Epilogue Callie
My wedding ring caught the light from the window. I twisted it once with my thumb, the gold band warm against my skin. Wade would be home any minute.
I stood at the kitchen counter, watching the street through the glass.
The December cold had stripped the trees bare, leaving the branches black against the grey sky.
Our house in town was warm, the heat humming through the vents.
I'd turned on the Christmas lights an hour ago, and they glowed softly in the corner, red and gold against the dark.
The baby monitor on the counter showed Emma asleep in her crib upstairs, her tiny fist curled against her cheek. She'd be up in a few hours, hungry and fussy, but for now she was peaceful, her chest rising and falling in the steady rhythm that made my own breathing slow to match it.
Headlights swept across the driveway.
I moved to the door before I thought about it, my pulse kicking up like I was seventeen. God, that was ridiculous. My stomach flipped when I saw his truck pull in.
The door opened, and Wade stepped inside, bringing the cold with him. He was still in his work shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his hat in his hand. Snowflakes dusted his shoulders. His eyes found mine immediately, and his whole face changed, softening in a way that made my throat tight.
"Hey," he said.
"Hey."
He crossed the space between us in three strides and pulled me into his arms. I leaned into him, breathing in the smell of him, leather and soap and the faint bite of winter air still clinging to his jacket.
His hand spread across my back, warm and solid through the thin fabric of my shirt, and I felt my whole body relax against him like it had been waiting for this all day.
I wrapped my arms around his waist and held on tight.
He kissed the top of my head, his lips warm against my hair. "Missed you."
"You were only gone a few hours."
"Still missed you." He pulled back just enough to look at me, his thumb brushing along my jaw, his eyes searching mine. "How was your day?"
"Good. Quiet."
"Emma doing okay?"
"She's perfect." I stepped back, tugging him toward the stairs. "Come see."
He set his hat on the table and followed me up, his hand at the small of my back. The touch was light, but I felt it all the way through my spine.
Emma's room was dark except for the nightlight in the corner, the soft glow painting the walls in pale yellow.
Wade leaned over the crib and looked down at our daughter, his expression going tender in a way that made my chest ache.
He reached in and lifted her into his arms, slow and careful, trying not to wake her.
She made a small sound, her mouth working, and then settled against his chest with a sigh.
I stepped close and touched his arm, my fingers curling around the warm muscle of his forearm. He glanced at me, and I saw it in his eyes. He looked at me, standing there beside him in the dim light, and the warmth in his gaze was so much it felt like drowning.
We stood there together, the three of us, and I didn't want to be anywhere else in the world.
Wade carried Emma downstairs, his hand cradling her head, his steps quiet on the hardwood.
I made coffee in the kitchen, the familiar ritual grounding me, and when I turned around he was sitting in the big chair by the window with the baby on his shoulder.
Her tiny fist was tangled in his shirt, her face pressed against his neck.
I brought him a mug and sat on the arm of the chair, my hand resting on his knee. The heat of him seeped through his jeans and into my palm. He just drank his coffee and let the quiet stretch out between us, easy and comfortable, like we had all the time in the world.
"I was thinking," I said.
"Yeah?"
"We should go back to the rodeo grounds sometime. When Emma's a little older."
Wade looked up at me, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Yeah. We should."
"Show her where we met. Let her see it."
"I'd like that." He shifted Emma in his arms, his hand rubbing small circles on her back. "We could make a day of it. Bring a picnic, let her run around."
"She can't even walk yet, Wade."
He grinned. "Well, by the time she can."
I laughed, and the sound surprised me, light and easy in the warm room. "Okay. Yeah."
"I'll make the time," he said, and his voice was serious now, his eyes on mine. "I promise."
I wanted to tell him what that meant. That simple promise, those words.
I wanted to tell him everything it had taken to get here.
I wanted to tell him what it meant to sit here with him in the glow of the Christmas lights, my hand on his knee, the baby asleep in his arms. I wanted to tell him I was so happy it scared me, that I was terrified every single day that I'd lose it.
I didn't say any of it.
"I love you," I said instead.
He looked at me, his eyes serious and soft at the same time, and reached up to cup my face in his hand. His palm was warm against my cheek. "I love you too, Callie."
Emma squirmed, making a fussy sound, and Wade stood to rock her.
I took his mug and set it on the table, then sat down on the couch, tucking my legs under me.
I was bone-tired, the kind that came with having a baby, with never quite catching up on sleep, but I didn't want to go upstairs yet.
I wanted to stay right here, in this room, with the two of them.
Wade sat beside me, Emma still in his arms. "You okay?"
"Yeah."
"You sure? You look tired."
"I'm always tired." I leaned my head against his shoulder, closing my eyes. "It's fine."
He kissed the top of my head, his lips lingering there. "You should rest."
"I will. In a minute."
His arm came around me, pulling me closer, and I let myself sink into the warmth of him.
Emma made another small sound, and Wade adjusted her in his arms, his hand gentle on her back.
I opened my eyes and watched them, my husband and my daughter, and felt something swell in my chest that I didn't have words for.
