Page 118 of Meet Your Maker: Part One

“Alrighty, well, let me try this one: why is Xavier the only one responding to my messages, and why are you allowed to take me to the town dump when I usually can’t leave the house without an armed guard?”

He looks offended, glancing at me sideways. “You think I can’t take care of you if it comes to it?” He’s ruffled. “Like I told Tomas, the big dragon throws me off because my instinct says he belongs here. He’s just not acting the way he should. But I’m not letting anything like that happen again.” He runs his hand over his mouth and jaw, muttering under his breath, “I thought maybe he was supposed to be Colt’s…”

That does it. I fall over giggling, picturing my brother bringing home Silas. “He would destroy Colt!” I barely get the words out through my laughter.

Daddy snorts but doesn’t argue.

I glance out the window, the familiar fenceline whipping past. “Hold up—are we goin’ to the farm?”

Daddy barely spares me a look. “I’ve got a couple of old tires in the barn, been meaning to take them to the dump.”

I let my gift slide over Wade Prescott, the lying liar that he is. His mind is practically humming with satisfaction, too pleased with himself to keep it fully contained. “Sure you do.”

Flipping down the sun visor, I pop open the mirror, more out of habit than need.

Daddy decides to push his luck. “You getting yourself all gussied up for Wilder Thompson?”

I shiver and make a face. “No. And does Wilder work at the dump now? Wait, no—stop. Not the point, because you’re not taking me to the dump.” But let’s be honest, I dodged a bullet with Wilder.

The truck bumps onto the dirt road as we turn at the mailbox, the pecan trees arching over us in a soft, bloom-dusted canopy. I stretch my gift outward, brushing over the mental hum of several familiar presences gathered near the center of the property.

“There are at least eight people standing around the barn,” I say, folding my arms and tilting my head. “So what’s going on?”

Daddy exhales through his nose, slow and deliberate. “Sugar, can I give you a bit of advice?”

“Sure, why not,” I reply, narrowing my eyes.

“Stop looking at this as a mystery you’ve gotta crack. Just enjoy the afternoon. Your mates have worked hard to put something fun together for you.”

His voice softens, a rare earnestness breaking through his usual teasing tone. “Relax, and let it be what it’s gonna be.”

***

Tomas is the first to greet me, stepping out from the shade of the canopy strung between the oak and cottonwood trees. His shirt is slightly wrinkled, his hair wind-tousled, curling over his forehead in a way that looks both careless and deliberate.Stubble darkens his jaw, emphasizing its sharp, square line. For a moment, I get lost in how much he’s changed.

The always-polished Tomas I met in Vegas has dirtied up in the best way. He still moves with that unshakable confidence, still carries the quiet strength I’ve come to count on, but there’s an edge of wildness to him now—a rawness that makes him feel more real, more grounded.

His brown eyes catch the sunlight, warm and steady. But as he gets closer, I see a flicker of gold—his wolf just beneath the surface.

“How’s your morning been, Trouble?” His voice is low and warm, pulling me out of my thoughts.

I narrow my eyes, hands on my hips. “Well, had you answered my messages, you’d know.”

He pulls me into a hug, and just like that, my irritation melts away. His scent—clean, woodsy, Tomas—wraps around me as his arms tighten.

“Feeling like you need some attention, Trouble?” he murmurs, his voice dipping into that smooth, sexy tone that makes my stomach flip. “Let me make it up to you.”

I press my forehead against his chest, swallowing the flutter in my throat. “Will you tell me what’s happening?”

He pulls back just enough to meet my gaze. “We decided we needed a family picnic. Colt offered the farm. He’s smoking most of a pig. Ben helped with the canopy, the girls have been decorating, and Sue’s been cooking all morning. As soon as Gray’s up, Xavier will bring him over with the desserts they’ve been baking.”

I blink, taking it all in—the blankets spread over the grass, the table draped in bright fabric, the lanterns swaying in the breeze. “It sounds wonderful, but… what’s the occasion?”

He shrugs, his hands resting lightly on my waist. “Just surviving, I guess. If we keep waiting for the perfect moment, we’ll never start living.”

There’s something in his smile—a flicker, a secret held back. Normally, I’d push. I’d pry it out of him with charm or sheer stubbornness. But Daddy’s words echo in my mind: Relax, and let it be what it’s gonna be.

So I do. For once, I let myself enjoy the moment.

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