“Honey, come on. It’s just target practice. And we won’t use real guns. You like the Red Ryder BB gun, I know you do.”

Wrapping his arms around her waist, Cam pulled Lacey into direct contact with his chest and dropped a kiss on the back of her neck. She was stiff as a board and was doing everything she could to appear standoffish. Luckily, his wife was a terrible actress.

Marriage was an obstacle course sometimes.

“We did the research. Got the best protection on the market. And the earphones are cute as shit! He’ll be fine.”

Pushing him back with her butt, she disengaged, threw down the dishtowel, and wheeled around. The adorable scowl intended to express her displeasure only succeeded in firing up his already overactive sex drive.

Ponytail Cameron with an attitude was a guaranteed turn-on. It simply didn’t get any cuter or sexier than his young and very beautiful spouse trying to act big and bad.

Unfortunately, when she turned around, he didn’t wipe the stupid grin off his face fast enough. This earned him a scolding smirk that truthfully only made him consider taking her back to bed. Or doing her on the floor. One of those things was definitely on the agenda.

“Two-year-olds do not require target practice, so whatever arguments you and Draegyn worked up to cover this nonsense, you can forget.”

“But it’s a BB gun! Not even real.”

She pursed her lips and squinted. It was her exasperated wife expression.

“It’s a BB what?” she argued.

Before he answered, Dyl added his two cents to the breakfast discussion.

“Gun, Mommy.”

Cam grinned. “That’s my boy.”

That was when his Ponytail adopted the crossed arms pose and pointed look that signaled she wasn’t having it. Any of it. So he came at her with the next part of his carefully constructed argument.

She cut him off at the knees before he got any words out. “The warning on the box says for ages ten and up.”

“Ralphie was nine.”

Her face was really funny when she argued. “In a movie. And he shot his eye out like his mother said he would.”

He snickered. “He did not!”

Dylan banged his hand on the table to get their attention. His dish and sippy cup were empty. The kid loved breakfast.

“I’ve got it,” he assured his unhappy wife. With learned precision, he dropped three more French toast sticks onto his son’s dish and added a spoonful of his favorite homemade jam to dip them in. Dylan was a champion dipper. He’d dip birthday cake into barbecue sauce if they let him.

After inspecting the sippy cup lid—all it took was one time when it wasn’t secure and milk flew everywhere for Cam to make checking a habit—he handed it off to his watchful son.

When he turned to Lacey, she was ready for him.

“I asked Alex. He learned at six. I’d prefer eight but …” She shrugged.

For his wife, Major Alexander Valleja-Marquez was the next best thing to the voice of God. If he thought socks and sandals were cool, she’d be the first to give it a try. And truth be told, it wasn’t exactly a bummer that his closest friend—the man he looked up to for virtually everything—was also a surrogate father figure for Lacey.

Bottom line—the guy gave great advice and had astonishingly good judgment. About everything. Except clothes. When he dressed himself, Alex generally came off like a mash-up between a man in boy’s clothing and a comic book character. Not a good look at all.

Thinking he was in the clear now that she’d backed down about the BB gun, he plowed ahead.

“Cool. Hear that, Dyl? Only four more years.”

His son rocked on his butt and chuckled. There was a bright blue glob of jam stretching from cheek to chin.

Reaching into the pocket of his jeans, Cam brought out his phone. “So check out the ear protection. These babies have a noise reducing rate of ...”

“No,” Lacey grumbled. “There’s nothing you can say to convince me that my toddler son needs to hang out at the shooting range—regardless of the sound protection.”

“But Drae has been taking Danny. It’s no big deal, hon.”

“I said no.”

He glanced at Dyl. As usual, his son was taking it all in while calmly munching a breakfast stick. Sometimes, he wondered what went through the kid’s head. And Lacey was right—when caught at a certain angle, his son had a thoughtful expression that was ripped from the Major Marquez training manual.

“You can come too. We can make it a family thing.”

“I’m not taking our children to the gun range!”

Should he back down? She wasn’t at all happy with him at the moment, but he was sure she’d come around once she saw his point. No matter which way you sliced it or diced it, their kids were going to be raised around a lot of stuff. Including guns. He was just trying to do the responsible, sensible thing.

“Tell you what,” he said in his most reasonable voice. “You can come to the range and test the earmuffs.”

“Cameron!” she yelled. “I said no.”

Without warning, she threw her hands in the air and boomed, “Goddammit!”

He was so stunned that his only reaction was frozen astonishment. Lacey never swore. Ever.

Well, there was that one time she told him to fuck off and slapped his face for emphasis. But having what she called a potty mouth wasn’t her thing.

Dylan, sweet, troublemaking Dylan, chimed in. “Dammit!”

Seriously—what was he supposed to do? It was funny, so he laughed. His chuckling reaction made Dylan laugh.