I thought about the rescue. Jolene still ran it day to day, handling the calls and the paperwork and the volunteers, but I drove out twice a week to check on the animals and do the night feeding.
Wade drove me when he could. He stood in the barn with me while I checked the goats and made sure the pigs had clean water and counted the chickens to be sure none had gone missing.
He came with me, his hand on my back as we walked through the cold, and waited while I did what I needed to do.
The Saturday Jolene had begged me to come out for the goats had turned into the party instead, and the dinner with his parents that Wade said he'd check on never came up again. Jolene never called Shelby back. Whatever Shelby had wanted from her came to nothing.
That part of me, the part that needed the work and the purpose and the animals depending on me, was mine.
I glanced at Wade. He was watching Emma, his hand rubbing small circles on her back, and the expression on his face was so tender I had to look away. The rodeo grounds were where we'd met, and going back there was part of our life.
God, I was afraid of losing this.
What if it all fell apart?
I pressed my lips together and said nothing. I just sat there with my head on Wade's shoulder, my hand resting on his thigh, and tried to hold onto the moment as tightly as I could.
Wade glanced over. "You're quiet."
"Just thinking."
"About what?"
"Nothing important."
He didn't push. He just reached over and took my hand, threading his fingers through mine, his thumb brushing across my knuckles. I felt the stupid tears prick at the back of my eyes, and like an idiot, I blinked them away before he could see.
Emma made a fussy sound, her face scrunching up, and Wade stood to walk her around the room.
I watched him pace, his hand cradling her head, his voice low and steady as he talked to her about the snow outside and the Christmas lights and how she was going to love the rodeo grounds when she was old enough to see them. My daughter. My husband. My life.
The fear sat in my chest like a stone, cold and heavy, but I didn't say anything. I just watched Wade rock Emma, his movements sure and gentle, and tried to breathe through it.
"Wade."
"Yeah?"
"I'm happy," I said, and my voice came out quieter than I meant it to. "I just... I'm really happy."
His whole face softened. "Yeah?"
"Yeah."
He crossed the room and sat beside me again, Emma tucked against his chest. "Good. Me too."
He was quiet for a moment, his thumb moving on Emma's back. "The night after you left, I sat in the dark bedroom holding your ring. I thought I'd lost you." He shook his head. "I never told anyone that."
"You're telling me."
"Yeah." He looked at me. "You're the first."
I had one of my own. "I knew about the night care," I said. "Jolene told me weeks before you did. I let you tell me anyway."
His head turned. "You knew?"
"I wanted to hear it from you."
He looked at me for a long second, and then he laughed, low, so he wouldn't wake the baby. "Okay," he said.
I leaned into him, and he wrapped his free arm around me, pulling me close. We sat like that for a long time, the three of us tangled together on the couch, the Christmas lights glowing softly in the corner and the wind rattling the windows outside.
We put Emma to bed just after eight. I stood at the crib, watching her sleep, her tiny chest rising and falling, her hands curled into fists beside her head. Wade's hand settled on the small of my back, warm and steady, and I leaned into the touch without thinking.
He didn't say anything. He just stood there with me, his thumb rubbing small circles against my spine, and I felt the warmth of him all the way through my body.
We went to bed not long after. I was asleep before my head hit the pillow, Wade's arm heavy and warm across my waist.
The cry woke me sometime after midnight. I blinked at the ceiling, disoriented, and then heard Emma's wail cut through the dark, sharp and insistent.
I started to sit up, but Wade was already moving. He threw the covers back and got out of bed, his movements quick and sure in the darkness.
"I've got her," he said.
I watched him leave the room, his footsteps quiet in the hallway, and lay there staring at the dark ceiling. He'd gotten up without me asking. Without me saying a word.
I got out of bed and followed him, my bare feet silent on the hardwood.
Emma's room was lit by the nightlight, casting long shadows across the walls.
Wade was standing by the crib, lifting her into his arms. She was crying in that angry, frustrated way that meant she was hungry, her little face red and scrunched.
"Hey, baby girl," Wade murmured, his voice low and soothing. "I know. I know."
He settled into the rocking chair with her, and I leaned against the doorway, watching.
Emma's cries slowed as he rocked her, his hand rubbing her back, his voice a low murmur I couldn't quite make out.
He started humming, some tuneless melody that made no sense, and Emma quieted completely, her breathing evening out against his chest.
I crossed the room and knelt beside the chair. Wade glanced down at me, his eyes soft in the dim light, and I reached out to touch Emma's tiny hand. Her fingers curled around mine, warm and impossibly small.
Wade kept rocking. I stayed right there, my hand on Emma's, my other hand resting on Wade's knee, feeling the warmth of him through his pajama pants. The three of us together in the dark, the rocking chair creaking softly, the wind howling outside but the house warm and safe around us.
After a while, Wade looked at me. "You should go back to bed."
"I'm good here."
He smiled, just a little. "Yeah?"
"Yeah."
We stayed like that for a long time, the rocking chair creaking, Emma breathing soft and even against Wade's chest, her tiny fist still curled around my finger. Outside, the December wind rattled the windows.
Inside, we were home.
THE END