Epilogue
CALEB
Two Years Later
I’d recognize her laugh anywhere. It carried across the pasture, clear and bright, cutting through the low murmur of voices and the country music drifting out of the barn.
I looked up from the grill just in time to see Marisol throw her head back, one hand braced on Lucas’s shoulder, the other clutching the picnic table like she needed something solid to keep her upright.
She looked happy. Not the quiet, tired kind of happy she used to wear when we first met. Not the careful, guarded version she carried through the danger. This was the real thing. The kind that lived in her bones.
Two years had changed a lot.
The ranch had grown. The fences were new.
The cattle herd had doubled. The barn had fresh red paint and a roof that didn’t leak.
Mama Mae still ran her empire with an iron fist and a soft heart, but I had my own spread now just east of hers, close enough that Lucas could ride his dirt bike over whenever he felt like it.
And Marisol? She had finished school. Top of her class.
I turned the burgers and let my gaze run over her curves.
She had on a white sundress that caught the breeze and a pair of boots she refused to give up, no matter how many times I told her heels would look just as good.
Her hair was longer now, falling down her back in loose waves.
Her eyes were brighter. Her shoulders lighter.
She looked like a woman who finally knew she was safe.
Lucas jogged toward me, already taller by a couple of inches and still growing into his limbs.
“She’s looking for you,” he said.
I arched a brow. “Is that so?”
“She wants you for pictures.”
“Of course she does.”
He grinned. “If you cry again, I’m posting it.”
“Watch your mouth.”
He laughed and took off back toward the barn, where the big banner Mama Mae had hung read:
CONGRATS MARISOL, RN
Registered nurse. The words still knocked the breath out of me.
I killed the grill and set the spatula down, wiping my hands on a towel as I crossed the yard. People stopped me along the way. Foster brothers. Old ranch hands. New neighbors. Men who had watched me build this place from bare dirt and stubborn dreams.
They clapped my shoulder. Congratulated me. Told me I’d done good.
I didn’t correct them.
Marisol spotted me before I reached the table.
There was a moment. The same one we’d shared since the first night on Mama Mae’s porch. The quiet beat where the world faded and it was just us.
Then she smiled.
My heart had never stood a chance.
“Come here,” she said, tugging me into the center of the chaos.
Someone handed her a camera. Someone else handed her a drink. Lucas threw an arm around her shoulders. Mama Mae wiped her eyes with the hem of her apron.
We took picture after picture. Marisol beamed through every one of them.
After, I walked her away from the noise, down toward the fence line where the pasture sloped gently toward the creek. The sun was setting, painting the sky in gold and pink.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
She leaned into my side. “I’m perfect.”
I studied her face, memorizing the woman she had become. The strength had always been there. So had the fire and grit. But now there was peace too.
“You’re proud of me,” she said.
I smiled. “Try again.”
“You’re ridiculously proud of me.”
“Damn right I am.”
She laughed and tipped her head against my shoulder. “I wouldn’t be here without you.”
“Yes, you would,” I said. “You’re stubborn. You would’ve found a way.”
“Maybe,” she admitted. “But I wouldn’t have found home.”
The word settled deep in my chest. Home. That was what this place had become. It wasn’t just land and fences and cattle. Not just a ranch I built with sweat and willpower. It was her. It was Lucas. It was the life we chose.
The party carried on behind us with music and laughter. I took her hand and led her farther down the fence line, where the grass grew tall and the world felt quieter.
She tilted her head. “Where are we going?”
“Trust me.”
She always did.
We stopped near the old oak at the edge of the pasture. I leaned back against the trunk and pulled her between my legs, her back resting against my chest.
The sky had darkened enough that the first stars were beginning to show.
She followed my gaze. “You and your stars.”
“They’re reliable.”
She smiled. “So are you.”
I lifted my arm and pointed. “See that line there.”
She squinted. “The Big Dipper.”
“Good. Now follow that curve.”
Her breath caught. “The North Star.”
I kissed her temple. “My mama used to say if you find that one, you’ll never lose your way.”
She turned in my arms, her eyes soft. “And now?”
“And now I don’t need the sky to guide me anymore.”
Her brows knit. “You don’t?”
I shook my head. “I found my North Star already.”
Her breath hitched.
“You’ve been mine since the first night I stood on that porch and watched your light turn off,” I said. “You’ve been mine since the first time you let me in. You’ve been mine since the moment I realized I didn’t want to build anything in this world that didn’t have your name on it.”
She stared at me like I’d just shifted the ground beneath her feet.
“Caleb…”
I reached into my pocket.
She froze.
“Oh,” she whispered.
I dropped to one knee in the grass. The world went silent.
“I built this life with my hands,” I said. “I built this ranch with my blood and sweat. But you built my heart into something worth having. I don’t want another sunrise without you beside me. I don’t want another star in the sky if it isn’t lighting our way home.”
Her eyes filled.
“Marisol Vega, will you marry me?”
She didn’t hesitate. “Yes, of course yes.”
I stood and pulled her into my arms, kissing her hard and deep and forever. Behind us, the party erupted. Lucas whooped. Mama Mae cried. Someone popped a beer. Someone else started chanting.
Marisol laughed against my mouth.
I pressed my forehead to hers. “You’re stuck with me now.”
She smiled. “I’ve been stuck with you since Valor Springs.”
The stars burned steady above us. And for the rest of my life, I would follow her light home.
Thanks for riding with us through Valor Springs.