38 | Epilogue
CLEMENTINE
“Scoot over.” I nudge Tessa with my foot, balancing a tray of hot chocolate in my hands.
She shifts over, making room for me by the fire. I set the tray down just in time to dodge Wells’s elbow as he wrestles Sawyer to the ground for the last cinnamon roll.
“What the hell’s wrong with you two?” Tessa scolds, but she’s grinning, cheeks pink from the firelight. “It’s Christmas, not the damn Hunger Games.”
Wells grunts in triumph, holding up the roll like a trophy. “You snooze, you lose, Sawyer.”
Colton leans against the mantel beside me, arms crossed, eyes glinting with amusement. “I swear, they’re worse than the livestock sometimes.”
I roll my eyes, smiling. “Don’t act like you didn’t tackle Grady for the last piece of pecan pie at Thanksgiving.”
“Yeah,” Wells calls from the couch, mouth full. “You ain’t exactly the picture of dignity, McGraw.”
Colton smirks. “I’m plenty dignified when I’m not starvin’, thanks.”
I hand Tessa a mug, curling my own hands around another. The warmth seeps into my fingers as I turn, letting the heat of the fire lap against my back while I take in the living room.
Crumpled wrapping paper litters the floor. Now-empty stockings hang from the mantel, and the breakfast spread’s nearly wiped clean. Mama’s fussing with the radio again, trying and failing to switch out carols for her precious Christmas Classics.
Tessa and I are matching in our plaid Christmas pajamas—a tradition we revived last year. Even the men got roped in, swapping their usual flannel for more “festive” ones, as Mama called it.
Tess sips her hot chocolate, leaning back against Sawyer, who’s just slid in behind her. She glances up at him, her smile soft as he murmurs something I can’t quite catch. Seeing them together like this warms something inside me—I never would’ve expected that a year ago.
A sharp yowl from outside cuts through the laughter. I chuckle under my breath and head for the door, slipping into my boots before stepping out onto the porch.
World’s least catlike cat—Boots—is dangling from the gutter again, yowling like the roof betrayed him. “You’re such a mess,” I sigh, plucking him free and tucking him against my chest. He melts instantly, purring like a little engine.
A gust of December wind rushes in as I step back inside, tugging at my pajama top. Colt’s there in an instant, steadying me, shutting the door and scooping Boots right out of my arms.
I hook my heel into my new hand-carved boot jack—a Christmas present from Colt—and pry off my boots. “Good gift,” I murmur, getting up on my tiptoes to kiss his cheek.
“I know my woman,” he drawls, winking. “Now, was this pitiful excuse for a feline on the roof again?”
“Don’t insult our baby,” I scold, reclaiming Boots. “He just doesn’t know he’s a cat.”
“Then he sure as hell has no business climbin’ roofs,” Colt says, leaning in to kiss Boots’s head. The sight of it makes something stir deep inside me.
“Clem,” Tessa calls, “your chocolate’s gettin’ cold!”
I grab Colt’s arm, tugging him down beside her and settling into his lap.
“Mama, Wells,” Tessa says, nodding toward the tree. “What’s that?”
Mama pulls a chair up to the fire while Wells crouches beside her. “What’s what?”
Tessa nudges a small package forward with her foot. “Looks like we missed one.”
Wells picks it up, turns it over, and hands it to Mama. “It’s for you.”
Mama grins, eyes bright as she unties the ribbon. “Now who’s this from, then?”
“Not me,” Wells says, hands raised. “My wrappin’ don’t look like that. Besides—I already got everybody perfect gifts.”
“Big talk for a man who gave everyone gift cards,” Sawyer mutters.
“Hey, that’s practicality, not laziness.”
Mama lifts the lid off the box, and immediately drops it in shock. “Tessa!”
Tessa’s eyes fill before she can even speak. Sawyer wraps an arm around her shoulders, his grin so wide it damn near cracks his face.
I set my mug down, heart climbing into my throat. “Oh my God—Tess?”
She nods, tears spilling down her cheeks, the smile wobbling on her lips. “Six weeks.”
The room explodes—squeals, laughter, gasps, everyone talking over each other.
Mama jumps up, throwing her arms around her daughter’s neck and clutching her to her chest.
Sawyer’s laughing through his own tears, and Colt’s got a hand clapped on his shoulder, congratulating him with that rare, soft look that says he’s proud down to his bones.
Tessa pulls me into a hug that nearly knocks the air out of me. “Three and a half years,” she whispers against my shoulder. “Three and a half long, hard years.”
I squeeze her back, my voice cracking. “You deserve every bit of this.”
Boots meows somewhere near the tree, and I scoop him up with my free hand before he can hang himself in the Christmas lights.
When we’re all done hugging and crying, I slip away with Colt to the back porch. The air’s sharp and clean, stinging our lungs and turning our noses red. The fields stretch out, blanketed in frost and moonlight, so still it feels like the whole world’s holding its breath.
Colt slides an arm around my waist, pulling me close. “You okay, Tiny?”
I nod, eyes still glassy. “Yeah. Just—she wanted that for so long. I didn’t realize how much I wanted it for her too.”
He hums low in his chest, resting his chin on top of my head. “She’ll be a hell of a mom.”
“She will.” I lean into him, quiet for a beat before adding softly, “You ever think about it? Being a dad?”
His body goes still against mine for a second, then I feel his smile press into my hair. “More than I probably should admit,” he says. “’Specially when I see you like this. Out here, happy, settled. Feels right, you know?”
Something warm blooms deep in my chest—slow, startling, and a little terrifying. “So you want kids?”
He shrugs, thumb tracing idle circles at my waist. “If I get to raise ’em with you? Yeah, Tiny. I do.”
I laugh softly, shaking my head. “You know I never pictured myself as the mom type.”
“I know.” His tone is gentle, teasing. “You said you’d rather raise calves.”
“Well, I get to do that at work now,” I murmur, smiling. “And when I watch you with Boots, it does something to me. Sometimes I picture you holding a baby—a cute little blend of you and me.”
Colt turns me in his arms, eyes catching the soft glow spilling from the window. “You say the word, sweetheart, and I’ll start buildin’ the crib myself.”
I laugh, warm and a bit dizzy with ecstasy. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, cowboy.”
He grins, tipping his forehead against mine. “Just sayin’. Don’t mind dreamin’ about a future with you in it.”
“Good,” I whisper, fingers curling in his shirt. “Because I’m not going anywhere.”
And right there, with the firelight flickering through the window and the snow starting to fall, I kiss him slow—soft and deep and sure—because I’m right where I want to be.
I’m home.
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