Gray Wolf Security: Wyoming

by Glenna Sinclair

  David and his wife, their two children, were there, too. And Donovan, Joss, Alexander, Ingram…they were all here. If someone needed Gray Wolf’s services this weekend, they were out of luck.

  This weekend was mine. And I wanted my family here.

  But before I went downstairs to greet them, before I called Bodhi and reminded him he’d promised to be home by dinner, I snuck down the back stairs and walked to the little family cemetery tucked into the garden that still stood undisturbed in the south pasture.

  I dropped to my knees in front of Mitchell’s grave, vaguely concerned that I wouldn’t be able to get up again with my belly so swollen. I touched the stone, ran my fingers over the same letters I’d touched a million times before, the feel of his name engraved there more familiar than the feel of my daughter’s features.

  “Thank you,” I said softly. “Without you, I wouldn’t be here. I wouldn’t have my family, wouldn’t have our beautiful daughter. I wouldn’t have this ranch and all the people it brought into my life. And I wouldn’t have Kipling or Ash or Donovan…” Tears filled my eyes. “Thank you, Mitchell.”

  I was such a simple thing. Yet, it was everything.