“Dinner first,” I say. “Then we’ll see how bold you really are.”
He brushes his lips across mine. Light. Teasing. Making me chase it. “Challenge accepted.”
The afternoon slips into evening as we take care of the horses and walk toward the house, hand in hand. The smell of Miss Maggie’s pot roast drifts through the open door.
Whatever comes next, we’re ready.
We’re home.
Epilogue
Delaney
Six Months Later
The bank letter lives on the fridge now.
It’s held up by a magnet shaped like a chicken. Specifically, a very smug chicken. Major Pecker, immortalized in resin, because apparently Tom will never miss an opportunity to be ridiculous.
Deadline extended.
Not approved. Not resolved. Just… postponed. Another six months of breathing room. Another stretch of time to prove that Stoneridge isn’t a liability—it’s an investment. In land. In people. In stubbornness.
I read the letter once more, then fold it and slide it back under the magnet. Today isn’t for banks or deadlines.
Today is for arrivals.
The old bunkhouse doesn’t look old anymore. Not really.
Fresh paint. Wide porch. New railings that don’t wobble when you lean on them. Solar panels on the roof that Ethan insisted on, complete with a very smug spreadsheet proving they’d pay for themselves in three years.
Inside, the rooms are simple and solid. Real beds. Locking doors. Desks with lamps that actually work. Bathrooms with grab bars that don’t look like afterthoughts.
Dignity matters.
I step back onto the gravel drive, clipboard tucked under my arm, wind tugging loose strands of hair out of my bun.
“They’re early,” I say.
Daniel stands beside me, hands in his pockets, eyes on the road. “Good sign.”
I nod. Six months ago, early would’ve made me anxious. Now, it simply means adjusting the schedule.
The first truck crests the hill a minute later. Then another. Then a third.
Veterans. Some alone. Some with partners. One with a kid who refuses to let go of his dad’s leg like this place might disappear if he does.
My chest tightens—but not with fear.
With purpose.
Henry’s already there, Shay tucked into his side, baby Max bundled against her chest like he was born to supervise chaos. Angus leans against the fence with Luna, arms crossed, quietly taking stock of everything. Ben and Jacob stand a few feet apart—not close, not distant either—talking about water lines likethey’re easing back into a language they both still speak. All here for moral support as we open this new chapter at Stoneridge.
No one mentions the past. No one needs to.
Progress doesn’t always come with apologies. Sometimes it just shows up and stays.
The trucks stop. Doors open. People step out, uncertain but hopeful.
