Nash cleared his throat, a faint flush touching his broad cheekbones as he looked down at his coffee mug. "I... I wanted to make sure she didn't have bad dreams."
My heart ached with a deep, complicated warmth.
Over the past two days, as we settled back into the pack house, I had watched Nash interact with our daughter. There was no arrogance in him, no demanding Alpha authority. He was meticulously patient with her. He spent hours kneeling on the floorboards, helping her build wooden block towers, tying her boots, and cooking her favorite cinnamon porridge every morning before the sun came up.
He was being the father he had been robbed of being for six long years.
"Jill is taking Harley down to the garden to see the new puppies," I said softly to Harley. "Go wash your hands in the bas
