Where the Truth Lives - Mia Sheridan Page 0,146

nipping at the side of her neck.

“You do see the mountains, don’t you?” she asked.

He moved his hands up her ribcage. “Well,” he murmured. “I feel them.” He cupped her breasts. “They’re round and soft—”

Liza laughed, elbowing him softly. “Oof.” He grinned, his hands falling away.

They stared out the window, enjoying the peace of the moment before Liza said softly, “The small room upstairs with the built-in shelves will make a perfect nursery.”

Happiness shimmered through him, knowing she wanted what he did. Children. To build a family. They’d only been married a year, but he saw no reason to wait. If anyone understood the fragile nature of life, they did. It was the reason he hadn’t been able to talk himself out of proposing to her six months after their ordeal with Axel Draper. Six months after Liza had crawled through that tunnel of terror to warn him and help save the others. A lump still formed in his throat when he thought about the heroics she’d exhibited, courage that some of the hardened cops he knew might not have been able to muster. Why in the world would he wait to begin their life together? He loved her fiercely. He wanted to spend his life beside her. He’d asked, and through happy tears, she’d said yes. They’d taken vows in his family’s church in Kentucky that fall and had a small reception in his parents’ backyard, surrounded by everyone they loved. “Yes,” he agreed. “The room will make the perfect nursery. We should work on that.”

“It wasn’t much work,” she said softly, turning her head, “but . . . success.” Liza brought his hand to her belly, pressing her own on top of his.

Reed felt a moment of disorientation. He let go of her, turning her in his arms so he could look in her eyes. “Are you serious?”

She nodded slowly, her gaze searching his. “I took a test this morning.”

His heart leapt, a mixture of terror and euphoria commingling in his veins. His eyes flew around, snagging on all the mess and chaos around them. “We need to start fixing up this place right away.”

“We haven’t even purchased it,” Liza said, amusement dancing in her eyes. She raised her hand, cupping his cheek. “We have time, Reed. Last I checked, it takes a while to cook a baby.”

“A baby,” he whispered. God, they were going to have a baby. Happiness spiraled dizzily within and he dropped to one knee, his hands spanning her hips as he kissed her stomach. Liza laughed, running her hands through his hair as he grinned up at her. The light shifted, a golden ray of sunlight casting its radiance on them, freezing the moment in time, making it feel holy. This is my heaven, he thought. Right here, right now, with you.

Reed stood, gathering her in his arms, kissing her softly, and leaning his forehead on hers. For a while, they stood just like that, soaking in the moment. Then together they walked through the house once more, looking at it with new eyes. Eyes that knew they’d need to prioritize that small room with the built-ins . . . and add a back fence . . . and baby gates for the now-rickety set of steps. Speaking of those steps, he couldn’t have that. They were dangerous and he didn’t want his pregnant wife walking on them. Sweat broke out on his brow. He was tempted to run to the tool shop in town and purchase items so he could start tearing them down immediately in order that they could be rebuilt as quickly as possible. There must be specs regarding railings and riser height. God, he needed to know those things.

Liza shot him a knowing smile before opening a closet, peering inside, and then standing back as if visually measuring for space. He took in a deep breath as he watched her. I’m going to be a father. Reed swallowed, thinking of the men who’d taught him about fatherhood, and with the thought a measure of calm moved through him. The men who had shown up and led by example, living their lives with honor and integrity, loving their families deeply and unconditionally. If he followed their lead, he was going to be just fine.

As Liza walked down the hall, opening another closet and looking inside, Reed followed, his thoughts turning to his birth father. It'd been a year and a half since Charles Hartsman had died and he still hadn’t fully wrapped his head around what happened that earth-shattering day. He was still probing it carefully, trying to come to terms with the complex feelings he still had for the man.

He was a monster and yet . . . he wasn’t. He’d saved Liza’s life. And Arryn’s and Milo’s and Sabrina’s too. He was deeply grateful to him, and yet he was a vile predator. So . . . yes, Charles Hartsman had taught Reed things as well. He’d taught him that all people moved between darkness and light into those gray areas between the two, the only difference between any of them being the degree in which they walked in shadow and how far they traveled into murkier depths. Sometimes an evil man acted as a hero, and sometimes a victim became a tormenter. Criminals exhibited unexpected grace, and honest men had moments of great weakness. There was a strange, terrible, beautiful, complicated universe inside them all where nothing was simply black or white.

Liza turned toward him, her smile emerging on a happy sigh. “It’s going to be perfect,” she said, walking to him and taking his hand.

He smiled at his wife. “Yes,” he agreed. “It is.” To Reed, it already was, because he took nothing for granted and saw life as the undeserved and magnificent gift it was. Heaven showed up in small, stolen moments. And he had learned to recognize them for what they were. To pause, to hold them close and breathe them in as they filtered slowly, slowly through his soul. And for those tender slips of precious time, the broken world was only perfect.

Acknowledgments

How lucky am I that I have so many extraordinarily talented people on my team? My cup runneth over.

My editors: Angela Smith, Marion Archer, and Karen Lawson. Thank you for the intense focus and time spent questioning every aspect of this story and ensuring I had all the answers. You three pick up where I leave off and I could not be more grateful to have you.

Huge appreciation to my beta readers: Cat Bracht, Ashley Brinkman, and Cynthia Lear. You not only boosted my confidence but made so many constructive suggestions and helped richen this story.

And to Elena Eckmeyer for not only beta reading, but for beta reading six times. I am eternally grateful for all your insightful comments, your eagle-eyed finds, and mostly, for that big heart of yours that finds room to love the unlovable.

To Sharon Broom, I’m so thankful for your final look at this manuscript. I appreciate your time, your talent, and your friendship so very much.

Thank you to Kimberly Brower, the best agent in the history of ever.

To you, my precious reader, thank you for immersing yourself in my story, for expending so many emotions on my characters, and for continually choosing my books when the choices are so plentiful.

Thank you to my Facebook group, Mia’s Mafia, for your loyalty and your love.

To Janett Gomez, who is no longer with us, but is forever in my heart. If anyone embodied the spirit of a true heroine, it was you, my beautiful friend.

To all the book bloggers and Instagrammers who spend countless hours reading, reviewing, and creating beautiful art for the books they love, thank you doesn’t seem like nearly enough.

To my husband, my heaven.

Note: While I did take a few small fictional liberties, Camp Joy is a very real place in Clarksville, Ohio that features the Living History Program I spoke of where campers run for freedom in the pitch black of night as runaway slaves. Each of my own children participated in this program with their classmates when they spent a school-sponsored weekend at the camp and it was a wonderfully, life-changing experience for them, one they still talk about, and one I know they will carry with them all of their lives.