Bonus Epilogue
Sydney
Buying for a man who has everything has its challenges, especially when said man employs a house manager tasked with anticipating his needs.
Caroline questioned if I really wanted to do this after she saw the property report.
Due to gradient inclines, associated risks of landslides, and the proximity to state-owned land, most of it can’t be developed, which is why the land has been used for pasture for ages.
But when I ran into the owner while hiking one day last fall and struck up a conversation, I mentioned that if he ever decided to sell, to please call me before putting it on the market.
My skin tingles with anticipation…literally, tingles. I’m not sure how many more times in our lives I’ll be able to surprise him, so I want this to be perfect.
Quinn’s helped me. She and Hudson mostly work from the Highlands, and to avoid detection, I’ve been going to the office, leaving my phone—which I know Rhodes tracks from time to time when he’s curious about where I am—and heading out with a Garmin Hudson insisted I take if hiking alone, as he says it’s common sense to take a communication device when heading out on a trail.
My husband comes out of the house, backpack slung over one arm, phone held out below his chin, dictating a message to someone somewhere.
I take a minute to take him in. He’s in hiking boots with bunched thick socks that complement his strong calves.
His shorts cover his muscular quads and thighs.
The t-shirt he’s wearing beneath his faded flannel fits snugly over the muscular landscape I know intimately.
The flannel, thrown on likely as an afterthought given it’s unbuttoned, catches the wind.
He stops, squints at his screen, presses what I assume is the send button, and lowers his shades.
His thick dark hair has grown long enough that it catches in the mountain breeze, and he’s growing his beard out again—oscillating between meticulously trimmed and the kind of scruff that makes him look like he belongs on these mountains.
The contrast between the polished tech mogul and this rugged version of my husband never fails to stir something primal in me.
Whether clean-shaven in a boardroom or windswept on a trail, he remains one of the most compelling men I’ve ever encountered.
“Gorgeous day.” He joins me at the back of my Scout and throws his backpack in. “After our hike, we should head over to the apple orchard.”
“We can do that.” His hand rests on my hip and he brushes his lips against my temple. “Ready? Want me to drive?”
“Nah, I’ll drive. That way you can catch up on your email.”
Rhodes got in last night from a conference on the West Coast where he was a speaker. He’s turned his attention to efforts for environmentally-friendly data centers that recycle water to minimize environmental impact and water use.
Twenty minutes later, we’re parked at the Glen Falls trailhead. The familiar scent of pine and earth fills my lungs as we shoulder our packs. Rhodes is already studying the trail map posted on the wooden kiosk, but I know where we’re going isn’t marked on any map.
“Want to take the usual route?” I ask, trying to keep my voice casual.
“Actually,” he says, adjusting his pack straps, “I was thinking we could explore a bit. Maybe head off-trail like we did that first time.”
Perfect. He’s making this easier than I thought.
“Lead the way,” I tell him, and his eyes light up with that boyish excitement I love.
We follow the main trail for about a mile before Rhodes veers off onto the narrower, less maintained path that leads toward the swimming hole.
The sounds of other hikers fade away, replaced by the gentle gurgle of the stream and the rustle of leaves overhead.
Fall has painted the mountains in brilliant oranges and reds, but the canopy is still thick enough to dapple the trail with shifting patterns of light and shadow.
“Remember the first time we came this way?” Rhodes asks, glancing back at me. “You were so worried about trespassing.”
“I was being responsible,” I protest, but I’m smiling. “Besides, look how that worked out.”
His laugh echoes through the trees. “Best trespassing of my life.”
As we near the clearing, I can hear the familiar hollow plunks of water hitting rock, and my heartbeat races. Not from the hike, but from what’s about to happen.
“You know,” I say, trying to sound nonchalant, “I have something to tell you.”
“Oh yeah?” He’s focused on ducking under a low branch.
“That land we’re about to walk onto? The pasture that connects to the swimming hole?”
“The private property that technically makes us trespassers?” He grins over his shoulder.
“It’s not private anymore. Well, it is, but…” I take a deep breath. “I bought it. Closed last week while you were away.”
Rhodes stops so suddenly I almost walk into his back. He turns around slowly, his expression cycling through confusion, surprise, and something that might be awe.
“You bought it?”
