EPILOGUE
Six months later, the Palo Pinto hills had finally traded the scarred, blackened ash of wild timber for the deep, vibrant emerald of late spring.
On the high bluff overlooking a quiet bend in the Brazos River, the setting sun painted the water in ribbons of copper and liquid gold. A soft breeze stirred the leaves of the live oaks, carrying the sweet scent of blooming mountain laurel and fresh river dirt.
Maya stood on the wide timber porch of Luke’s cabin, leaning against the polished cedar railing. She wore a soft knit sweater, a steaming mug of black tea cupped between her hands, her dark hair tumbling loosely around her shoulders.
Behind her, the heavy screen door creaked open, followed by the familiar, slow crunch of cowboy boots on the deck boards.
Luke stepped up behind her, his broad chest pressing gently against her back.
His strong arms came around her waist, pulling her flush against him, his chin resting lightly in the crook of her neck.
He smelled of clean pine, saddle soap, and the familiar, grounding warmth that had become her sanctuary.
"Thinking?" Luke murmured, his voice a low baritone that vibrated straight through her spine.
"Just watching the river," Maya whispered, leaning back into his solid frame, letting her head rest against his shoulder. "And thinking about the memorial service in town this morning."
Luke’s grip on her tightened slightly, possessive and tender.
That morning, the Palo Pinto County Courthouse had dedicated a permanent bronze monument to the three state officers recovered from Devil’s Hollow.
Sheriff Pete Mercer had stood before a crowd of hundreds, wearing his dress uniform; his face finally free of the dark, unhealed shadow he’d carried for thirty years.
Justice hadn't erased the grief, but it had brought the dead home.
"Pete’s going to retire at the end of his term," Luke said softly, his thumb lightly stroking the side of her waist. "Says he wants to spend his days fishing the river flats."
"He earned it," Maya said, turning in his arms until her dark eyes locked onto his. Her fingers reached up, tracing the hard, familiar line of his jaw. "And what about Texas Ranger Luke Grayson? Has he earned a little peace?"
A rare, devastatingly handsome smile touched the corner of Luke’s mouth. His dark eyes burned with a fierce, quiet devotion that took her breath away every single time.
"I’ve got everything I need right here, Doc," Luke said, leaning down to press a deep, lingering kiss to her lips.
When he pulled back, his hand reached into his pocket, pulling out a heavy, forged-iron key. He held it out between them, the metal catching the last rays of the evening light.
"The state lab in Fort Worth accepted your transfer to the regional field unit in Abilene," Luke whispered, his gaze unwavering. "Which means you're twenty minutes away. Put your name on the deed, Maya. Make this home."
Maya stared at the key, her breath hitching as a warm, radiant joy bloomed in her chest. She looked up into his eyes, her hand closing tightly over his, holding the key between their palms.
"I made this home six months ago, Grayson," Maya breathed, leaning up on her tiptoes to kiss him again.
Down on the access road below the bluff, the low rumble of a state vehicle echoed through the timber.
Cole Remington’s dark green truck kicked up a small plume of dust near the gate, Buster’s head leaning out the passenger window, letting out a sharp, greeting bark before the truck turned north toward the upper river basin.
Luke looked over Maya’s head toward the winding river, his dark eyes sharpening just a fraction as he watched the game warden’s vehicle disappear into the dark trees.
The Lawson syndicate was dismantled, and Devil's Hollow had given up its secrets. But the Brazos River was long, deep, and wild—and somewhere upwind; the next storm was already gathering in the shadows.
Luke pulled Maya closer against his heart, turning his back to the road, ready for whatever dark timber lay ahead—because this time, they walked in the light together.