Epilogue
CASS
TWO YEARS LATER
The Copper Creek Christmas Rodeo had become my favorite tradition.
Not for the events, though those were fun.
For what it represented—the whole community coming together, celebrating the season and each other, remembering that we were stronger as a group than we’d ever be alone.
A lesson it had taken me thirty-one years and one stubborn, infuriating, beloved man to finally learn.
I stood at the edge of the arena, one hand resting on my rounded belly, watching the bull riders warm up. Our first baby was due in six weeks, and I’d finally been forced to accept that some ranch activities were temporarily off-limits.
“She’s kicking again,” I told Walker, who appeared at my side with two cups of hot cider.
“He,” Walker corrected, handing me one. “I still say it’s a boy.”
“Either way, they’re going to be a handful. Just like their father.”
“Their mother’s not exactly low-maintenance either.”
I laughed, leaning into him as his arm wrapped around my shoulders. Two years of marriage, and I still wasn’t used to how good it felt—having someone to lean on, someone who understood, someone who stayed.
The ranch was steadier now, too. Thunder’s stud fees and a couple of new breeding contracts Walker had helped me land had finally pushed us out ahead of the bank, far enough that last spring I’d done something I hadn’t done in five years: hired enough help that I could take a single day off.
We’d driven down to the coast, the two of us, and I’d stood with my boots in the Gulf and cried for no reason I could name except that I was happy, and tired in the good way instead of the bone-deep way, and not afraid.
Walker had just held my hand and let me cry, the way he’d learned to do.
He’d turned the smallest bedroom into a nursery himself, over the winter—sanded and painted it, built the crib from a kit with much swearing and Brody’s unhelpful supervision.
I’d found him in there one night just standing in the dark, one hand on the rail, and when I asked what he was doing he’d said, “Practicing believing it’s real. ”
I knew exactly what he meant.
Dad was there with his cane hooked over the rail beside him, looking stronger than he had in years, swapping rodeo stories with Earl.
Lily had come down from Austin for the holiday—she visited more often now; we all did the things we used to be too busy or too afraid to do.
And Brody sat between them with his girlfriend, a veterinarian named Sarah who looked at my brother like he’d hung the moon.
He’d become the rancher our father always hoped one of us would be, and a brother to Walker besides—the two of them thick as thieves, forever conspiring about fence lines and feed prices and which of them I loved best. (Me.
Obviously. But I let them argue about it.)
“What are you thinking?” Walker asked, noticing my expression.
“About how different things are now. Two years ago I was so scared—of losing the ranch, of what was happening with Brody, of letting anyone close enough to hurt me.” I took his hand, laced our fingers together. “Now look at us.”
“It’s been quite a journey.”
“The best kind.” I leaned my head on his shoulder. “Thank you. For not giving up. For staying even when I made it difficult.”
“You didn’t make it that difficult.”
“I threw you off the property.”
“Only once, technically. The second time you just strongly suggested I leave.”
“Same thing.”
“Not quite.” He turned to face me, cupping my cheek. “You were protecting yourself. Protecting your family. I understood that, even when it hurt. And I knew that if I could just be patient—if I could prove I was worth the risk—eventually you’d let me in.”
“And here we are.”
“Here we are.” He kissed me softly. “Building a life. Growing a family. Figuring it out together.”
The crowd roared as someone made an impressive ride. Down in the stands, Brody whooped loud enough to be heard three counties over, and Dad laughed, and the whole messy, complicated, imperfect, wholly mine family of us cheered along.
The baby kicked again, hard, like she—or he—wanted in on it too.
Walker felt it through my coat and went still with wonder, the way he did every single time, like it never got less miraculous.
And I thought about the woman I’d been on that cold morning at the fence rail, certain that carrying everything alone was the only safety there was.
I wished I could reach back and tell her.
*You’re going to set it down,* I’d say. *You’re going to let someone in, and the sky won’t fall.
It’ll just be bigger, with more people holding it up. *
She wouldn’t have believed me. Stubborn as a mule in mud, that one. But she’d have learned, same as I did.
Stubborn hearts don’t surrender easily. That had always been true of me, true of everyone in my family. We fought for what we wanted, held onto what we loved, refused to give up even when the odds were against us.
But I’d learned something else, too—something it had taken Walker’s patient persistence to teach me.
Stubborn hearts don’t surrender easily. But when they finally do—when they find something worth fighting for—they never let go.
And I never would.
THE END