Epilogue
SOARED
Mabel
Hutch made me come with his mouth, his hands gripping the backs of my thighs to hold them high and wide, my fingers gripping his hair.
After I finished, he kissed his way up my body, shoved his face in my neck, and glided his cock inside me.
I took him, skimming my hands across his skin, scratching my nails down his back, pressing kisses where I could, touching my tongue other places.
It took a while for Hutch to build it, but he knew I liked the simple feel of him on top of me, moving inside me, he knew I liked to be present when he found his, so he didn’t try to push for another orgasm from me (this time).
He eventually filled me, his body tensing, and he growled into my skin when he found his.
He stayed there, nuzzling me and catching his breath as he came down.
And only when he was down did he lift his head to look at me.
I tangled my fingers in his hair.
It was longer.
And the mustache was still there, but it’d been joined by a beard.
Hutch explained he grew a beard every winter (the mustache had been a new thing, and since I liked it, he was keeping it).
I was down for the change, because not only did he look fantastic with a beard, it felt fantastic too.
“This is getting long,” I whispered, mussing his hair.
“Want me to make a barber’s appointment?” he asked.
“Honey, it’s your hair.”
“That’s not an answer to my question.”
“You’re kinda transitioning into Chisolm,” I teased.
He chuckled and replied, “Beard goes in the spring, hair cut also in the spring. Deal?”
I wasn’t all that fired up with him getting rid of the beard. I very much liked it.
But it was his face.
“I’ll take you any way you come. So yeah, I guess. Deal.”
He kissed me, pulled out of me, and we rolled out of bed because it was a big day.
And it started out stellar.
But as ever, we had plans. A busy day.
We needed to get moving.
I was dodging puppies underfoot in the kitchen while talking to Mona on the phone and sorting out what we’d be taking with us for the party tonight.
By the by, once they were toilet trained, Hutch let the puppies have the run of the house.
With Hannibal, Tonks and Moxie, this was a lot.
Fortunately, Moxie had experience with two big dogs, and a motherly instinct, so after a few iffy incidents where the pups (namely Kratos, he wanted Moxie to be his friend sooooo bad) got a little scratching, things calmed down.
And you could often find her cuddled up with one and licking it or herding them where she wanted them to be.
Hutch said this puppy freedom was for three reasons.
The first, that room was too small for five growing Corsos (truth).
The second, it meant he and I (yup, I got roped in as a matter of course, though, no complaints here) could do ongoing training by regularly reinforcing the basic commands they’d already learned.
The last, it meant they were socialized.
Unspoken: he was not going to put puppies, even if they were already the size of some medium-sized dogs, out in pens in the winter.
Also unspoken: he enjoyed this time with his babies before he had to get serious.
“Oh my God, we are so not waiting until Halloween to dress up as the Sanderson sisters and scare kiddos,” Mona moaned in my ear. “You’ve sent pictures of the man. I need to see if this dude is for real.”
“I’ve also sent video.” And I did. Of Hutch singing. Also Hutch playing one-on-one with Stormy. Further, Hutch drilling Nike on her “sit” and “stay” commands. “And you saw the TikTok video. I can’t photoshop a whole video, much less four of them.”
“Okay, then you two come down in March or April, before it gets muggy, and Kacey and I will come up for Halloween.”
This might be doable, if Hutch was up for it.
“Let me discuss it with Hutch.”
He was at the stove making us breakfast.
Hearing his name, he turned to me and raised his brows.
I waved at him in a later gesture and went back to Mona.
“Listen, we have a packed day. I need to get on with it. So I gotta say love you, have a Merry Christmas, I’ll text tomorrow, and we’ll talk before the New Year.”
“Okay. Give those puppies, your kitty, the kiddos and your hot guy a snuggle for me,” she bid.
“I will.”
“Love you too, Ca…Mabel.”
We’d known each other a long time. It was tough for her to get used to me not being Callie.
She was getting there, though.
“Love you too, babe. Bye.”
“Bye. And Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas.”
I rang off and grabbed the Tupperware that I was going to use to transport the Christmas tree cookie stacks I’d made for the party.
“What are you supposed to talk to me about?” Hutch asked.
“Mona wants to meet you sooner rather than later,” I told him. “So she’s asked us to come down in March or April.”
I could tell by the way his beard flattened around his lips, he was not at one with a trip to Orlando, in March or April, or ever.
