everything onto the bed.
A pacifier, two diapers, a rattle. No wipes.
He was about to tell Peyton they'd have to improvise when the bedside lamp caught the front of the backpack at an angle.
A few strands of thread along the edge of the logo patch shimmered differently from the rest. Newer.
Tighter. As if someone had carefully cut one section of the patch and stitched it back into place.
Heart pounding, he ran his thumb across the seam. The fabric beneath the patch was stiffer than it should have been. Something was sandwiched between the layers.
“Never mind!” Peyton sounded breathless. “I found the extra wipes in the drawer…” She appeared by his side with a half-dressed baby. “What is it?”
“This patch. It’s been mended.” He fished out his pocketknife and carefully cut the newer thread. The patch lifted away, revealing a small slit in the nylon. He reached inside with two fingers and pulled out a USB flash drive, barely bigger than his thumb.
Peyton gasped. “Dawson...” Her face went pale.
“We had it the whole time.” He stared at the drive, not sure he quite believed it was real.
They’d searched the backpack over and over again, but the repair was so well done it was practically invisible.
The faint reflection on the newer thread was their only clue, and even that wouldn’t have been obvious under normal lighting.
Peyton recovered first, waving toward her laptop, which was resting on the bed. “Don’t just sit there. Plug it in. Let’s see what everyone is trying to kill us for.”