EPILOGUE
Libby
A few weeks later…
The coffee was still hot when I carried two mugs out to the porch, steam curling up into the cool morning air. Fall was in full force in Montana, painting the mountains in shades of gold and crimson, and the early mornings had that crisp bite that made you want to stay in bed.
Or would, if the man in your bed didn’t have the internal clock of a drill sergeant.
Beckett was already up, leaning against the porch rail in jeans and a flannel shirt, watching the sun rise over the pasture. Wildfire was visible in the distance, out of his pen and grazing peacefully alongside two other horses we’d been working with.
“You’re up early,” I said, handing him a mug.
“Couldn’t sleep.” But he smiled when he said it, pulling me against his side with his free arm. “Kept thinking about today.”
Today. Right.
Today was the day we’d been working toward. The day someone other than Beckett would ride Wildfire for the first time.
“Nervous?” I asked.
“Terrified.” He took a sip of coffee. “But also... proud. He’s come so far.”
“You both have.”
He looked down at me, and the tenderness in his eyes still made my breath catch. I still wasn’t used to the way he looked at me. Like I was the best thing that had ever happened to him.
“We both have,” he corrected, pressing a kiss to my temple. “Couldn’t have done it without you.”
“That’s not true—”
“It is.” His voice was firm. “You gave me a reason to try. To believe things could be different.”
I leaned into him, watching the sky lighten. Not so long ago, I’d been wondering if I’d made a mistake coming here. Wondering if falling for Beckett was going to break me.
Now I couldn’t imagine being anywhere else.
My contract had been extended—made permanent, actually.
The ranch had offered me a full-time position as the lead behaviorist. Beckett and I had officially moved in together.
He’d just packed up my cabin and carried everything the fifty yards to his.
It felt right. Natural. Like we’d been building toward it all along.
We finished our coffee in comfortable silence, then headed down to the barn together. The other staff were already there, preparing for the day. One of the veterans who’d been working with Wildfire was already in the pen with him. He looked nervous.
“You got this,” Beckett said, clapping him on the shoulder. “Remember what we talked about. Slow and steady. He’ll let you know if it’s too much.”
The other man nodded. “Thanks, man. For everything.”
By the time we led Wildfire into the round pen, a small crowd had gathered. The ranch’s owners and a few of the other hands. Everyone who’d watched this horse transform from a traumatized, aggressive animal into something approaching normal.
Wildfire was calm as Beckett saddled him, accepting the weight without flinching. I stood at the rail, heart in my throat, watching Beckett murmur to the horse in that low, steady voice that had become so familiar.
“You trust him,” Beckett was saying. “He’s not going to hurt you. Just like I didn’t. You’re safe.”
God, I loved this man.
When the cowboy finally swung up into the saddle, the entire crowd seemed to hold its breath. Wildfire’s ears swiveled, his muscles tensing, but he didn’t bolt. Didn’t rear.
Just stood there, adjusting to the weight, to the feeling of someone on his back.
“That’s it,” Beckett said quietly. “Just like that. Now take a step. Nice and easy.”
The man nudged the horse gently, and Wildfire took one step. Then another. Within minutes, they were walking slow circles around the pen, horse and rider moving together like they’d done it a hundred times.
I felt tears prick my eyes.
Beckett came to stand beside me, his hand finding mine. “He did it,” he said, voice rough with emotion. “Son of a bitch actually did it.”
“You did it,” I corrected. “You gave him a reason to trust again.”
He looked at me then, really looked, and I saw everything in his eyes. Love. Gratitude. Hope.
“We did it,” he said. “Together.”
That evening, we celebrated at the main house. Nothing fancy—just burgers on the grill, beer, and the kind of easy camaraderie that came from shared victories. Wildfire was the star of the evening, accepting pats and treats from everyone brave enough to approach.
I was standing by the fire pit, watching Beckett talk to a group of the other vets, before he caught my eye and walked over.
“Something up?” he asked quietly.
“No. Just…” I swiped at my eyes. “You look happy.”
“I am.” His thumb brushed another tear off my cheek. “You?”
“Good. I’m just—Wildfire’s ready to go to a home now.”
“Oh.” He smiled down at me. “You’ll miss him too.”
“Don’t oh me,” I said, laughing slightly. “You’ll miss him.”
“No. I won’t.”
“What?”
“I won’t miss him, and neither will you.” He pulled me closer, his mouth brushing my temple. “He’s staying here. With us. I think we can train him to be a helper horse.”
“What?” This time the word came out loud enough to draw smiles from the others, but Beckett didn’t even glance around. Being the center of attention didn’t bother him anymore.
“I bought him,” he said simply. “For you. For us.”
Emotion clogged my throat. I threw my arms around him, and he did what came naturally—picked me up and started carrying me toward the cabin. I wrapped my legs around his waist, against his jaw. “Oh, Beckett. I love you.”
“I love you too.” His voice was a low rumble against my neck. He didn’t waste any time once we reached the cabin, carrying me straight to the bedroom. I laughed as he bent to remove my boots, then his. He had us both undressed in record time.
He came over me, pushing my hair from my face. “I’ve been thinking,” he said quietly.
“About?”
“About forever.”
My pulse kicked up. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” His expression was serious. Vulnerable. “I know we haven’t been together long. But I also know I don’t want to spend another day without you.”
He reached over to the nightstand and pulled out a small box.
My breath caught. “Beckett…”
“I’m not good with words,” he continued, opening the box to reveal a simple silver band with a small diamond.
His hands shook slightly. “But I want you to know—you changed my life, Libby. You made me believe I could be something other than broken. And I want to spend the rest of my life showing you what that means to me.”
For once his face was an open book, his eyes saying everything there was to say. Tears spilled down my cheeks.
“Will you marry me?” he asked.
“Yes.” The word came out choked. “Yes, of course yes.”
He slid the ring onto my finger, then kissed me like his life depended on it.
“I love you,” he said, voice rough. “So damn much.”
“I love you too.”
I smiled up at him, feeling the weight of the ring on my finger, the warmth of his body over mine.
I’d come here to heal a horse.
But I’d found so much more.
I’d found home.