“All of it. The swimming hole, the pasture, even the little cabin that’s falling down near the road. It’s ours now. Well, yours. It’s your anniversary gift. I had trouble coming up with something you didn’t own that you would want.”
For a moment, he just stares at me. Then his face breaks into that unguarded smile that still makes my knees weak.
“Sydney Parker MacMillan,” he says, and hearing my married name in that tone sends warmth spreading through my chest, “you are full of surprises.”
“Do you like it?”
Instead of answering, he drops his pack right there on the trail and pulls me into his arms, kissing me with an intensity that makes the forest spin around us. When we break apart, he’s grinning like a kid on Christmas morning.
“Like it? Syd, this is…” He shakes his head. “This place changed everything for me. For us.”
“That’s why I wanted it to be ours. Really ours.”
We emerge into the clearing, and it’s exactly as it’s always been—the natural quarry with its crystal-clear water, boulders perfect for jumping, and the echo of water against stone walls. But now it looks different somehow, knowing it belongs to us.
“The water’s going to be cold,” Rhodes warns, but he’s already shrugging out of his flannel.
“The air is likely colder than the water,” I counter, “but the nice thing is the snakes are probably becoming less active.”
“Want to test that theory?”
I’m already kicking off my boots, not out of eagerness to test my snake theory but because I anticipated skinny dipping—it’s part of the gift, after all. “Race you in.”
Just like that first day, clothes are abandoned without ceremony. Rhodes beats me to the edge, but only because I get tangled up in my sports bra. He stands poised on the familiar boulder, and for a moment he looks exactly like he did two years ago—stoked to be with someone willing to take a leap.
“Together?” he asks, extending his hand.
I take it, and he counts, “One, two…”
My cheek muscles burn from the wide grin. “Three!”
The water is shocking and perfect, stealing my breath. We’re both laughing as we surface. Rhodes pulls me against him in the water, both of us treading water and grinning like idiots.
“I can’t believe you bought our place,” he says, water droplets clinging to his dark lashes.
“Our place,” I repeat, loving how that sounds. “No more worrying about trespassing. No more wondering if we’ll be able to come back.”
“We can come here whenever we want.”
“Maybe we can put out snake traps,” I say, scanning the shoreline. I’ve done a little research and learned that if there are any snakes around, our feet stomping and the splash in the water likely scared them off, so I’m more or less joking.
“I’ll keep you safe.”
“I know you will,” I say, and I love that he’ll do everything he can to take care of me, but of course, that goes both ways.
His gaze lifts to the canopy overhead. “You want to build out here?”
I knew he’d go there. My man loves architecture. “We just built a house,” I remind him. “And it’s closer to town.”
I love this land, but I really have no desire to live forty-five minutes from town.
“Hmm,” he shrugs, and I lean in and nip his earlobe, sucking off a water droplet.
“Sadly, it’s not buildable. We wouldn’t get the permits.”
“Gradient?” he asks.
“Among other things,” I answer. “But we can go camping out here. Maybe make it an anniversary tradition?”
“Anniversary,” he says slowly with a grin, then kisses me again, softer this time. When we break apart, he’s looking at me with that expression that still makes me feel like the most beautiful woman in the world.
“I love you, Mrs. MacMillan.”
“I love you too.”
We float there for a while, holding each other in the clear water, surrounded by the quiet beauty of our own little piece of paradise. The fall sun filters through the trees, warming our faces even as the water keeps us cool.
“You know what this means, don’t you?” Rhodes asks eventually.
“What?”
“We’re going to have to install that rope swing I keep talking about.”
I laugh, remembering his stories about swinging into the water as a teenager. “Only if you promise not to break your neck showing off.”
“I make no such promises.”
Later, we spread our clothes on the warm rocks and lie naked in the sun, on a blanket I packed stretched across sun-warmed stone. Rhodes traces lazy patterns on my back while I rest my chin on my folded arms, watching water striders dance across the surface of our swimming hole.
“Best gift ever,” he murmurs against my shoulder.
“Better than the new climbing wall in the garage?”
“Way better.” He presses a kiss to the back of my neck. “Though I do love that climbing wall.”
“I know you do. I hear you in there at five in the morning.”
“I’m quiet.”
“You grunt. A lot.”
He nips at my shoulder, making me squirm. “I do not grunt.”
“You absolutely grunt. It’s very caveman-like.”
“Maybe that’s because you make me feel very caveman-like.”