Epilogue
Wade
Six Years Later
"Who's dese people, Mama?" an angelic little voice asks, making me smile as soon as I step into the gallery.
"That's the sheriff and his wife, baby girl," Harlow murmurs to our daughter, their heads together as they stare at the painting of Dillon hanging on the wall.
"Oh, Diwwon," Abigail says, clapping her hands.
I grumble wordlessly, annoyed as fuck that my four-year-old daughter likes the bastard so much. She has a crush. Believe me, I am not thrilled about it.
Dillon thinks it's hilarious, though. I think he makes a point of coming around just to piss me off when Abigail spends the next three days talking about him incessantly.
One of these days, I may be the one who shoots him in the ass. Probably won't even be sorry about it. If they select a jury from town, I might even get away with it, too. I doubt there's a man in this whole damn town who hasn't wanted to maim him at least once.
I can't deny that the painting is gorgeous, though. My wife is far too talented to deny it. Dillon and Jules are sharing an ice cream cone at a fair downtown in the painting, their hands linked, their eyes connected. There's no denying the adoration in his gaze or the happiness in hers.
Harlow says that's why she painted it. She likes capturing people in their unguarded moments, when who they really are shines through.
She's damn good at it. The gallery is full of her work, but they rarely stay for long.
As soon as Eve adds a price tag, they're sold, sometimes to the people in them, sometimes to the people who know the people in them.
Regardless of who buys, they always sell.
"I wike Diwwon, Mama," Abigail whispers.
"I know, baby girl," Harlow says, a smile in her voice. "Just don't let your daddy hear you say that."
"Too late," I rumble, leaning against a pillar behind them.
Abigail immediately whirls around, her emerald eyes lighting up. God, she looks like the best parts of me and Harlow all mixed together.
"Daddy!" she cries, scrambling off the bench before scurrying across the floor to fling herself at my legs.
"Hey, peanut." I scoop her up, planting a big kiss on her cheek.
She giggles and squirms when my stubble scratches her skin. "You itchy!"
"He's always itchy," Harlow says, sauntering toward us.
My whole body clenches, a line of fire ripping up my spine at the way she smiles. At the sight of her belly. She's beautiful every damn day of the week, but she's otherworldly when she's pregnant.
"Hey, beautiful." I hook an arm around her waist, pulling her up against my side to kiss her.
She melts against me with a soft sigh. "Missed you."
My heart rolls in my chest. Even after six years, she's still the only thing I ever see.
She's the only thing I think about. The only thing I'll ever need.
And every damn time she says something sweet like that, I know it's still the same for her.
She loves me, all the way to the depths of her soul.
"You girls ready to go home?" I ask, rubbing her belly.
"Yes!" Abigail cries. "I wanna feed da horsies."
"I think we can arrange that," I chuckle. She always wants to feed the horses. And then she wants to draw them. Her bedroom is covered in drawings of the animals. One day, she's going to be a damn good artist, just like her mama.
Harlow leans up on her toes, pressing her lips against my ear. "I want to feed the daddy," she whispers.
I damn near drop Abigail.
"Shit," I mutter, quickly lowering her to the floor while Harlow giggles beside me. Our daughter immediately skips off, oblivious to what her mother is doing to me.
I haul Harlow closer, palming her ass. "You trying to get spanked, beautiful?"
"No." She grins up at me, her eyes soft and heated at once. "I'm trying to get fu—"
I kiss her hard, swallowing the rest of that sentence.
She moans softly, melting into me. Once she's boneless in my arms, I pull back, meeting her gaze. "Tonight," I promise.
She shivers, her eyes the same needy green they always are when she's hurting for me. Goddamn, I love that color. "Promise?"
I palm her ass again, nipping her bottom lip. "Promise," I breathe.
She smiles against my lips, and I know damn well that I'm not getting any sleep tonight. That's all right, though. I don't need it. I can survive on her sweet little cries and the way she wraps around me like a dream.
Forever, if I have my way.