Epilogue
Sophie
Five months later…
The espresso machine at Roz’s no longer has a grudge against me.
It stopped fighting the morning I used it against Volkov.
After that, we reached an understanding.
The portafilter locks in true on the first try now.
I tap it twice out of habit, not necessity, and I can show Dani’s cousin Becca how to pull a perfect shot without the machine making a liar of me halfway through.
Things change when you stop bracing for them not to.
It’s August, and that means the Lush Hollow Summer Festival has taken over Main Street for three glorious days.
Booths line both sides of the road, lanterns glow as evening settles, and the air smells like pie, pine, and grilled corn.
Roz and Eli both have booths. Mason and other ranchers and farmers brought truckloads in.
Roz pretends she doesn’t care about the pie contest but has strong opinions anyway, whispering critiques to anyone who listens while secretly hoping her entry wins.
I have a booth this year.
Wilde and King Cocktails, the name Eli painted on the sign before I could argue. Logan saw it and grinned. By then it was permanent.
I’ve been training Becca for three weeks. At twenty-one, she’s fast and has the instincts you can’t teach. Her enthusiasm reminds me of myself when I first started behind the bar, eager and determined to get it right.
“More twist,” I tell her, watching her work the citrus peel. “You want the oil to spray across the surface. That’s the whole point.”
“Like this?” she asks.
“Wrist. Use your wrist.”
She tries again. Better. I nod. She grins, and warmth settles in my chest. I know the quiet thrill of finding something you’re good at and claiming it. That feeling has become more familiar these last few months like pieces of myself clicking into place.
The cocktail menu at Roz’s is permanent now. Roz announced it like it had always been that way. The valley adopted the Friday cocktail hour, completely and without ceremony. People come not just for the drinks but for the sense of belonging and the laughter. The entire town shows up for each other.
I belong here.
Not because I was born here. Because I chose Lush Hollow.
Jesse finds me mid-afternoon with a baby tucked against his chest. Maddox is three months old and certain about the world in true Wilde fashion. Jesse leans on the counter, easy and content in a way I’ve never seen before. Fatherhood looks good on him. “Maddox wants to see Aunt Sophie.”
I take the baby and settle him against my shoulder.
He melts into me with a small, contented sound.
My chest expands until it almost hurts. Holding him feels like holding hope: small, warm, and full of possibility.
I use my sing-song voice that’s reserved only for him and rock him gently while he grabs at my hair with tiny fists.
As I’m holding Maddox, Gideon and Monica stop. He orders “whatever that woman just got” without asking what it is. Monica’s gaze softens when she sees the baby. A quiet glance passes between them. I slide her a lavender mocktail on the house.
Her cheeks turn pink. “Thanks.”
As they walk away, I spot Logan across the street. Off duty but still scanning the crowd with his steady sheriff gaze. Our eyes meet. Even from this distance, the word forms between us like always.
Good.
At dusk, I catch Mason standing at the edge of the street, watching a woman who looks vaguely familiar laugh with Mrs. Porter. The expression on his face isn’t his usual calm. It’s sharper. Hungrier.
There you are, Mase.
He looks away and heads back to Eli’s booth. I don’t say anything. But I’ll be watching. The quiet hope feels like the beginning of something new for him, and I smile at the thought.
Logan finds me at eight-thirty as the booths empty and lanterns glow soft gold along Main Street. Cool air drifts down from the ridge, carrying the scent of pine and distant woodsmoke.
He doesn’t speak, but he holds out his hand.
I take it. No more scanning exits or calculating how fast I can run away. I’m exactly where I want to be.
His thumb strokes across my knuckles, once, certain.
We walk away from the festival together. The Cascades loom above us. I don’t need them to belong to me anymore. I belong to this place. To this life. To him. The realization settles in my bones.
Logan stops and turns to face me. His hand squeezes mine. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
His gaze holds mine. “What do you think about a fall wedding?”
The words steal my breath. I don’t brace and let the joy hit me. “A fall wedding sounds perfect.”
“Good.” A slow smile curves his lips. “I picked out a ring, but I want you to see it first.”
I lean into his shoulder, my heart full. “Yeah. Good.”
We stand there a little longer, wrapped in the fading sounds of the festival and the steady rhythm of each other’s breathing. The mountain air feels lighter tonight. The future feels brighter. I’m no longer looking over my shoulder.
I’m looking forward.
Thank you so much for reading Wanted by the Mountain Man Sheriff.