Epilogue
Myles
“OH MY GOD, MYLES!” Wynn screamed so loud her voice echoed off the still bare walls of our new house.
I pumped into her while she was bent over the kitchen island. There were no blinds on the windows yet, but the only creatures looking in were the birds flying by. The sound of our skin slapping together filled the kitchen.
Her lush ass was pushing into me, desperately trying to meet each thrust, her pussy quaking around me.
“Fuck, Wynn. Come for me.”
“MYLES!” After months of quiet fucking with the occasional night of loud sex at my loft when she traveled to Colorado with me, we were finally in our house. Our new place with only us. We could walk around naked—and we did. Often. She could scream and shout while she came—like she was doing now.
I let my restraint blow as hard as the rest of me. I exploded inside of her, gripping her hips while I emptied every last drop of cum and soaked up each morsel of pleasure being with her gave me.
“Oh my god, that was so good,” she groaned and sagged against the island.
I curled around her back, wrapped a hand around her, and stroked her round belly. “Soon, we’re going to have to be quiet again.”
Four months to be exact. I was going to be a dad.
A goddamn father.
When the nursery was getting decorated, Wynn had asked me about baby themes and colors. Memories had slowly started unfolding from a pile buried at the base of my brain. Happy times with Gianna and my dad. Faint memories. Sounds of laughter. There’d been good times.
Now that I had more understanding of what Gianna had gone through, I resented her less. And I’d had plenty of time to talk to Lane and Cruz about our mother in the months since I’d been living in Bourbon Canyon.
I pulled out of Wynn and helped her straighten. My gaze fell to her fuller breasts and the tummy I was as obsessed with as much as I was terrified of. Whenever the fear threatened to take over, all I had to do was remember the day my uncle had tried to bully his way into my money.
This baby would have so much goddamn support, he or she would grow up wondering if there was a place on earth they could get some privacy.
“I love you, Mr. Foster.” She wound her arms around my neck and pressed her head against my chest.
I carefully lifted her. She was growing used to me carting her to our spacious bathroom with a six-showerhead cove that was like a private oasis. There were plenty of places to get away from prying family on the Bailey land. But today, they would all descend on the house.
She rested her head on my shoulder. “The caterers are showing up soon.”
We were getting married. Wynn didn’t care if she had a baby belly during the wedding.
She only cared that the weather was nice enough for everyone to attend with enough lead time for Junie to get away from her tour schedule and that the ceremony took place on the property her dad had left just for her. Right where our house was.
October was a risk, but we had plan Cs for the plan Bs just in case it was too chilly or the weather was heinous. Wynter wanted this wedding, and I’d make it happen.
I ran us through the shower and only got my roaming hands swatted once with a giggly reprimand that people were arriving soon.
The first guest to arrive was Lane. He swaggered in through the door off the kitchen—Wynn had wanted the same entry feel of her parents’ house. His dark boots were gone, replaced by cowboy boots.
“Don’t dress up,” I said as I poured Wynn her orange juice.
“I’m going to change. The wedding isn’t for eight hours.” He took the glass of juice.
“That was Wynn’s, fucker.” The idea of being a dad was less terrifying, thanks to this inconsiderate asshole.
I found myself in a part-parent, part-brother role, and increasingly part mentor.
Lane had taken an interest in distilling.
Not so much ranching, but he’d hung in there since he’d first started working for the Baileys.
He’d quit his job and moved in with Mae after Wynn and I had moved out.
He claimed it was because Mae had commented on how quiet and lonely the house would be with all the kids gone.
But I suspected he’d been dying to relocate since the first time he’d visited.
Besides, Cruz still lived with Mae and was a full-time employee. The only part of her house that was empty was the fridge after he finished raiding it.
“You have plenty of juice,” he said and took a big gulp. “I wouldn’t have taken the last of it.”
I glared at him while getting another glass. “Why are you here early, then?”
“Teller said I could start working weekends at the distillery if I wanted. I’d be like an intern or something.”
“You’re going to learn to make bourbon?”
“Yeah. I’ll be a rancher and mechanic during the week and learn the trade on the weekends. It’s not like there’s a poppin’ social scene in Bourbon Canyon.”
“I don’t know. That Fourth of July parade was lit.”
He chuckled. He laughed easier and the tightness around his eyes had relaxed since I’d first met him.
I grabbed some eggs from the fridge. Wynn had informed me that next year, we would be getting our own chickens, which also meant I would be learning how to build a chicken house and chicken run. Good thing I had a ton of siblings to help.
“So you’re going to learn how to make bourbon,” I said. “Then you’ll build a nationally recognized brand to compete with them?”
