Hank thumped his brother’s hat and headed out of the barn. Every step toward the house made his feet feel as if they weighed a thousand pounds, but he’d been this tired before and worked through it. There had been runs in Alaska where he’d had to walk through thick snow to get to traps in the middle of the night, or that time that the roof collapsed with a storm incoming and had to be patched before anything else. He’d worked long stretches before. Inside, there’d be no time to rest, though, because Libby would need to be put to bed, and he’d have to help Uncle Ennis around, and the laundry needed doing and there wasn’t anyone else to do it.

He washed his hands and forearms in the outdoor sink, then shook off the worst of the water before heading inside. Once in the house, though, he noticed all was quiet, the lights low. Had Uncle Ennis put Libby to bed, then? The man couldn’t get up the stairs with that big boot on his foot, though. Curious, he headed into the living area . . . and stopped.

Becca was still there on the couch, his daughter tucked in her arms. The TV was on, the volume muted, and she cradled the little girl against her as Libby slept, clutching her favorite book. He noticed that Libby had been changed into her favorite pink pajamas and her hair was freshly washed and fixed into two pigtails that looked much better than the pigtails he normally gave her. And before he could say anything, Becca looked over at him and smiled.

“She wanted to stay up to kiss her daddy good night,” she whispered. “I hope that’s all right.”

Hank nodded. There was a stupid knot in his throat, but it got there sometimes when it came to his baby girl. He went to pick Libby up and she immediately put her small arms around his neck.

“Night, Daddy,” she murmured, all sleepiness.

“Give me a kiss and let’s get you tucked into bed, all right?” he said as he took her up the stairs to her room.

Once Libby was tucked in and he made sure she was sleeping, he closed the door halfway—never fully, because she got scared of being alone—and moved back downstairs. As he did, he passed by the laundry room and noticed that the clothes that had been stacked to overflowing in the laundry baskets were now cleaned and neatly folded. He headed into the living room and noticed Becca was on her feet, her purse on her arm as she fought back a yawn.

“You did the laundry?” he asked, since he felt like he should say something.