Epilogue
One year later, the first Fall Festival since I officially became the owner of The Rusty Spur is everything I dreamed it would be. The weather is perfect, crisp and clear, with gold and red leaves dotting the mountains.
The crowds are bigger than last year, and the pie contest is fiercer than ever. I place third with my apple crumble. I consider that progress.
The Rusty Spur is thriving. Revenue is up forty percent thanks to some changes I’ve made and the reputation we’ve built.
Gary Allen disappeared into oblivion when every property owner in town declined his repeated offers.
Last I heard, he’d moved on to developing some resort in Tennessee.
I sure hope those communities fight as hard as we did.
Wyatt and I are taking things slow, the way we promised we would. Sunday dinners at Meredith’s. Saturday mornings in the garden. Long walks through town where we hold hands and talk about everything and nothing. We’re building something real.
The festival is winding down when Wyatt finds me near the pie booth.
“Come with me,” he says, taking my hand.
“Where are we going?”
“It’s a surprise.”
I let him lead me through the thinning crowds, past the craft booths and the stage, up the hill toward the overlook where they threw my welcome party over a year ago.
The sun is setting, painting everything gold.
The whole valley is spread out below us.
Copper Creek is glowing in the last light of day.
I can see The Rusty Spur from up here, just the neon sign starting to flicker on.
“It’s beautiful,” I say.
“You’re beautiful.”
I turn to look at him and find him on one knee.
My heart feels like it stops in my chest.
“Eleanor,” he says, his voice shaking a bit. “A year and a half ago, you walked into my bar in a pencil skirt and pearls, and I thought you were the most annoying woman I’d ever met.”
I laugh through sudden tears.
“You were stubborn as a mule, lost and completely out of your element. You were also brave and kind and much stronger than you knew.”
He pulls a small box from his pocket.
“Mavis thought we’d be good for each other. Turns out she was completely right about everything.”
He opens the box. Inside is a ring, simple and beautiful, with a stone that catches the last light of the setting sun.
“I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I want to wake up next to you every morning and fall asleep next to you every night. I want to build a life with you here, in this place we both love.”
He looks up at me with those blue eyes full of hope, and maybe just a little fear.
“Eleanor Whitfield, will you marry me?”
I’m crying so hard I can barely speak, but I manage the only word that matters.
“Yes!”
He slides the ring onto my finger. It fits perfectly.
And then he’s on his feet, pulling me into his arms and kissing me like we’re the only two people left in the world.
“I love you,” he says against my mouth.
“I love you too.”
We stand there at the overlook as the sun sets and the stars come out, wrapped up in each other. And I think about Mavis. About her letters, her scheming, her faith in two broken people who needed each other.
I think about how she saw something in me that I couldn’t see in myself, and how she gave me the greatest gift anyone has ever given me.
Permission to become who I was always meant to be.
Thank you, I think, for all of it.
Somewhere, I’m certain she’s smiling, maybe in one of the stars starting to twinkle above.
“Oh my gosh! They just got engaged!” I hear Presley squealing and turn to see half the town running toward us, clapping and cheering.
I’m definitely home.