“Maybe we can meet them there, spend a day or two, and we can all head down to the Keys. The good Keys, not the touristy Keys. So you can go out and fish or…whatever,” I suggested.
And now I could tell by the way his brown eyes lit, that was a consideration.
“We don’t have to make a decision immediately. We can think on it,” I said.
“Good, because now is food,” Hutch replied, loading up our plates.
I abandoned the cookie stacks and headed for the coffee pot.
I warmed both our cups and sat with him at the table in front of the stove.
“Is all the shit we’re taking in those totes by the back door?” he asked before munching a bite of bacon.
“All the shit” was all the presents I bought and wrapped that we were going to take around to our friends’ houses after we did our first thing on the schedule for the day (our first thing after making love, doggie business, showering, getting ready, me packing totes, Hutch making breakfast, and a conversation with Mona, that was).
We weren’t visiting with friends. It was Christmas Eve, and I didn’t want to take anyone’s time if they were celebrating or preparing for the big day.
And anyway, the presents were no big deal. It didn’t need a production.
We were just going to drop them at doors, drive away, and I’d text to say, when they had time, they should go grab what we left and enjoy.
Except for Abigail and Brett’s house.
That was going to be the end of the day, because they had what Abigail called their yearly No Nonsense Buckner Christmas Eve Potluck.
It was a tradition. They started it the first year they moved in together.
They provided wine and beer and some minimal snacks.
The rest was provided by whoever showed up.
It started at five and ended at nine.
I had no idea how they pulled it off on top of having two little kids and needing to handle their Christmas as both Mom and Dad and Santa.
But Abigail said, “They’ll grow up with that.
Family. Friends. People around. Telling jokes.
Making memories. Eating food. Exchanging presents.
It might be a tradition they continue. It just gives you more to look forward to during the season.
And as far as I’m concerned, there can’t be too much to look forward to at Christmas. ”
One could say, if Abigail started wearing all Christmas, all the time, Kimmy would have a run for her money.
“Yeah. Just have the cookie stacks for the potluck to pack up and it’s good to go,” I answered Hutch’s question.
“I’ll load after we do the dishes,” he muttered to his plate.
Another thing about my guy I just had to let go.
I was perfectly capable of carrying totes to the truck.
And sure, I liked to look good, turn myself out, do up my face and hair and stuff like that, but I wasn’t a primper, and I was already mostly ready.
But I’d find things to make myself busy doing so he could load up the truck and his woman could remain inside to stay warm.
There were things to bicker about and things to fight about.
But that wasn’t one of them.
“Great, honey,” I said, forking into some eggs.
“Our first Christmas.”
The way he said that made me look at him.
Gone was the let’s-eat-and-get-this-show-on-the-road vibe.
In its place was another version of Hutch looking at me like the fan, the filter and the good lighting was back.
He had many versions of that look.
I cherished every one of them.
“Our first Christmas,” I whispered.
“You know I love you, Mabel, yeah?”
Oh God, oh God, oh God.
I knew he did.
But that was the first time he put it out there.
“Yeah,” I said. “You know I love you, Hutch, yeah?”
“Oh yeah,” he said.
“We need to stop this or I’m going to jump you over the kitchen table,” I warned.
His beard twitched, and he went back to his food, muttering, “No matter how hard I work, seems I never top you up with orgasms.”
“This is your lot for the rest of your life,” I said to my own plate.
He chuckled.
He didn’t mind.
Though, I hoped he knew I wasn’t kidding.
We stood in the snow, away from the bed of Hutch’s truck, all of us bundled up against the cold.
Dr. Simmons and Calvin, her vet tech, along with Hutch were carefully dragging the big cage to the end of the opened back gate.
We were all hushed, even Emma, who was standing with me, Abigail, Brett, and Liam as we watched and waited.
Calvin hopped down.
Dr. Simmons got in position.
And Hutch threw open the door to the cage.
We all held our breath as Hunter, the golden eagle Hutch and Dr. Simmons rescued two and a half months ago, hopped to the edge of the cage and immediately took flight.
We all gasped as he flapped his wings and caught wind.
The width of his wingspan was unbelievable.
Hutch came to stand by me, slinging his arms around my shoulders as we all watched Hunter glide away, and we did it cheering and clapping (except Hutch, one of his arms was busy).
Then Hunter rounded back toward us.
It wasn’t a dive bomb or even a swoop.