He wasn’t entirely sure, but Cam thought there was the suggestion of a smile around her mouth when she turned away. Without saying another word, she walked off.

Shoving his fingers along with the last chunk of breakfast stick into his mouth, Dylan laughed again and asked, “Mommy mad?”

“Nah.” He snickered. “She just doesn’t like when we say bad words.”

The boy nodded as if he understood, and maybe he did. As he reached for the sippy cup, Dyl grinned and said, “Bummer.”

Purely for shits and giggles, he fist bumped his two-year-old.

Kids had an uncanny way of cutting through bullshit. Dyl was right. While it was a bummer that Mommy didn’t like cursing, it was already apparent that Junior Justice would be earning black belts in creative vulgarity and clever swearing. It was in the Bendover air, and there was nothing any of them could do about it.

He glanced down the hallway where Lacey had disappeared, heard Lily’s soft cry, and smiled. The baby had a way of making everything all right. The sweetness and light their beautiful daughter brought to the world was a wonderful thing. She was an angel filled with magic and love.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, young man,” he called from the sink where he’d gone to wet a washcloth. “I think your sister is about to make her morning appearance.”

“Baby Lily,” Dylan mumbled.

He got them washed up and presentable before Lacey came back. The Cameron men were not a sloppy bunch.

“Hi, Lily,” Dyl called out to his sister.

Cam wasn’t sure who melted his heart more. His gorgeous wife or the pink bundle of sugar and spice in her arms.

Boys wear clothes. Girls have outfits. Even six-month-old baby girls.

Dressed in a cute pink and white sundress with bows on the short sleeves, Lily’s chubby legs and bare toes were adorable. A stretchy pink headband on her mostly bald head adorned with a jaunty pink and white flower completed her look.

Their son offered an editorial comment that made his mother smirk.

“Sorry, Daddy.”

How is it that a two-year-old knew he had an apology to make? His Ponytail, however, was of a different mind.

“I’ll give you a chance to prove that this ear protection you speak of is for real. If you insist on dragging our son to the range, I will want guarantees. Lots of them, Cameron. You aren’t being given a pass.”

He had an idea. Something that began percolating in his mind when Alex initiated the security net over the family. Instinct told him to unpack his solution slowly and carefully. Lacey responded to calm reason.

“Thank you,” he murmured with a hand on his heart. “And I’m sorry for not talking to you first.”

“Luckily,” she sniped, “you make beautiful babies, so I’ll be keeping you around.”

He choked on a laugh.

“What?” she growled.

“Sorry. I’ve got that shithead St. John in my head. Two words, baby goo.”

Dylan giggled. “Sinjin, Sinjin.” Just when he thought that was it, the boy added, “Shithead.”

Lacey’s glare was hot enough to roast his balls.

He forged ahead before she lost it. “Alex and I were thinking,” he murmured with a hand behind his back and his fingers crossed. “That the ladies need to learn some basic gun handling essentials.”

She didn’t appear convinced. “Alex said this?”

He was lying through his teeth, hence the crossed fingers, but hey, what else was he supposed to do? Right at this second, any sentence with Drae’s name in it would earn a frown.

“Yeah. Uh, Domineau offered to be a liaison.”

“A liaison?” she repeated. “Cameron, what are you up to?”

He couldn’t keep it up. Stretching the truth was one thing. Making up a lie was something else.

“All right,” he said in surrender. “You got me. The thought isn’t that well defined. And it’s me and Drae who think you girls need to step up. I can’t have you being afraid to handle a gun. You never know when the ability might make a difference.”

Lacey’s face left no doubt that she thought him daft. “I’m not afraid. I just don’t want our home to reflect the gun culture. Justice is bad enough. Any day now, I expect to see a tank rolling down the backroad, and Remy postulated that Alex is considering adding a helicopter to the fleet although no one knows why. This isn’t about me being difficult. It’s important to me that our children play outside, read books, and listen to music. I don’t want electronics and military issue pastimes to be the order of the day.”

Oh. When she put it like that, he understood. Women see the whole picture. Men tend to focus on situations.

Cassé woofed softly at the kitchen door. He went to let her in while Lacey got the baby situated.

The sound of “You Are My Sunshine” gave the kitchen a happy vibe. Dylan loved when his mommy sang. He rocked on his little butt and grinned.

The dog limped toward the action—she gravitated to the kids. There was no adjustment period for their newest family member. Upon arrival at Casa Cameron, she was instantly showered with love and tender care, and as a result, she got stronger every day. Dylan insisted she join them for every meal, and surprisingly, the well-mannered pup didn’t prowl the table and beg. She sat on her doggie bed in the corner of the kitchen and waited. He appreciated that she wasn’t a wild-ass nightmare.

Kids and dog situated, his wife cornered him and put the gun issue to rest. It helped that she did so while wrapped around him like a clinging vine.

