Epilogue
MALCOLM
One Year Later
T he lake glitters, its surface catching the late morning sun like scattered diamonds. I pick up a rock, smooth and cold in my hand, and toss it. It skips three times, each touch rippling outward before it vanishes beneath the water. I watch the circles spread and fade, feeling a chill breeze tumble down from Tall Mountain—a whispered promise of what’s coming.
A storm is brewing.
The sky above is clear for now, but I can feel it in the air, sharp and electric. Kiss County will be buried under snow by midnight, the lake and our little corner of the world wrapped in winter’s quiet grip.
But we’re ready.
I inhale deeply, the cold biting at my lungs and waking me up from the inside out. The scent of pine and crisp water fills my senses as I lower my head, letting the chill settle in my veins before turning toward the cabin. The crunch of frosted grass underfoot follows me as I veer toward the woodshed, the rhythmic chop of wood drawing me in.
The shed door is open. I step lightly, pausing in the doorway. Beau’s broad back is to me, his T-shirt clinging to his shoulders, damp with effort. He leans over the stump, steadying a thick log with one hand. His breath puffs in the cold air as he straightens, the fabric of his shirt taut over arms that have grown strong in the year since we first met.
With one smooth motion, he raises the ax and brings it down hard. The log splits cleanly; the halves falling away with satisfying thuds. My lips tug into a smile.
“You think we’ll need more?” I call out.
Beau twists around, his face lighting up when he sees me. “No. I think we’ve got plenty already,” he says, his voice warm and easy.
“Jessamy?”
His smile softens into something knowing. “Better do what the woman wants,” he says, swiping the back of his hand across his brow. A streak of dirt smudges across his forehead, and I can’t help but laugh as I step closer.
“That is the rule around here lately, isn’t it?” I tease, reaching out to brush the dirt away. He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t pull back. My fingers linger, trailing down the rough stubble on his cheek.
“Thanks,” he murmurs, his voice dipping low as his pupils darken, drinking me in. He leans into my touch, his smile turning boyish. “What?”
“You should grow a beard,” I say, my tone light, teasing.
Beau huffs a laugh. “Would if I could.”
“Come on, city boy. It’s easy.”
“Oh, you gonna teach me?”
“Sure.”
I step in close, letting the warmth of his body seep into the cold space between us. His breath catches when I kiss him, soft and fleeting. And just like every time before, a faint blush spreads across his cheeks. Even now, after all the nights we’ve shared, I love that he still reacts this way.
The transition to this life wasn’t easy for him—or Jessamy, for that matter. Beau’s guilt over leaving his parents’ company lingered for months, the fear of their disappointment weighing heavy. But he chose a new path, one that felt true. One of his own creation. A simpler life with a low stress, part-time gig in Big City—most of which he can perform remotely in the comfort of our home.
He chose happiness.
He chose Jessamy.
They chose me.
Beau turns, his gaze drifting to the open door as a gust of wind pushes through, carrying the clean, icy scent of the coming storm. “Any time now,” he says, his voice thoughtful. “Gonna be a cold night.”
“We’ll keep warm,” I reply, letting a hint of promise color my tone.
He glances at me, his cheeks tinting red again before he shifts away, grabbing an armful of logs. I grin, picking up a stack myself, and we head back toward the cabin.
Inside, the warmth hits us, the scent of wood burning faintly in the air. I stomp the dirt from my boots and follow Beau into the living room. Jessamy’s sketchpads and pencils are spread across the table near Beau’s work laptop. Other shelves, once bare with nothing but my old, tattered books, now house little trinkets they brought to make this place a home.
I kneel by the fireplace, stacking the wood neatly behind the couch—another new addition to the space. “Jess in her studio?” I ask.
Beau places his logs beside mine, nodding. “It’s where I left her.”
“Has she eaten?”
“Twice,” he says, chuckling.
I grin and make my way down the hall, past the bathroom and storage closet, into the new expansion. This cabin, perfectly sized for one solitary soul like me, proved too small for three. It took months of work, but spring and summer were kind on Tall Mountain this year, granting Beau and me just enough time to build on to our home.
The new den stretches wide, warm and inviting, filled with plush seating and end tables Jessamy picked out herself. Just off the doorway, a ladder leads up to the loft, now a haven for her art. Sunlight pours through a skylight above, flooding the space with golden light that dances over the canvas propped against the wall—a canvas alive with sunset hues. Another stunning work in progress for the gallery across the street from Beau’s office in Big City that leapt at her pieces the moment they saw them.
I stop at the base of the ladder and look up, grimacing as I watch Jessamy pacing in the loft. In hindsight, the ladder wasn’t the most brilliant idea.
No way in hell are we letting her climb up there much longer.
The bump is small for now, just a gentle curve beneath her sweater, easily mistaken for a large meal. But we know. And with plenty of time left to go, Beau and I will make sure there’s a safer way for her to reach her studio. For now, we let her be, watching as she moves with careful grace, absorbed in her latest masterpiece.
She hears us enter and pauses, glancing down with a warm smile. “Hello, boys,” she greets, her voice light, like sunshine filtering through leaves.
Beau rocks onto his tiptoes, trying to get a better look at her work. “Hey, Jess. Looks good.”
She snorts. “You mean awful.”
“He means great,” I counter, my voice firm. “You’re too hard on yourself.”
She sighs, her fingers brushing over her stomach as she gives the canvas a dubious look. “I guess,” she mutters, unconvinced, but outnumbered. Rather than argue, she flashes us another smile, setting her brush and palette on the desk beside her. “I’m gonna take a break.”
Beau and I share a glance before moving in unison, flanking the ladder like sentinels. We brace ourselves, feet planted wide, arms ready to catch her if needed.
Jessamy descends with ease. When she reaches the bottom and turns, she finds herself boxed in. “You guys,” she scolds, though her smile betrays how much she likes it. “Overprotective much?”
We step back, exchanging mischievous glances, letting her think she’s free to pass.
Then, with careful gentleness, we catch her by the arms, pulling all three of us onto the couch in a tumble of laughter. Jessamy’s giggle fills the room, bright and precious, wrapping around us like the coziest blanket.
Pinned between us, she beams as we take turns kissing her cheeks, her red hair, her lips. Her hands cradle our faces, fingers warm and sure as she whispers soft words of love. I slide a hand over her stomach, my fingers brushing against Beau’s as he does the same. Our eyes meet over her, and no words are needed.
Our family. Our home. Our perfect life.
I kiss Jessamy’s cheek, my voice soft as I say to both of them, “I love you.”
Jessamy smiles at me, her heart so vast it seems to hold the entire world. “I love you,” she replies, kissing me before turning to Beau, who slips to his knees.
“And I love you!” Beau grins, directing his declaration to her stomach.
Jessamy’s laugh is radiant, her fingers curling into our hair as we take turns greeting the life growing within her.
The three of us sink into the cushions together, warmth and love cocooning us. Above, the first snowflakes drift onto the skylight, delicate and fleeting as they land.
“Storm is starting,” Jessamy murmurs, her gaze lifting to the window. “Gonna be a cold night.”
“We’ll keep warm,” Beau promises, a playful glint lighting his eyes.
I smile, happiness settling deep in my heart.
Whatever happens, happens, as we say.
And with them, I know I’ll never get lost again.
Thank you for reading Lost with the Mountain Man.