Page 182 of Dustwalker
It took Lara a moment to push past the fog of lust in her mind and open her eyes. He was staring at her withwide grin.
She blinked. “Yes?”
Wait. He’s saying yes to…
Lara beamed up at him. “Really? You want to have a baby?”
He turned her body toward his, lifted her into his arms, and pressed his forehead against hers. “Yes. I want to see your belly grow with our child. I want to raise a family with you. I want to share every human moment, every aspect of life, with you, Lara Brooks. Everything.”
EPILOGUE
Ronin walked along the sidewalk, optics roaming over the park across the street. As many times as he’d seen it in the fifty-one years since he’d come to Cheyenne, he never tired of it—the place was ever changing. Most of its grounds had been repurposed for farming decades ago, coupling with the fields outside town to leave Cheyenne with a food surplus that attracted traders from distant settlements.
Children ran and played between rows of crops, laughing and smiling, getting especially giggly when fieldworkers shooed them away. Ronin knew them all by name, knew which of them were likely to leave signs on Mr. Mather’s back, which unfortunately included one of his great grandchildren, Rae. The teacher still hadn’t caught on to their tricks.
“Dad!”
Stopping, Ronin turned. Tabitha jogged toward him with a bundle of Indian Paintbrush flowers in her hand.
Ronin’s memory flashed back to the first time he’d held his daughter. Tabitha had been so tiny and fragile, small enough to hold in one hand. It hadn’t mattered that her biological father was someone else, Ronin had bonded with her instantly. She was his. His baby.
Now, Tabitha was a woman with grown children and a few grandkids of her own. She possessed so many of Lara’s features—the red hair, the bright blue eyes, the stubborn streak. Theforty-seven years since her birth had gone by too quickly, though they’d been full of joy, meaning, learning, and adapting.
Tabitha grinned as she reached him. “Found these on my way back from the fields. I thought Mom would like them.”
Smiling, Ronin accepted the flowers. “She’ll love them.”
“How’s she been? I visited with Lucas and the grandbabies yesterday, but I think they tired her out pretty quick.”
Lucas, Tabitha’s oldest, had two young daughters who often visited Ronin and Lara, Rae and Sadie. Rae was a handful on her own, but paired with her little sister… The two were far too mischievous, clever, and hilarious for their own good.
Ronin couldn’t express how much he loved them.
He cupped Tabitha’s cheek with his free hand, brushing a thumb over her dusting of freckles. “She doesn’t quite have the endurance she used to. But to be fair, those kids tire me out too.”
She chuckled as he lowered his arm. “Tell me about it. Anyway, Dan’s waiting on me, so I gotta run. We’re going to help with some repairs on the wall. Let mom know I’ll stop by tomorrow. It’s my day off, so I can help her around the house if she needs it. Oh, and I was talking with Sam, Mel, and Mandy, and we want to try to get everyone all together in the next couple weeks. We’re trying to coordinate with everyone.”
“That sounds great. I’ll let her know.”
Tabitha stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him, kissing his cheek. “Love you guys.”
He hugged her back and kissed the top of her head the same way he had throughout her youth. “Love you too, Tabby.”
As Ronin watched her go, he couldn’t silence the question whispering across his processors.
Had he been right to downplay the truth and deflect with humor?
Tabitha wasn’t a child anymore. She knew Lara’s health was waning, knew that, despite the comforts they’d all worked hard to have, death remained a reality in Cheyenne. She’d been old enough to understand what was happening during the famine when she was a child, and she’d been nearly twenty when sickness swept through town and killed dozens.
That had been amongst the hardest lessons Ronin and Lara had learned as parents—that no matter what they did, no matter how hard they tried, they couldn’t shield their child from the world.
Tabitha was mature, strong, observant, and compassionate. He knew she would be able to handle anything. But he still couldn’t bring himself to say anything that would dim the love and joy that always sparkled in her eyes.
Finally, he resumed his walk, greeting the neighbors who were outside tending their gardens as he passed. Though flowers had become popular in recent years, adding color to the neighborhood, many humans still kept their own plots of crops.
The struggles of the past had not been forgotten. Most of the humans who’d suffered under Warlord and revolted against him were gone, but their legacies continued, carried on by their children and grandchildren, new generations who worked alongside bots to build and maintain a prosperous community.
When he reached his residence, Ronin opened the front gate and entered the yard, closing it gently. Coming home like this felt strange sometimes. He remembered when this had just been a place to store and care for his gear, a temporary stop between his long treks into the Dust. Back then, it had been a building devoid of life, largely empty of purpose.
