EPILOGUE
WILLA: TWO YEARS LATER
Iwalk up the gravel drive with Buck at my side and two dogs snorting and skidding around my rubber boots.
Werner, a chunky rescue dachshund, is hell on wheels and twice as stubborn.
Chauncey, the pit bull, swivels his head and watches Werner’s zigzags like it’s a chess match.
They’re a dog-and-pony show, except the only pony is inside me, currently using my bladder as a trampoline.
I stop, rub my lower back, and shift my weight to ease the ache.
This far along, everything in my body is a negotiation.
Across the yard, the new farmhouse gleams in late afternoon light.
The paint is a pale blue now, a shade picked precisely to irritate Beau’s friend, Cole, who considered it “girly.” The windows are open, and there’s a dirty bandana hanging from the porch railing, probably left by one of the contractors finishing up the addition.
I like that it never looks perfectly finished.
The old barn, the one that belonged to my uncle, leans at an impossible angle but still stands.
We turned it into one of the county’s wedding venues, which is funny, since Beau and I got married in it before the paint had dried and the bathroom was even installed.
I catch my breath at the porch. Even after all this time, I love the look of it—our place, not his, not mine, but something that wouldn’t have happened if we hadn’t both been stubborn as hell.
Buck noses my hand, then waits for me to open the door.
The dogs blast past my ankles and into the cool of the house, nails clicking on the kitchen tile.
It smells like bread, paint, and dog. There’s a pile of fliers on the island, invites to the grand opening of the Sagebrush Inn.
Beau’s old house, the one where he first threatened to buy me out, is stage one of our B&B empire.
The Venture Capitalists are in for a shock if they expect crisp linens and unobtrusive staff.
They’ll get mud on their shoes and a key on a string.
Buck hovers near the fridge, ears up. I slide out a leftover sausage link, and he takes it very politely, then sits at my feet. Werner whines for a piece. Chauncey, more patient, just waits for me to notice him.
“You think they’ll remember to stay off the furniture?” I ask Buck. He looks at the sausage, then me, as if to say, As you wish, Boss.
Through the window over the sink, I see Beau.
He’s in the upper pasture with the horses, shoulders squared and every movement precise.
It’s choreographed, almost careful, the way he works them now, like he’s learned patience from the animal that is me.
He lifts a hand—I can tell it’s a wave, even from here—and then returns to the hay bales and the endless loop of fencing.
It hits me again, sharp and clean: this is my life, my uneven family, and I want every second of it.
I settle into the chair next to the window, the one with the best view of the property.
My belly stretches the seam of my t-shirt, and I rest both hands on the curve, feeling the baby squirm.
She’s a wild thing already. Beau is convinced it’s a girl, and though I won’t say it out loud, I hope he’s right.
Some days I dream of her with his eyes and my chin, that same look of challenging the universe to do its worst.
He takes his time getting to the porch, unhurried. When he finally steps inside, dust on his shirt and a crescent of sweat at his collar, the dogs swarm. He ducks Werner with a foot and gives Chauncey a fond shove before zeroing in on me.
“You’re supposed to put your feet up,” he says, mock-serious, like he’s had this fight a hundred times and still expects to win.
“I’m supervising,” I say. “It’s an important job.”
He thumps my footrest up, drops to his haunches, and puts both hands on my knees. He’s so impossibly large, but it’s the steadiness that gets me—the gravity he brings to every room, like he’s always been the answer to a question I didn’t want to ask.
“You look tired, Willa.”
“You look like you rolled in a haystack.”
He grins, the lines at the corners of his eyes deepening. He smells like sun and grass and the sharp, honest sweat of a man who works. I don’t know how I missed it, how I could have walked away from this scent, this feeling, so many times before.
He runs a hand along my belly, reverent, like he’s double-checking that I’m still here. “You hungry?”
“I could eat a six-foot sub,” I say, only half-joking. The baby kicks, and Beau’s eyes widen, almost comical. He presses his palm flat against the spot.
“She’s trying to break out,” he says.
“Well, she’s yours.” I reach out, grab his collar, and pull him close enough to kiss.
He tastes like salt and the end of a very long day, which is perfect.
He’s still bad at being gentle if anyone’s watching, but when it’s just us, he softens up, lets me pet the dark whorl at the back of his head, or run my thumb over the white scar on his jaw.
“You need to stop doing everything yourself,” he says.
I want to argue, but he’s right. I’m the worst at delegating. What I don’t say is, “I need you,” because it’s too much, too naked. Instead, I settle for, “Fine. You’re making dinner.”
“You’re doing too much,” he says again, softer this time.
“I like it.”
“You don’t have to anymore.” He says it simply, like a fact. “I got you.”
That’s all. Not a promise or plea. Just the truth, as obvious as sunrise.
I run my hands over the smooth curve of my belly. This universe is messy and never really finished, always patched and painted over, but it’s ours. I look at Beau, see the way he watches me, steady and unblinking, as if he knows that if he blinks, he might lose the thread.
I raise my glass of ice water. “To us and stubbornness.”
He smirks and touches the rim with his own. “To never giving up.”
Buck, sensing the toast, thumps his tail on the floor. Werner launches himself into my lap, all ten pounds of him, and Chauncey sighs like he’s above the fray.
Later, when the house is quiet and the pups are dozing on opposite ends of the couch, I sit on the porch with Buck and watch the sun go down over the property.
There’s a chill in the air, and the sky goes burnt orange, then lavender.
Everything feels suspended, like I’m holding this moment in my hands and it will last forever, if I’m careful enough.
Beau comes up behind me, wraps his arms around my middle, and tucks his chin over my shoulder.
“You ever regret it?” he asks.
I shake my head. “You?”
He laughs, deep and sure. “Not once.”
We stand there, Buck at our feet, watching the last light slip away. When he kisses my hair, I soak it in, greedy, wanting more.
He’s not the man I thought he was, or maybe he’s exactly that, and I just needed to see it up close. Either way, he’s mine now. And I’m his.
That’s the deal we made in the barn, and it’s still the only one that matters.
THE END
Follow up The Cowboy’s Claim with The Cowboy’s Match!