Page 12 of The Rogue

3

Istand at thekitchen sink, scrubbing the last of the dinner plates while Jackson clears the table, gently stacking the remaining dishes.

The kitchen is large in its square shape. It’s an open concept with a ‘rustic charm’ as my sister-in-law, Pepper, calls it. With wooden beams overhead and a window offering a view of the expansive ranch.

The last interview didn’t show. And I take it the woman realized it’s too far and not worth the drive. It was too bad. She sounded super laid back and…well, motherly. She also had somewhat of a sharp tongue which tells me she doesn’t beat around the bush. Her whole vibe told me she’d fit in just fine here.

I almost want to call her back and ask her if she’d like to interview by phone if she’s concerned about the long drive for nothing.

I glance over my shoulder at my little boy. “Thanks for helping out, buddy.”

He opens the freezer like it’s routine or something.

“Hold it right there.”

He turns to me, all innocent.

“Didn’t you have an ice pop at Uncle Noah’s today?”

“Just one.”

“One is plenty. Go brush and get ready for bed.”

He closes the freezer with a look I accept asworth a shot. “Can we read a story before bed?”

I bite down a grunt. “Sure we can. Pick one out, I’ll be up in a minute.”

Jackson’s footsteps echo through the wooden floors as I dry my hands on a towel, wondering if it’s really all that hard to just…do this all myself.

We don’t need anybody, do we?

Except maybe our family. I’m grateful to my brothers for always stepping in to help when I need it.

Both of them.

We lost Elliot two years ago to a skiing accident. His death ripped us up inside. But the four of us stuck together, refusing to let another death in our family destroy us.

Dad checked in on us daily. He was the opposite of the man he was when Mom died.

Chase thought he was hovering.

Noah called it overcompensating.

I saw it as Dad needing us as much as we needed him. Regardless of the motive, we survive better together.

And hell, with both my brothers settling down with the loves of their lives, I may never need a mother figure for him. Pepper and Charlie will be plenty for that.

I suppose.

But still, I can count on them. They’re not Lilly. They’re not going anywhere.

I toss the leftovers into the fridge and shut off the lights. Thank heavens Dad took pity on me and prepared take-out dinner. Otherwise, the kid would have had mac and cheese while I picked at a can of tuna.

I’m usually an enthusiastic cook—hell my gourmet kitchen is built for it—but summers are long and hot on the ranch. Good help is slowing down, and I’ve got Jackson at my hip or on my mind all day to worry about meal prep.

The bully candidate was right about one thing. The kid needs stability. Routine.

I find Jackson already in pajamas, eagerly flipping through a comic book. The room is a blend of childhood treasures—both mine and his.

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