Epilogue
Flint had survived blizzards, stampedes, gunfights, and Amos Grady, yet none of them had unsettled him the way standing beneath a flower-covered arch waiting for Daisy made him feel.
The fact annoyed him more than he cared to admit. He adjusted his stance, then wished he hadn't.
Wyatt caught the movement immediately. "You've been pacing that yard long enough to wear a path through it."
Flint kept his eyes fixed ahead. "Keep talking, and I'll make sure you're next."
Wyatt's grin carried through every word. "That's the spirit. Threats usually mean you're calm."
A bark of laughter drifted across the chairs.
Nathan raised both hands. "Don't look at me. I've got money riding on whether you pass out before she reaches the arch."
"You took bets?"
"Pa organized it."
Across the aisle, Samuel didn't even bother denying it.
Julian shook his head. "I told him nobody was that foolish."
"Appreciate the confidence." Flint shook his head.
"You misunderstood," Julian replied. "I was talking about Daisy."
That earned another round of laughter. The entire family seemed determined to squeeze every ounce of entertainment from this.
Ruth stood near the front row, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief she claimed she didn't need. Clara remained beside her, offering comfort while looking suspiciously close to tears herself.
The ranch yard barely resembled the place Flint saw every morning.
White ribbons moved gently through the Wyoming breeze, weaving between rows of chairs set across the grass.
Wildflowers framed the wooden arch Wyatt and Samuel had built together, and candles glowed everywhere he looked.
They lined the pathways, filled the tabletops, and nestled among flowers throughout the yard.
For a long moment, he could only stand there.
He'd spent years convincing himself he no longer belonged here.
Every mile that had carried him away from the Callahan ranch had made returning seem more impossible, until he'd begun to believe this place existed only in memory.
Yet here he stood again, welcomed home without a single condition, surrounded by the family he'd thought he'd disappointed beyond forgiveness.
And somehow, they had done all of it for him and Daisy.
Every detail carried Daisy's touch.
The scent of lavender lingered in the warm afternoon air, wrapping itself around the celebration in a way that felt unmistakably hers.
A month had passed since Amos's arrest, since Flint had come within inches of losing everything that mattered, and since Daisy had agreed to marry him.
He still hadn't found a way to make sense of that.
“You look a little green,” Wyatt observed.
Flint glanced at him, though he could not quite keep the corner of his mouth from lifting. “You trying to make me feel better?”
Wyatt shook his head. “I am trying to see if I need to get out of the way.”
Flint huffed a laugh, then looked away again.
His nerves were making a fool of him, but there was no real dread beneath them.
That was the strangest part. His stomach was tight, his hands restless, his thoughts scattered in a dozen directions, but beneath it all ran a happiness so sharp and unfamiliar that he hardly knew what to do with it.
Before he could answer, Samuel stepped closer.
Wyatt must have noticed something in his father’s expression, because his teasing gentled. He gave Flint’s shoulder a quick slap, softer than usual, then drifted toward Clara, muttering something about checking whether Nathan had started a second round of betting.
Samuel looked toward the rows of chairs, then the arch, then the house where Daisy would soon appear. “Fine day for it.”
Flint nodded. “It is.”
The words were simple, but they felt larger than they ought to. The sky was clear. The candles were lit. The people he loved were gathered in one place. And in a few minutes, Daisy would walk toward him and become his wife.
His wife.
Just thinking it made his chest tighten.
Samuel’s gaze shifted to him. “You nervous?”
Flint almost denied it on instinct. The answer rose easily, old habit and pride working together. Instead, he let out a breath and gave a small, helpless laugh. “Terrified.”
Samuel’s mouth curved.
Flint shook his head, embarrassed by the truth of it. “Not because I’m sorry. Not because I want to be anywhere else.” His eyes moved toward the house again. “I just keep thinking I’m going to wake up and find out I imagined all of this.”
Samuel was quiet for a moment. Then he said, “That happens when a man finally gets something he stopped believing he was allowed to want.”
Flint swallowed and looked down, pretending to adjust his cuff, though there was nothing wrong with it. “Feels foolish.”
“No,” Samuel said. “It feels honest.”
Flint glanced at him.
Samuel reached out and straightened Flint’s collar, though Ruth had already fussed over it twice and declared it acceptable under protest. The gesture was simple. Familiar. Fatherly, in a way, Flint had spent years telling himself he no longer had any right to receive.
