Epilogue - Jackson
Two years later...
"Is this straight?" I tug at my bow tie, certain it's crooked despite Vincent's insistence.
"For the fifth time, yes," my brother sighs, batting my hands away. "Stop fiddling with it before you actually mess it up."
The guest room of Sarah's—our—farmhouse feels too tiny with all five Covington men crammed inside. Aaron and Ethan are already dressed, lounging against the wall and looking amused at my nervousness. Cole sits in the corner rocking chair, my five-month-old son fast asleep against his shoulder.
My son. James Cole Covington. Named for my father and the brother who always supported us. Sometimes I still can't believe he's real—this perfect little person with Sarah's eyes and my stubborn chin.
"Uncle Jackson is scared," Lucy announces, poking her head around the door. At seven, she's appointed herself the official wedding messenger, running between the women's preparations in the master bedroom and our significantly less organized gathering.
"I'm not scared," I protest, though my racing heart suggests otherwise. "Just want everything to be perfect."
Lucy gives me a look that's pure Charlotte. "Mommy says Aunt Sarah looks like a princess and that you're going to cry when you see her."
Vincent laughs, scooping up his daughter. "Tell your mommy to stop making predictions and help the bride."
"Kay!" She scampers off, her flower girl dress rustling.
"She's right, you know," Aaron says, checking his watch. "You are going to cry."
"Shut up," I mutter, but there's no heat in it.
They're probably right. I've become embarrassingly emotional since James was born. Last week I teared up watching Sarah sing him to sleep.
Cole stands carefully, my son still sleeping soundly against him. "It's almost time. You ready?"
The question carries more weight than the others' teasing. Cole was the hardest to win over after Sarah and I reunited. Not that he wasn't supportive—he just needed to be sure I wouldn't hurt her again. It took months of proving myself, of showing him how serious I was about building a life with her, before the wariness in his eyes completely disappeared.
Now, he's my son's godfather and he'll be my best man in an hour.
"Ready as I'll ever be," I tell him, taking a deep breath.
The past two years haven't always been easy. We've argued about schedules, about whose career takes priority on which days, about whether James should sleep in our room or the nursery. We've navigated the complex dance of blending our lives—my ranch responsibilities with her therapy center, my early mornings with her late nights working on grants and programming.
But we figured it out, together. No ultimatums, no all-or-nothing choices—just two people committed to making room for each other's dreams alongside their own.
"Time to head downstairs," Vincent announces, checking his own watch. "Guests are all seated."
I nod, taking James from Cole. My son stirs, blinking sleepily up at me with eyes so much like his mother's that it makes my chest ache.
"Hey, buddy," I whisper. "Ready to see Mama and Papa get married?"
He responds with a gummy smile that never fails to melt my heart.
Downstairs, the farmhouse has been transformed. The September weather cooperated, allowing us to hold the ceremony in the meadow behind the house, with the mountains as our backdrop. White chairs form neat rows on either side of an aisle strewn with wildflower petals. At the end stands a simple wooden arch that I built myself, covered now in the same wildflowers that grow across this land.
Pastor Mitchell waits beneath the arch, Bible in hand, smiling at me as I approach with James. Most of Cedar Falls has turned out for the occasion—over 200 people seated in those white chairs, every one of them having watched our story unfold these past two years.
The guests coo as I walk past with my son. Mrs. Abernathy dabs at her eyes already, while Doc Walker gives me a thumbs up. Even Mayor Henderson looks a bit misty-eyed, his wife clutching a handkerchief beside him.
I take my place beneath the arch, handing James to Elena, who sits in the front row with Charlotte and the rest of the family. My brothers line up beside me, Cole closest as my best man.
"Last chance to run," Ethan whispers, earning him an elbow from Aaron.
"Not a chance," I reply, eyes fixed on the farmhouse door where Sarah will appear any minute.
The string quartet—brought in from Bozeman at Vincent's insistence that "no brother of his was getting married to recorded music"—begins to play. Lucy emerges first, taking her flower girl duties extremely seriously as she carefully drops rose petals along the aisle.
The music shifts, and a collective intake of breath sweeps through the gathering.
