JACQUELINE
The late afternoon sun sparkled across the surface of the pool as I leaned against the low stone wall Brogan had built around the patio. Out in the water, our six-month old daughter kicked her little legs while she was guided through another gentle set of floats.
“That’s it, sweetheart.” Cecily’s voice drifted toward me.
It was hard to believe we had an Olympian teaching our toddler to swim, but Brogan had insisted only the best would do since we had a pool.
Since he’d served with her husband during his military days, he’d been able to make a call and get the gold-medalist synchronized swimmer to come out and do private lessons at our home.
I smiled as our little girl giggled and splashed, completely at ease in the water.
The pool had been one of the first things I’d asked Brogan to add when we finalized the plans for the new house.
He’d grumbled about the extra permits and the amount of dirt that would have to be moved, then quietly made sure it was the safest, most beautiful backyard pool in Sable Canyon.
Tyre stood a few feet away from me, arms crossed over his chest, watching his wife with the same focused intensity Brogan had with me. I found it interesting how much the two motorcycle club presidents had in common.
From what my husband told me, Tyre had been tasked with forming a branch of the Redline Kings when he moved to California almost two years ago because Cecily needed to be based in LA to make the Olympic team.
He’d reached out to Brogan to get his stamp of approval on claiming territory so close to the Black Crowns.
Now the two clubs were close allies with different interests.
Some of Brogan’s guys rode in races organized by the Redline Kings every once in a while, and they handled the security for the track they’d built. And now their president’s wife was teaching our baby girl to swim.
Brogan came up behind me and settled his hands on my hips, his chin resting lightly on the top of my head. “She’s a natural.”
I leaned back into him. “Only because her aunt Cecily is such a good teacher.”
Cecily looked over and grinned. “She’s got her daddy’s stubborn streak too. Refused to wear the floaties today, and she’s only six months old.”
Brogan’s chest rumbled with a quiet laugh. “That’s my girl.”
I watched our daughter splash again, and I felt the familiar swell of gratitude in my chest. The old barn was long gone, replaced by the rehabilitation stable that now housed half a dozen recovering horses.
Grandpa’s farmhouse had been carefully restored into the ranch office and a small guesthouse.
And the land I’d loved since I was a little girl felt more alive than it ever had.
Cecily helped our daughter to the edge of the pool.
Brogan stepped forward immediately, scooping her up in a towel and pressing a kiss to her damp hair.
I grinned when Tyre rushed to her side to help her out, and she complained about knowing darn well how to climb out of a pool all by herself.
But she was pregnant, so I wasn’t surprised he was being overprotective. Just like my husband had been with me.
Brogan brought Jane over to the patio, and she wriggled happily and reached for me. I took her, breathing in her sweet scent mixed with chlorine, and met Brogan’s eyes over her head. He still looked at me the same way he had the morning he proposed on the rise—like I was his home.
And every single day, I was grateful I’d chosen him right back.