“Seems like a waste. They’ve done bourbon. You got the whiskey down. Besides, what would I call my company? Prison Dad?”
As I cracked the eggs and prepared the frying pan, my mind whirled, full of possibilities.
I’d hired more assistants. Mrs. Crane had offered to train them before she retired.
But there was room to grow, and since the contract with Mainline had begun, we were indeed growing.
“There’s already a Foster House. Seems like you’d fit right in. ”
“Ha. Like you’d let me in your baby.”
When I was having a real baby, the business baby didn’t seem as centered in my life. “Why wouldn’t I? You’re a Foster.”
He studied me. I continued making eggs for my soon-to-be wife under his scrutiny. I cracked a few more since he’d likely stay long enough to eat my portion if I didn’t. His attention didn’t bother me, neither did the thought of having Lane learn the ropes.
“You’d really let me work for you?”
I was growing more certain by the minute. “I’ve been thinking about opening a new location.” I was eager to build from the ground up again and having my brother as part of the process would be a special treat. “Unless you want to go into business yourself.”
He drained his juice. “The Prison Dad label is growing on me.”
“Then I know a good investor.”
He smirked, then did a double take. “You serious? What the fuck for?”
“Darin Bailey was the reason I could purchase an old mine and start a distillery. He gave me a life I never could’ve dreamed of. Seems like a tradition to keep passing on. I have a foundation and everything for it.”
A cloud of sweet lemongrass wafted around me. “Is the future being conquered before the wedding?”
“Your old man is trying to make me a businessman like him.” Lane rinsed out his glass and put it in the dishwasher. Mae had gotten to my brothers in the most unexpected ways. “Aren’t you guys supposed to not see each other?”
I lifted a brow at Wynn. Her cheeks still had a post-orgasm flush. I’d seen plenty of her today.
She caressed a hand over her belly. “We’ve been doing things out of order.”
And it’d worked out perfectly.
Wynter
I was dancing with my husband, surrounded by crackling propane firepits and partitions to block the light breeze. I’d thought I knew the man, but I’d discovered one more thing after we’d said our vows and started celebrating with our family and friends on our new house’s back patio.
He didn’t know how to dance.
I didn’t think he’d be interested in learning, and I didn’t care, so no matter what the song was, we swayed together, happy in each other’s arms. Soon to be a family of three.
Myles didn’t have to tell me he was scared.
Honestly, I was, too. His excitement despite his fear bolstered me.
Mama continued to tell me my feelings were normal like she knew exactly what was going through my head.
I rested my head on Myles’s shoulder. His black suit coat was soft. I’d picked out the one I wanted him to wear. No need to buy a new outfit when he had a closet full of corporate porn. “Mama looks happy tonight.”
I was in thick fuzzy slippers, having kicked off my sandals when the music had started.
The hem of my sleeveless white dress brushed the floor, and I wore a white lined cape specially designed for an outdoor autumn wedding in Montana.
I liked the idea of looking at our wedding photos and seeing the beginnings of a happy little family.
He brushed a hand down my back. “She has a right to be.”
Another song started playing. Chance was dancing with Scarlett, and Tate was watching them, stupid happy, with Brinley on his shoulders.
Mama had their new baby boy in her arms, swaying side to side.
Tenor was chatting with some of the employees from the distillery.
We’d kept the ceremony small and intimate.
Baileys, Kerrigans, and employees of each distillery.
Mrs. Crane was teaching Braxton and his partner how to waltz.
Cooper had driven her down since he’d been invited, too.
The day had been perfect despite a small chance of storms. That small chance was building into a sure thing in the distance. A fitting end to our wedding.
Tenor stepped in and pushed up his glasses. “Hey, mind if I give the DJ the okay to call it? He’s worried about the weather moving in.”
“Call it,” Myles answered. “Everyone can stay as long as they want. We can move the party into the house.”
“Most everyone wants to give the happy couple their privacy. Speaking as a brother who can read your expression when you look at your new wife, I’m fine leaving sooner rather than later.” He grinned and left us alone.
“Are you eye-fucking me, Mr. Foster?” I asked.
“I haven’t quit since I first saw you.”
I giggled and continued to dance even after the music stopped.
“It’s going to storm tonight,” he murmured.
“Mm, it is. You might have to read me a story.”
“I’ve got lots of stories for you, Frosty, but these days I like to have your tits in my hands when I tell them.”
I laughed, and he twirled us around. The string lights lit his eyes, adding an extra dose of happiness. “Have I told you lately how much I love you?”
“You’ll never tell me too often, Mrs. Foster.”