Maybe he’d build Becca a new home right next to this one. Something with a big kitchen and a big wraparound sofa so they could cuddle up and watch movies together every night. He imagined a house with her in it, and it’d be full of scented candles and those silly throw pillows she was enamored with, but it’d also be full of her bright laughter and her joy. He pictured her holding Libby’s hand, her other hand in his . . . and his chest squeezed so hard with longing it felt like a physical ache. Yeah, he wanted that.

He wanted to give her the children she wanted. He wanted to see her smile every morning and every night. He wanted to hold her close and love her with all his damned heart.

And she’d shown up that morning, all pretty, with a box of doughnuts, a shy smile of greeting on her face. He hadn’t been able to figure out why she’d come by.

Had she . . . changed her mind about him, too? Did she miss him like he missed her? Because not having Becca at his side was like missing a limb . . . or having his heart ripped out of his chest. He wasn’t surviving without it. He needed her.

The realization hit him like a load of bricks. He didn’t need Alaska. He needed her.

Libby didn’t need Alaska, either. If she didn’t like school, they’d figure something out. But she needed Becca in her life, too. She needed two parents to love and look after her. With that thought swimming in his head, he dumped the rest of the fresh hay into the horse stalls and then headed inside.

“Libby?” he called out, and she came around the corner, riding on Jack’s shoulders. Her giggles were wild, her face lit up with amusement. There was a half-eaten peanut butter and jam sandwich in her hand, and some of her curls were dragging through the sandwich. Her overalls were filthy, and she looked like a damned mess.

“We’re just playing a bit of horsey,” Jack told him, and did a mock gallop to make Libby laugh again.

Hank raised his arms. “Horsey time is over. You’re a mess, Libs.” She launched herself into his arms and he caught her, then settled her on his hip. “You and I need to talk.”

“Okay, Daddy,” she said brightly.

“What about?” Jack asked.

He frowned at Jack. His youngest brother had a good heart, but if anything, his stubbornness ran deeper than even Hank’s. He wouldn’t like to hear that Hank and Libby were going to stay in Painted Barrel, too. Best to hide that information from him until everything was settled. “Father-daughter stuff.”

Jack put his hands up. “Sounds creepy. I’m out.”

It wasn’t creepy, damn it. But if that got Jack to leave, so much the better. Hank bit back a retort and took Libby upstairs to the bathroom, removing the squashed sandwich from her hand and washing her arms and face. “Daddy needs to tell you some important stuff, okay, Libs?”