Reva opened her mouth, but no words came.
“I need you to come home,” Grand Memaw whispered, as her voice dimmed. “Run Sunnyside. Keep the legacy alive. For me.”
Reva sat frozen, the weight of generations settling across her shoulders, heavy and unrelenting.
She had a life in Thunder Mountain. A job. A husband. A son. And…friends.
But this…this was her bloodline asking for one final promise.
Reva sat still, Grand Memaw’s frail fingers wrapped tight around hers, as the words echoed in the quiet room.
Come home. Run Sunnyside. For me.
Her thoughts flitted unbidden to Thunder Mountain—Kellen’s strong hands fixing breakfast on sleepy Saturday mornings, the way Lucan’s laughter filled every empty space in their home. Her precious boy. She pictured him scampering through the orchards at Sunnyside, his small hands stretching toward branches bowed with pecans—darting between trees planted by men he’d never meet, but whose sweat still lingered in the soil, their labor a quiet gift to his future.
Her sweet boy, full of light and promise, raised by love and the roots of something deeper than time. Lucan hadn’t come to them by birth, but by divine design—placed in their arms through grace, not chance.
Maybe it wasn’t just about honoring the past. Maybe it was about securing the future. Lucan’s future.
Yes, it would be a sacrifice. But how much had this old woman sacrificed for her family?
How could she possibly turn down Grand Memaw’s request? A family legacy meant something—didn’t it?
She looked down at their joined hands—her own steady and strong, her grandmother’s fragile, trembling like the last autumn leaf hanging on a branch.
Reva bent closer, her voice barely more than a breath.
“Yes,” she whispered against the tightness in her throat. “Don’t worry. I’ll come home.”
Grand Memaw exhaled, a slow, shivering sound that seemed to carry a lifetime of relief.
And for the first time since Reva had stepped into the room, the old woman smiled with her whole face.
9
“I hate you!”
The words hit harder than they should have as Jewel spun on her heel and dashed up the stairs, the slap of her socked feet echoing off the walls. A moment later, her bedroom door slammed with enough force to rattle the old photographs hanging in the hallway.
Charlie Grace winced. Motherhood certainly wasn’t for the faint of heart.
She took a steadying breath, her hand still curled around the back of a kitchen chair.
Lila had called it yesterday. Wolves. Not dogs.
Charlie Grace had spent most of the night tossing and turning, the weight of that revelation pressing down on her chest. She’d made the call to the Fish and Game Department first thing that morning. Now they were on their way to pick up the pups.
“Timing’s everything,” Lila had said when she prepared to leave yesterday. “They’re still young enough to be rehabilitated. But the longer they’re with humans…”
Charlie Grace had nodded, even as her heart cracked just thinking about her daughter’s tear-streaked face.
A soft knock on the front door pulled her back to the present.
“Must be them,” her dad remarked, still gazing up the stairs where his granddaughter was hiding.
She nodded and opened the door to find two uniformed wildlife officers standing beside Lila, who offered a sad smile.
“Morning, Ms. Rivers,” one of the officers said. “I’m Officer Grant. This is my partner, Officer Hernandez.”
