Page 114 of The Secrets We Built Together

I looked up at my brother then, really looking at the man in front of me. “Thank you,” I said honestly. “I don’t know what I’d have done without your support. Without you letting me come into the rehab…”

“I’m going to stop you right there,” Booker said, holding up a hand. “I should be thanking you. You came here looking for a break and I pulled you into a business venture that is more than I’d have ever been able to keep up with even if the original investors had stayed on. I could never have done any of this without your medical expertise. And above all that, I might have found that I quite like having you around again.”

He shoved me under the table with one foot and I grinned. That was as emotional as I’d ever seen my eldest brother. See, we were all making progress in this family.

“It’s not entirely altruistic. This place, the clinic, the ranch, I think it was exactly what I needed. This is the sort of medicine I should have always been doing.”

Booker nodded thoughtfully. "Speaking of, the clinic’s busier than we ever anticipated at this stage. Reece and I have been worried about how much work that’s going to mean for you and the others."

I ran a hand through my hair, feeling the familiar weight of responsibility settle on my shoulders. "I know. It’s a lot. We need to expand the medical team already. I have some potential candidates lined up. And… I want to talk to you about bringing another doctor on board. I’m not pulling out, or distancing myself from the project. But, I’d prefer to work a lot less hours so I can be there for Amelia. I want to be a dad," I said, never really having admitted it aloud before.

"I think that sounds like an incredible idea. I’m here for whatever you need to help make that happen.”

“Thanks, Book.”

He stood from his seat that, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Now that’s all worked out and we’ve been all emotionally healthy and stuff, I’m going to bed, and I suggest you do the same.”

“I will, I just have a few things I need to do first.”

Booker raised an eyebrow like he didn’t believe me but then he turned and left calling out a soft goodnight as he did.

This wouldn’t take long, but I wanted to get the ball rolling as soon as possible.

I grabbed my cell, cringing at the time that it showed on the screen and then decided it wasn’t too bad, I made the call anyway. Part of me was relieved when it went through to voicemail though.

"Bob, it's Xander Farrington. I need to talk to you about the house plans. I've made some changes. Actually, a lot of changes. Call me back as soon as you can."

I hung up, feeling a strange mix of excitement and nerves. Soon, I'd show Blake the revised plans. See what she thought about building a home together.

But for now, I carefully rolled up the blueprints and slipped them onto the dresser in Booker’s home office. This was a start, but I still had one more thing I needed to get to make this perfect.

Chapter 41

Blake

The studio was quiet, bathed in the soft glow of the lamp I'd placed in the corner. Outside, the night had settled around the cottage like a comfortable blanket, stars pricking through the darkness. I stood in front of the canvas, brush in hand, feeling the excitement bubbling through me.

I'd been painting all day, and my back ached from standing so long, but I couldn't bring myself to stop. Not when the images were finally flowing again after so long. Not when every stroke felt like coming home.

"You've been in here for hours," Xander's voice came from the doorway, warm and amused.

I didn't turn, just smiled and added another dab of blue to the corner of the canvas. "I know. I can't help it."

"You need to eat something." He stepped into the room, and I heard the clink of a plate being set down on my work table. "And drink something that isn't coffee."

"You worry too much," I said, but finally set my brush down in the solvent jar and turned.

Xander stood there, barefoot in worn jeans and a soft henley, his hair slightly rumpled like he'd been running his fingers through it. He'd been working in his office most of the day, dealing with paperwork for the clinic while I painted and Amelia napped. Domestic bliss, and somehow it didn't feel stifling at all.

"I brought you a sandwich," he said, nodding toward the plate.

"My hero," I teased, but my voice came out softer than I'd intended.

His eyes moved past me to the canvas, widening slightly. "Blake, that's incredible."

I glanced back at my work—the painting of the three of us under the oak tree that I'd been working on since yesterday. I'd expanded it, adding more depth, more color, turning that simple sketch into something that made my heart ache with hope.

"You think?" I asked, suddenly self-conscious.

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