Mac carried him back to the car. Hannah and Grant were waiting at the edge of the grass. Carson jumped from Mac’s arms and ran to Grant. Ellie joined them as they went to their car.

Hannah and Stella flanked Mac, each taking an arm.

“We made it.” Hannah wiped her eyes. “You all right?”

“I am.” Mac had finally made peace with his life. “Our lives were rough, but he prepared us. Got to give him that.”

Grant, Hannah, Mac, none of them would be alive without the skills their father had taught them.

Hannah snorted. “He did. If there’s ever a zombie apocalypse, we are so ready.”

One Week Later

Stella parked in front of Grant and Ellie’s farmhouse for a Fourth of July barbeque. The past week had her head spinning—in a good way. Sure, she’d had to type a thousand reports, but she’d been able to spend most of her free time with Mac.

In the passenger seat, he gestured toward the house with his splinted hand. “It might be nice to have a place like this someday.”

“Are you ready to emerge from the wild?”

He laughed. “Maybe you tamed me.”

“I seriously doubt you’ll ever be fully domesticated.” Stella reached for the door handle. “At least I hope not.” Remembering the night before, she glanced back at him, heat and humor filling her with happiness.

Flashing her a wicked grin, Mac opened his car door.

“But it is peaceful here.” Stepping out of the car, she breathed in the smell of freshly cut summer grass. The lawn surrounding the house was lush with green from the June rains. They’d just left her house, where Gianna was recuperating under the watchful eyes of Grandpa and Morgan.

“Uncle Mac! Uncle Mac!” Mac’s nephew raced around the side of the house and tore across the grass toward them. His large golden retriever loped at his side. The boy almost slammed into Mac’s legs. The dog slid to a stop and launched its body at Stella with a happy bark.

“Whoa, AnnaBelle.” Holding his splinted hand in the air, Mac caught the dog’s collar before she took Stella out at the knees. “Sit.”

Stella stroked the dog’s soft head. “Such a pretty girl.”

Wiry, tan, and covered in grass stains, Carson was a mini-Mac. Mud splattered the bare legs and feet that stuck out from under his black athletic shorts. A dinosaur, and something that might have been ketchup, decorated his T-shirt.

Carson squinted at her. “I know you. You work with Brody. You’ve been here before, and you were at my grandpa’s funeral.”

“I was,” Stella said.

“Look what I found!” He thrust his hand toward her. A small snake hissed in her face.