Chapter Thirteen
The music jumped tracks—something faster, louder—and the barn stayed alive. Someone added another log to the fire, keeping the man cave warm. A few kept dancing while others sank onto benches, laughing and watching.
Sage lingered near the stone fireplace. After a night like tonight, he didn’t mind getting lost in the noise and the heat rising.
It was warm—finally—and warmth was something Sage never took for granted.
He was the first to drift toward Doc when he claimed the large open kitchen in the man cave—complete with every appliance they could ever need—and turned it into a makeshift field clinic.
Sleeves rolled to his elbows, med kit spread open on the counter, the former military doctor moved with quiet precision as the sink filled with warm, soapy water.
Sage watched as Doc eased the shivering pup into the basin, careful hands steady against the tremble of cold and fear. The grime came away fast, revealing black spots under the white.
A Dalmatian.
Of all things.
It was a Christmas miracle.
“Three months, maybe,” Doc said, lifting the pup free, rinsing him off, then wrapping him in a towel. He turned and handed the bundle toward Sage without warning.
Startled, Sage took him, the tiny weight pressing against his chest. The towel soaked through quickly, but he didn’t care. He rubbed the pup gently, listening to the soft whine that answered him.
Boston hovered close, leaning in to squint at the bundle in Sage’s arms.
“You planning to help,” Doc said without looking up, “or just breathe on my patient?”
Boston grinned. “You wound me, Doc.”
“Don’t tempt him—Doc’s got stitches to spare,” Law drawled from where he leaned against a post, arms crossed, jeans snug, and sweater stretched tight.
“You volunteering for those stitches, Law? I can make it quick.” Rip joined them, his look smug.
“My hero.” Boston clutched his heart and batted his lashes at him.
Rip scowled, but those blue eyes softened when they landed on Boston.
“You three planning to help, or just here for decoration?” Sage asked, a smile tugging at his mouth.
“Supervising,” Boston said. “It’s a leadership skill.”
“Then maybe learn from someone who’s led,” Rip drawled. When Boston flipped him off, Rip’s smile only deepened.
Doc grunted, the sound somewhere between amusement and exhaustion. “If you’re all done being comedians, hand me that sponge.”
Sage smirked, stepped forward, and passed it over. Outside, the storm had quieted, but inside, laughter had taken its place. For the first time all night, the world didn’t feel like it was falling apart.
The world narrowed for Law—to a beautiful blond man holding a spotted puppy in his arms.
“So, what’s the verdict, Doc?” he asked, forcing his focus back to something safer. He reached out, running his fingers gently over the top of the dog’s spotted head.
“Just a mild case of hypothermia, we got to him in time,” Doc said, tossing the sponge toward the edge of the sink and packing up his kit. “I warmed him up gradually while cleaning him up, but he’ll need to stay warm, and we’ll keep a close eye on him.”
“Buckshot,” Sage murmured, nuzzling into the pup. He laughed when Buckshot rewarded him with a flurry of kisses.
The sound caught Law off guard—light and unguarded in a way he hadn’t heard all night.
The puppy tilted his head, then turned into a blur of wiggles in Sage’s arms—so much so that Sage finally leaned down and set him on the scuffed hardwood floor.
“That’s a perfect freakin’ name,” Boston said, grinning.
“C’mere, Buckshot.” Ocean crouched, patting his thighs. It was the first time Law had ever seen the kid willingly that close to the floor.
Buckshot bounded over, licking Ocean’s hand, his whole body wagging—but seconds later, he darted straight back to Sage.
For some reason, the pup seemed to prefer him.
“I’m jelly,” Ocean pouted.
“Sorry, not sorry,” Sage said, dropping cross-legged to the floor so Buckshot could climb all over his lap.
Law couldn’t help watching—the way Sage’s grin softened the sharp lines of his face, how the pup’s paws tangled in the blond curls that had fallen loose across his forehead.
The sight settled deep in Law’s chest, filling him with something he hadn’t known he’d been missing.
He told himself it was just relief—that after the storm, the cold, the worry, seeing life and laughter again was enough to loosen something in him.
But when Sage laughed a second time, low and genuine, Law felt the truth hit closer than he liked.
The barn had gone quiet again, soft with the kind of calm that came after laughter.
Boston brought Sage a strip of meat for Buckshot, who snapped it up before curling in his lap.
Law watched from where he stood, the quiet settling deep.
Outside, the wind had died.
Inside, the night finally felt like it could rest.