And there she is.
Sarah stands in the doorway, her father beside her, radiant in a simple white dress that flows around her like water. Her hair is half-up, with small white flowers woven through the curls that fall around her shoulders.
She's not wearing a veil—"I want you to see me clearly when I walk to you," she insisted.
I'm suddenly grateful for her foresight, because I wouldn't want anything obscuring the vision before me. Sarah Matthews—soon to be Covington—is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.
Damn it. Aaron was right. I'm already blinking back tears.
She begins her walk down the aisle, her eyes finding mine immediately. The smile that blooms across her face is everything—joy and love and the promise of our future together.
"Breathe, brother," Cole murmurs, and I realize I've been holding my breath.
When Sarah reaches me, her father places her hand in mine with a nod of approval. Her fingers are warm and steady—there are no nerves, no hesitation.
"Hi," she whispers, her eyes shining.
"Hi yourself," I manage, my voice rough with emotion. "You're beautiful."
"So are you," she replies, her gaze taking in my tuxedo. "Who'd have thought Jackson Covington would clean up so nice?"
Pastor Mitchell clears his throat, but he's smiling at our exchange. "Dearly beloved..."
The ceremony passes in a blur. I repeat my vows in a voice steadier than I expected, promising to love, honor, and cherish this woman who gave me a second chance I didn't deserve. Sarah's voice is clear and strong as she makes the same promises, her eyes never leaving mine.
When it's time for the rings, Cole hands me the simple platinum band we chose together. It slides onto Sarah's finger like it was always meant to be there.
"By the power vested in me," Pastor Mitchell says, "I now pronounce you husband and wife. Jackson, you may kiss your bride."
I don't need to be told twice. I pull Sarah into my arms, kissing her with all the love and gratitude I feel. The guests erupt in cheers and applause, James adding his own happy squeal from Elena's lap.
"Mrs. Covington," I murmur against her lips.
"Dr. Matthews-Covington," she corrects with a smile.
We'd decided she'd keep her professional name for the therapy center but add mine for everything else—a perfect blend of who she is and who we are together.
"I love you," I tell her, not caring that two hundred people are watching.
"I love you too." She brushes a tear from my cheek that I didn't even realize had fallen. "Always have. Always will."
The reception is everything a country wedding should be—tables set up under twinkling lights strung across the meadow, a wooden dance floor constructed for the occasion, barbecue from the best smokehouse in the county, and enough pie to feed half of Montana.
As the evening progresses, I find myself on the dance floor with Sarah in my arms, James sleeping peacefully in a bassinet nearby under the watchful eyes of his aunts and uncles.
"Happy?" I ask, though I already know the answer from the contentment in her eyes.
"Completely." She rests her head against my chest as we sway to the music. "You know, when I came back to Cedar Falls, I never imagined this would be my life two years later."
"No?" I press a kiss to her hair. "What did you imagine?"
"Building the center. Making a difference. Maybe reconciling with you enough to be friends." She laughs softly. "I certainly didn't plan on falling back in love with you so completely...or on James."
"Best surprise of my life," I admit, glancing at our sleeping son. "Both of you."
She lifts her head to meet my eyes. "No regrets? About how things have changed? The compromises?"
I think about the adjustments we've both made—how I've delegated more ranch responsibilities to my brothers to spend three days a week helping at the therapy center, how she's arranged the center's schedule to accommodate my early morning ranch duties, how we've built a life that honors both our passions while creating something new together.
"Not a single one," I tell her honestly. "Every change has been worth it."
Around us, our friends and family celebrate, the party in full swing as the sun begins to set over the mountains. Aaron dances with Elena, having finally found his own happiness. Vincent and Charlotte watch Lucy twirl with Ethan.
And in the center of it all, Sarah and I move together in perfect sync, the way we always should have been.
Seven years apart taught us both what matters. Two years together has proven how right we are for each other. And now, as husband and wife, with our son nearby and our future stretching before us, I'm certain of one thing above all others:
Some mistakes deserve second chances. Some loves are worth fighting for. And sometimes, the longest roads lead exactly where you're meant to be.
Thank you for reading it!