Wyatt
Eighteen months later…
I settled our one-year-old baby girl in her crib, and she smiled up at me. Reagan Morgan Graves was the spitting image of her daddy, but she had my eyes and those eyes crinkled at the corners whenever she laughed. Which was often.
“I’m here,” Sundance whispered as he rushed into the room. “Is she asleep?”
“Nope,” I said, and stepped aside. “I just put her down.”
It was Wednesday, which meant church, so Sundance had walked the quarter mile from the cabin, and it had apparently ended early. It was unusually warm, but snow was coming, so he’d have to drive going forward.
We were currently living in the home we’d built on the compound land and it was more than I could have imagined… or dreamed of. Four bedrooms, plus a den, five bathrooms, along with a full
