Epilogue
Five years later.
Ian gazed at his princess, his beautiful wife, nursing their three-month-old son.
She did marry him. The day he got the green light from his physician, he drove to Portland and took her on that date. And a year after they met, as snow softly fell on the lantern-lit deck, they spoke their vows to each other.
Breanna got that internship with Penguin and published her father’s novel, just as she said she would. She wrote the foreword herself. It was a New York Times bestseller. Posthumously, Shane achieved what he’d always aspired to be.
Ian leaned over from behind her, gently stroking his son’s dark hair, he kissed Breanna’s crown. “Everyone’s waiting for us.”
“I know.” She smiled up at him. “He’s about finished.”
“Good, because Daddy’s starving.” He winked.
“Oh, yeah?” Handing him the baby, Breanna stood. “Well, so is Mommy.”
Oh, how I love my wife.
And his son.
His entire life.
They descended the stairs together. His mother and hers, all their family and friends, gathered together in the grand foyer. Some things should never change. Everyone came to Dalton House on Thanksgiving, just as it had always been.
Jeanine Fellows made her way to them before anyone else could. “Let me see that baby.”
“Would you like to hold him?” Breanna offered, proud mama that she was.
The old lady’s smile beamed. “Ohh, may I?”
“Of course.”
“Poor kid’s gonna get passed around like a bag of chips, ain’t he?” Jordy chuckled.
“Heh, sure looks like it.”
“Hello, baby Shane.” She sniffled. “You sure named him right. He looks just like your daddy.”
“Yeah?”
Ian disagreed. Shane Dalton Maynard resembled him more than anyone, but he’d keep that thought to himself.
“The Daltons and St. Johns are one family now, and there’s a new generation to carry on the name, just as it should be.”
Not quite. Ian was a Maynard and St. John was no more. The name died with Derek. He kept that thought to himself, too. It didn’t matter, anyway. He and Breanna could fill these rooms with a bunch of little Maynards, and they planned to, but Dalton House it would always be. What did matter was this house, with people who lived, loved, and laughed in it, was once again a home.
Later, once they’d stuffed themselves on Francie’s turkey and everyone had gone home, he watched as Breanna gazed out their bedroom window. “Look, baby, it’s snowing.”
“It’s just a few snowflakes.”
“Yeah.” She turned away from the glass and smirked. “And every storm starts with just one.”
“Come here.”
Breanna slid beneath the covers. Coiling his arm around her middle, Ian held her back to his chest and tucked her head beneath his chin. With his fingertips stroking her stomach, he whispered, “I love you.”
And he did.
He always would.
Fate and a snowstorm brought him to her.
His beautiful princess.
The End