Epilogue
Liam
The string lights in the wedding tree turned the whole ranch to gold. Every branch glowed soft and warm, a halo over the people who’d built this place from nothing but love and grit.
I stood at the edge of it all—beer in hand, Stetson low, trying to look casual while my chest ached in that familiar way. This family had been my saving grace once. Still was.
Ivy’s homecoming had drawn out damn near half the county.
There was laughter and two-stepping, kids chasing lightning bugs, and Aunt Lou’s peach cobbler making the rounds.
Wyatt hadn’t stopped smiling for three straight hours.
My brother in everything but blood finally had his girl back.
And it was about damn time. Fourteen years of carrying that ghost around, and now he looked alive again.
“Careful, Ranger,” Maggie said, slipping up beside me with her smirk firmly in place. “You keep thinking that hard, you’re liable to sprain something.”
“Just enjoying the view,” I said, tugging on one of her braids like I used to when she was a kid and followed me everywhere.
“The view of Wyatt finally getting his head out of his ass?”
“Language, Magnolia,” I scolded with a smirk.
“You sound like Mom,” she teased.
Mom. Aunt Lou had earned that title ten times over.
She and Uncle Owen had taken Sophie and me in after our parents were murdered—no hesitation, no questions about whether they could handle two more broken kids.
I’d been fifteen. Sophie, ten. They already had five kids, a ranch to run, and still they made room for us.
I glanced toward the porch where Aunt Lou stood laughing at something Uncle Owen whispered in her ear.
They still danced like newlyweds under that old oak, their shadows swaying in the golden light.
Seeing them like that—the love, the peace—always hit me right in the chest. They’d saved us, built us a home out of the wreckage.
The least I could do was make them proud.
Hence the badge, the land I’d bought next door, the life I’d built from ashes.
“When’s it gonna be your turn?” Clay asked, swaggering over with a grin that said trouble was close behind. “Can’t let Wyatt be the only one getting a happy ending.”
“When I find someone who can put up with the badge and the baggage,” I said, voice even, though the words sat heavy in my chest.
Because the truth was, I already had. Except she was off living her dreams, and I was here, watching from afar.
Stevie Wilson, country music’s golden girl. LA lights, tour buses, red carpets. Her face on billboards. Hundreds of thousands of fans are all vying for her attention.
But she was Stephy to me. No matter how famous she became, she’d always be the girl who grew up next door, back in Austin. The girl with wild curls, grass-stained knees, and a voice that could hush the world.
When my parents died, she was there for all of it—the police reports, the funerals, the nights I woke up screaming. She held my hand until we both had to grow up and go our separate ways.
We still talked sometimes—texts and calls, when her schedule allowed. But our worlds had split, hers loud and shining, mine quiet and rough-edged.
“You’ll find her,” Maggie said softly. “The right one’s worth waiting for. Look at Wyatt and Ivy.”
“Yeah,” I said, watching my best friend spin his girl across the dance floor. They looked weightless. “Guess so.”
For a while, I just let it be—music drifting through the oaks, laughter carrying across the field, the smell of barbecue smoke and honeysuckle hanging thick in the air. Nights like this reminded me why Copper Creek was home. Why we stayed rooted here even when life tried to pull us apart.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. Unknown number at first glance, but I knew that area code. LA.
I almost ignored it—technically off duty—but something made me answer.
“Hello?”
At first, there was only silence. Then a breath—ragged, shaky, like someone trying not to sob.
“Lee?”
Her voice. God. It had been months, but I’d have known it anywhere. Soft and Southern and usually full of sunlight. Now it was wrecked. Torn. Afraid.
“Stephy?” My whole body went tight, muscles snapping to attention. “What’s wrong? Talk to me, sweetheart.”
For a heartbeat, nothing. Just the sound of her breathing, sharp and uneven, like she was running but trying to stay quiet. Then— "He... Lee, he was in my house. He was—"
Those words hit like a bullet to the chest. She’d told me about a stalker that had been harassing her for months, but assured me her team had it handled.
“Are you safe right now? Are you hurt?” I said, already stepping away from the glow of the wedding tree, away from laughter and music. The gravel crunched under my boots as I moved toward the dark, needing the quiet.
“I don't... I can't...” Her voice broke on the words.
The back of my neck prickled, every instinct screaming danger. “Where are you?”
“Home. LA. My house.” Her words came in gasps now, disjointed and trembling. “The police were here, but they’re gone, and my security is useless, and my team just wants to control the story, and I’m so scared, Lee. I’m so fucking scared.”
Her breath hitched, and the next words came out so small I almost missed them. “He’s inside my life, Lee. Inside my head. I can’t breathe anymore. I can’t sleep. Every sound, every shadow—” She broke then, a strangled sob cutting through the phone. “I think it’s him. I know it’s him.”
I was already moving fast, half-running now, gravel spitting under my boots as I made for the truck. “Lock yourself in a room. Stay on the phone with me.”
“I can’t…my phone’s about to die.” Her voice wavered between panic and exhaustion. “I dropped it when he…when he grabbed me and the screen is cracked and—”
“Stephy, listen to me. Lock the bedroom door. Push something heavy in front of it. Stay in that room until I get there.” My voice came out low, hard. The Ranger in me, the man she’d grown up trusting to slay monsters, took over. “Six hours. Can you give me six hours?”
“You promised,” she whispered, and that sound—the way my name cracked in her throat—damn near broke me. “You promised if I needed you—”
“I’m coming,” I said, already yanking open the truck door. “I swear to God, Stephy, I’m coming. Just hold on.”
For a moment, there was only silence. Then a whisper, barely audible: “Please hurry.” Her voice came out shredded, terrified. “Please, Lee. I need you.”
The line went dead, and just like that, every piece of me that had ever belonged to Texas turned west.
I stood for a moment in the dark, the party still glowing golden behind me, the sound of laughter threading through the night.
Wyatt spun Ivy under the lights, her head thrown back in joy. Louisa and Owen swayed beneath the oak. Maggie laughed at something Clay said.
And me? I was already gone.
“Hold on, Steph,” I murmured to the night as I strode for my truck. “I’m coming.”
The stars blurred overhead as I tore down the ranch road toward home to pack. By morning, I’d be on a flight to LA—to the girl who’d once been my safe place and who needed saving now.
Because that’s what Blackwoods did. We protected what mattered.
And she’d always mattered most.
The END