“You look well,” Samuel said.
Flint’s throat tightened. “Ruth said I looked pale.”
“Ruth has been saying that since you were fourteen.”
Despite himself, Flint smiled.
Samuel’s hand remained on his shoulder, warm and steady, and for a few seconds Flint let himself accept the comfort of it.
Then Samuel’s grip tightened slightly. “I’m proud of you, son.”
Flint went still.
The yard seemed to grow quiet around him, though he knew people were still talking. He heard chairs creak, cattle lowing in the distance, Ruth’s voice carrying softly across the grass.
But Samuel’s words drowned out everything else.
Proud.
Son.
Two things Flint had spent years believing he had forfeited.
He looked away, jaw working against emotions he had no idea how to hold. “I don’t know if I’ve earned that.”
Samuel’s expression softened. “You stopped needing to earn it the day you came home.”
Flint drew a slow breath. It did not steady him. If anything, it made the ache behind his ribs worse. But it was not the same ache he had carried for years. This one came from being given more grace than he knew how to receive.
“I made a mess of things,” he said quietly.
“I know.” Samuel nodded. “And you came back.”
Flint looked at him then.
Samuel’s eyes shone, though his voice remained steady. “That matters too.”
For a moment, Flint could not speak. He wanted to argue. Wanted to list every mistake, every failure, every reason Samuel should have held him at a distance longer than he had.
But the happiness in his chest had begun to crowd out the shame.
Samuel squeezed his shoulder once before letting go. “You’re home, Flint.”
Flint looked toward the house again, where Daisy would soon appear, and a smile tugged at his mouth before he could stop it.
Home.
For the first time in years, the word did not hurt.
Movement near the house drew every eye in the yard. Conversations faded until silence settled across the gathering.
Flint followed everyone's gaze.
Then Daisy appeared.
He was awestruck.
He had known her most of his life. He remembered the young woman laughing beside him on horseback, remembered falling in love with her long before he understood what was happening, remembered waking to find her caring for him when he had little strength left to give.
He remembered the evening she'd promised to become his wife.
None of those memories prepared him for seeing her now.
Sunlight brushed strands of gold through her hair. The white dress suited her so perfectly that it seemed impossible to imagine her wearing anything else. Candles illuminated the path ahead, their flames dancing softly in the afternoon light.
Nathan stood beside Daisy, guiding her along the path with the steady confidence Flint had come to associate with him.
Years ago, that sight would've stirred jealousy and regret in equal measure. Today, it filled him with gratitude because Nathan had protected Daisy when Flint hadn't been part of her life, and he had done it with the kind of fierce loyalty that never asked for recognition.
They had argued often enough to fill a dozen lifetimes, yet Flint trusted him completely.
The music drifted across the yard, warm and gentle beneath the afternoon sky.
Daisy began walking.
Nathan matched her pace without drawing attention to himself, offering quiet guidance whenever she needed it. She carried herself with calm certainty, her smile bright enough to leave Flint wondering how she could look so composed while his own thoughts tangled themselves into knots.
Each step brought her closer, and each step reminded him how much had changed.
A year earlier, he'd worked under Amos Grady's thumb.
Half a year earlier, he'd spent more energy running from his life than living it. It wasn’t until he'd convinced himself redemption belonged to better men that things changed.
Now Daisy was making her way toward him, carrying every hope he'd been afraid to claim.
Wyatt shifted closer and lowered his voice. "If you start bawling, I'm selling the story to every rancher in Wyoming."
Flint kept his eyes fixed on Daisy. "You'd have to survive telling it first."
Wyatt grinned. "Worth the risk. Nobody would believe it anyway. Flint Callahan crying at his own wedding sounds made up."
The fact that Flint couldn't immediately dismiss the possibility irritated him.
Nathan reached the arch at last, Daisy's hand resting lightly on his arm.
For a moment, he didn't immediately place it in Flint's.
Instead, he looked at him.
There had been a time when Nathan had looked across a room and seen only a threat to his sister. Flint couldn't blame him. He had given the man every reason to believe Daisy would be safer without him.
That wasn't what Flint saw now.
Nathan's expression remained thoughtful, carrying all the protectiveness of an older brother who loved his sister fiercely, but the suspicion was gone. In its place was something Flint had never expected to earn.
Trust.