He could hardly believe how his world was coming together. Echo, ready to marry him as soon as their house was finished—he had plans to rebuild his grandparents’ place at the end of the lake—Sky King Ranch back in the black, and Larke had even called and said that she’d made it past twenty weeks and felt the baby kick. His father might be going blind, but Dodge could still see the sparkle of joy in his eyes.

Larke promised a trip home as soon as the baby was born.

He nailed the last sheet down and stood up, stretching. Below, Echo threw a stick out for Iceman to play catch. He’d been living at the ranch since Dodge found him, and it seemed like he didn’t want to leave.

Dodge’s stomach growled and he headed toward the ladder, but a glimmer of light against a red truck motoring along the drive to the lodge stopped him. He watched it pull up, and although he couldn’t make out the model, it looked a lot like the truck that belonged to Dwayne, their NATB agent.

What now?

He grabbed his shirt and climbed down the ladder. “NATB is at the house,” he said to Echo as he took a drink of water from his thermos.

“Really? Why?”

“Dunno. Maybe they’re lifting the probation.” He pulled his thermal over his head and tugged it down. Echo came over to him.

“Shoot. I liked the view.”

He laughed but wrapped his arms around her shoulders and kissed her. She smiled under his touch. “I see a lot more projects in your future.”

“You got it, babe,” he said and winked, then he took her hand as they headed up to the lodge.

Please let Dwayne not be yanking their FBO license.

Iceman bounded into the arctic entry ahead of them, barking, then running into the great room. The lodge smelled of fresh coffee, probably his father being hospitable. Dodge could hear his father even as he came into the office.

“How long?”

Dodge’s heart fell. Shoot. Now he’d have to go the route of reapplying for status, the paperwork, the inspections, the ride-alongs, the scrutiny . . . Dodge walked into the room, ready to protest, plead his case, anything to save his operation—

“About three weeks.”

Dodge stopped as the speaker turned, looked at him.

“Range,” Dodge said softly.

They used to call them the bookends, he and Ranger, although Ranger was shorter than Dodge by an inch. Still, he had the same dark hair and blue eyes, wide shoulders, and even-handed demeanor as his oldest brother. However, he’d been the one who didn’t let his temper off its leash, the one who had a goal and let nothing deter him from it.

“Dodge,” Ranger said, walking over, his hand outstretched. Dodge took it and then Ranger pulled him into a hug. Slapped his back. “Good to see you.”