But you couldn’t miss it was a thank you.
He did that before he tipped his wings and banked to reverse course, rising, rising, rising high.
And he soared away.
There were many memories I was stamping and cataloging in my brain so I would never, ever forget them.
The sight and sound of Hutch singing and playing, especially the time I first met him, also especially when he sang my song.
The feel of Moxie curling into Tonks that first night we all slept together.
The way Mrs. Matthews grabbed that sourdough out of my hands, and the way her son sat and played with the pups and told me her story.
Hutch making twenty baskets in a row.
Cicely crashed out on her daddy’s wide chest.
When we went for that hike, Stormy swinging his son on his back and looking up at him while Viggo held tight to his dad’s neck, the hardness of life, betrayal and heartbreaking decisions falling away from Stormy’s face as he smiled at his boy.
Ledger beating me at cards.
Emma saying the words “Missa Hutch.”
The sound of Jill’s voice filled with surprise and gratitude when she thanked me for the chair.
Liam concentrating so hard when he and Hutch built that Mos Eisley Cantina out of Lego that night we babysat for Abigail and Brett.
Abigail anytime we got to laughing wherever we were. Behind the counter at The Groove. At Aromacobana. In her kitchen. In mine.
Watching Hutch drag in the tree he cut down so we could decorate it with ornaments I’d cherry-picked out of all the stuff I collected during my forays.
And driving up to our little cabin after a day in the town on Christmas Eve—a cabin you couldn’t see from CR 10 (not even an inch of it)—but still, the Christmas tree with its multitude of twinkling, colored lights was sparking happily into the dark winter night at the front window.
As Hutch drove around to the back to park, I got choked up.
Thirty-one years.
Thirty-one years, and just now, just this very instant, was the first time I arrived home.
We got out.
Went in.
Supervised the dogs’ taking care of business.
Got them back in from the cold.
I found Moxie and offered many cuddles as an apology for leaving her with seven puppers all day all by herself while Hutch did the second feeding and then started warming milk on the stove before he built fires in the living room and our bedroom.
And not long later, with empty cocoa mugs on the coffee table, we ended up in jeans, Henleys and wool socks, the Christmas tree and the fire the only illumination in our living room, as we cuddled on a comfy, corduroy couch.
“So spill it,” he said quietly.
He was on his back. I was tucked to his side facing the room with my head on his shoulder.
I lifted my head and looked down at him.
“Spill what?”
“What you were thinking when we drove up to the house.”
The man missed nothing.
“I’ll go first,” he said before I could bare all (again).
“Okay,” I replied quietly.
“I’ve never in my life looked forward to a Christmas, until this one.”
Oh God.
“Hutch,” I pushed out throatily.
“Something always dragged on it. Something would always happen during it. Or I was on my own. I had friends who looked after me, but I was still on my own. Coming home with you to our dogs, our cat and that tree, I felt like I was a fuckin’ kid again.
And I don’t give that first shit what you bought me.
It isn’t about that. It’s about this.” His arm around me gave me a squeeze.
“It’s about knowing I’ll be waking up with you tomorrow.
Spending the day making love and opening presents and eating.
It’s about next Christmas, knowing I’ll have the same. ”
“And every Christmas until you die,” I added.
His beard lifted in a gentle smile.
“And every Christmas until I die,” he whispered.
I pushed up and gave him a quick kiss.
“Now you,” he prompted.
“Okay.” I agreed. “I was thinking, I’ve been bounced around to places all my life where I didn’t want to be.
No shade on Orlando, but I didn’t even pick that.
My work did. And I was thinking, tonight, for the first time, I was finally coming home.
And yes, home is our animals, and home will always be you, but it means something to me that home, for me, will be a place.
This place. A place where I’ll always be, beside you, and when I die first at one hundred and seven—”
“You aren’t goin’ before me.”
I ignored his interruption and carried on.
“I’ll do it being okay with it. Because you’ll be here. And no matter what, I’ll always be here with you.”
For a second, Hutch didn’t move.
Then he did, rolling into me and taking my mouth.
Vaguely, I heard Tonks yodel for no reason.
And Hannibal groan as he settled in.
The fire crackling.
Off in the distance what I didn’t hear was an owl hooting.
And some white-tailed deer crunching through the snow.
This all happened because all was as it should be on Hutch’s and my patch.
And no matter what…
It always would be.
The End
The tales from Misted Pines will continue…