“I don’t like arguing with you,” she murmured with just a hint of petulance.

Husband fact number one. If the wife was snippy or bitchy, it was probably your fault and even if it wasn’t, it was. Didn’t make a lick of sense but … welcome to marriage.

He almost blurted out how sexy she was when she got pissed off, but a sense of self-preservation stopped the words. That didn’t, however, stop him from feeling up her butt. It was the yin and yang of matrimony. Suck it up and then make it better with a bit of groping. Worked for him.

“I know you and Draegyn think you’re all sorts of clever, but you two are a day late and a dollar short.”

Cam registered his surprise at this taunt and snickered. “Oh, really?”

She grabbed his face with both hands and with a pithy snort said, “Yes.” Pushing away from him, she crossed her arms and lovingly stared him down. “For the record, Mr. Cameron, we took a vote. After two rounds, it was unanimous.”

He seriously could not wait to hear what fuckery the ladies were up to now.

“Domineau and Remy are going to run us through a training course. Self-defense with Rafe, and bang bang shoot ’em up time with Domineau.”

Huh? He frowned. What she described sounded like a fully articulated plan. How the fuck had he and Drae missed this? No wonder she was so skeptical when he tried to throw Alex under the bus. They really needed to start having weekly meetings again. All sorts of weird shit was going on that the three of them should at least be consulted on.

“Did you say training course?” he asked for clarification because, why not?

“Indeed, I did.” Lacey sniffed.

He saw a glint of amusement flash in her expression. “Stephanie is making badges.”

Er, uh, huh? Badges? What the hell was a badge? Should he ask or stay silent? Luckily, she continued with an explanation that eventually made sense.

She dropped the confrontational stance and started flitting around the kitchen, babbling as she wiped counters and put things away.

“Tori suggested virtual badges, but what fun is that? We can’t use a sash—scouting already claimed the look. So Angie suggested getting tote bags.”

Cam looked at the kids and rolled his eyes. Mom was on a tear.

“Calder got Stephanie a fancy-shmancy sewing machine that does everything. We have to design what we want, but she can make the actual patch! Isn’t that cool? I always wanted to do Scouts.”

Her voice held a melancholy note that she quickly shrugged off. Lacey wasn’t one to dwell on the past.

She looked across the island at him and sniggered. A faint rosy blush moved onto her cheeks. He loved it when Ponytail imagined for even a second that she was being naughty.

“We decided on a cooking badge. Meghan wasn’t amused.”

Okay, now that was really funny. He smiled. She blushed some more.

“Is there a pole badge?” he innocently asked. “There should be.”

With an excited gasp, she reacted like a goofy kid and clapped her hands with glee. “Yes, yes! I’ll make that happen. And we need a patch with a Jameson bottle. Oh!” she exclaimed. “And a toolbox badge. Drae can teach us how to make bookends or something.”

He sulked at the mention of Sinjin. “What about me? What can I school the ladies on?”

“Why photography, of course, you silly! And film. It may sound crazy, but Ash and Wendy are gung-ho for making a documentary. Just for us. Is that something you’d consider?”

A documentary about Family Justice? His inner Ken Burns sparked to life. He imagined a living documentary—something that never ended with new content added along the way.

Cam glanced at Lily, Dylan, and the dog. Then his eyes swept the kitchen where his beautiful wife conducted their family life. It still amazed him that his home was where the ladies gathered. Not up at the Villa. Here. Because Lacey was their ground zero. She was the first. Wherever she was, the entire contingent of Justice ladies followed.

Documenting their lives along with the growth that Justice brought to Bendover was just what he needed. Alex was already on board with him producing a series of agency videos. Giving cameras to the women was a stroke of genius. They would bring the female energy while he and the guys could do their warrior slash he-man bullshit.

“I’d love it,” he quickly admitted. “Everyone already takes so many pictures and videos. Your Instagram is a good example. We really should gather the best of the best and make something the whole family can enjoy.”

He’d made his wife very, very happy. Her loving smile felt like a ray of warm sunshine—just for him.

Dylan’s cute giggle and Lily’s gurgling coo would make a wonderful soundtrack. Of all the things he’d done in his life, this was what mattered. He looked at his kids with wonder. Their lives were barely getting started. Growing up Justice would be a thing.

He’d chosen and chosen well.

Alex and Draegyn were the first. They saved him from himself.

Arizona gave him a chance to find out who he really was.

And Lacey of the blond ponytail and loving smile—she changed everything.

Now, they had roots planted in the Sonoran Desert. Their children played in the sunshine, and a future that seemed unimaginable just a few short years ago beckoned to Cam with open arms.

Happiness so complete that he had to mentally pinch himself made Cam formulate a silent prayer.

Give me strength to keep my family safe. Grant me wisdom to see the things that matter and surround the ones I love with protection.