Epilogue
MAVERICK
Twilight whispers across the land like a breath. Crickets soft and insistent.
The last rays of the sun glow like burnished gold against distant silhouettes, mountains cut from the same black cloth as impending night.
The land’s quiet, the way only owned land can be.
Not conquered.
Or possessed.
Chosen.
My muscles ache, hip joint an angry memory. A full day’s work done. Steadying posts, testing line. Straightening, mending, building.
Behind me, the screen door creaks.
I don’t turn.
Don’t need to.
I always feel her before I see her.
Barefoot. Careful. Curious.
She comes up behind me, slipping her arms around my waist, cheek resting between my shoulder blades like fate carved that spot for her.
“I’m sweaty, Princess,” I scold, trying to pull away. But she won’t let me.
“You’re sexy, Cowboy,” she murmurs.
“Could say the same.”
“You haven’t even looked at me.”
“Want to know a secret?” I drawl.
“What’s that?”
“I never stop looking at you, Mia. Even when I’m halfway across the ranch. Never stop feeling you, either.”
She smiles against my back.
We stand like this for a while. The hop lines darken from deep emerald to ebony as the thin, white-light of the moon scatters, stars twinkling overhead.
“Remember the first time we stargazed together?” I ask.
“I do,” she answers, sliding around to face me.
My head dips, and I take her mouth. Not frantic or rushed. But slow, steady, the way I work the ranch.
Learning every line of the sinewy land. The dips where shadow shelters seedlings from the day’s heat. The hidden creeks and quiet springs where green grass tufts, and pronghorns drink.
Slow work. Patient work. The kind that pays off if you don’t rush it.
“My legal team called earlier…”
“And?” I ask, tensing slightly.
“Between negligence, financial mishandling, and insurance issues, Crowe is done.”
“And your parents, Mia?”
She sighs, mint eyes large and fringed with thick black lashes. Moonlight kissing her face, threading white gold in her tresses.
“I saw they called, too.”
She nods, frowning. “They want to help fund the audit. No strings.” Her eyes cast to the side. “They apologized.”
My hand comes up, brushing her cheek. I move slowly, measuring the moment.
“That what you want?”
She considers it. Then nods. “Yes. On my terms.”
Pride settles deep in my chest, heavy and warm.
“But?” I ask, noticing sadness flicker behind her eyes.
She shrugs, biting her bottom lip. “Maybe part of me wants to see Crowe punished for what he did. Maybe part of me doesn’t want to accept my parents’ apology. Doesn’t think it’s enough.”
I nod, pulling her close. “You want justice.”
“Yes. Justice.” Her voice softens. “Does that make me wrong? Or vindictive?”
I pause, letting her words settle. “I used to think justice came clean. Straight lines. Clear endings.” I brush my thumb along her cheek. “Life doesn’t work that way. It circles. Returns. Lets go when it’s ready. Some things don’t get resolved. They just stop owning you. And that’s enough.”
She steps closer, fingers sliding into the belt loops of my jeans, thumbs brushing skin like she’s reminding herself I’m real. “Glad life circled me back to you.”
“Knew it would,” I confess, dipping my head to taste her.
The breeze lifts her hair, loose now, no braids today. Just sun and freedom and the faint scent of plum and roses.
“Do you ever miss it?” I ask, surveying the distant fence.
“What?”
“The roar of the crowds. The lights. The adoration.”
“Not for one moment.” No hesitation. “And you?”
“Thought I did … till I met you,” I confess.
“Because you need fame?” she asks.
“No, because I need to be needed. Not by everyone. Just by who matters.”
“That will never change.”
Our lips brush again—soft, heated.
Then, our gazes stretch up to the stars, silence sealing an unspoken oath.
“You know,” she says, glancing toward the barn frame we staked out, “Mrs. Everley asked what I plan to do when all this is finally over.”
“And?” I ask.
Her smile is slow. Knowing. “I told her I was thinking about learning how to shear alpacas.”
I laugh, low and surprised.
“You serious?”
“Deadly.” She lifts a brow. “Think I’d be good at it.”
I catch her chin, thumb brushing the curve of her jaw. “Think you’d be good at anything you choose.”
My lips feather over the spot, then, down her neck. When I reach the sensitive skin where her collarbone and shoulder meet, she arches back, moaning.
“Should shower first,” I murmur against her hot flesh.
“Can’t wait that long, Cowboy.”
Heat and pressure build at the base of my spine, breath coming faster as I continue my incremental descent toward her gorgeous breasts.
“What can you wait for?” I ask, dark and dangerous.
“I can make it to the couch … maybe.”
I chuckle, liking this game. My hands fumble with the flowing, draping folds of her sundress, bunching the fabric until I slide a hand beneath.
“No underwear?” I growl.
Mischief glints in her eyes. “Told you I can’t wait.”
I walk her backward toward the house, the porch boards warm beneath our feet, the door closing behind us with a soft click that feels like punctuation instead of an ending.
Inside, the light spills across the floor, dust motes floating like they’ve got nowhere better to be.
I take my time with her.
Because now—I can.
Clothes fall where they may. Her laughter is quiet, breathless. My hands learn her again, slower this time. No edge. No cliff.
When I ease her down onto the couch, she pulls me with her, fingers tracing the circle on my chest like it’s a map she’s memorized.
“This still us?” she whispers, warm and lazy.
“Always was.”
Her legs wrap around me, strong and sure, guiding me home.
Lost in her, I nearly come undone. I turn my head to the side. Squeeze my eyes shut.
Then, I move sensually, savoring everything. The hitch of her breath. The beat of her heart. The tiny tremors that tell me she’s close.
“Yes,” she whimpers, gripping my back.
I gasp, sinking into her again. Happily drowning.
Time dissolves.
Meaning.
The World.
Nothing matters but her and me and this moment.
Warm breath. Hot kisses. Possessive fingers.
Until she shatters around me, and I give her everything. Every piece of me there is to give.
Later, she rests her head on my chest, palm splayed over my heart, listening like she’s counting something that finally adds up.
Outside, the wind moves through the hop lines. The fence holds. The land waits.
And for the first time in my life, so do I.
When her yawns still, her body melts into mine, I rouse her.
“You’ll sleep better in our bed, Princess.”
“Mm hmm,” she agrees drowsily, eyes heavy-lidded as I carry her down the hallway, laying her down gently.
“Where are you going?” she murmurs as I shrug into my robe, padding toward the door.
“Be back in a minute.”
Outside, I search the rust-colored earth, still warm from the day, until I find the perfect pebble. River-washed smooth and thin.
I place it on the windowsill…
Thank you for reading Maverick and Mia’s story in First Time Cowboy Bodyguard.