She laughed, bright and free, the sound I'd been missing like a lost limb. "I had to handle some things. But I'm done with that life. I'm choosing this one. Choosing you. If you'll have me."
"If I'll have you?" I pulled her closer, probably crushing her, but she didn't complain. "Woman, I've been waiting for you my whole life. You think I'm letting you go now?"
"Get a room!" someone shouted from the back—definitely Wyatt this time.
"We have one," I shouted back, not taking my eyes off her. "At my ranch, where this woman's going to live for the next sixty years minimum."
"Only sixty?" Stephy asked, grinning, her hands framing my face.
"Negotiable. We can discuss terms later. Maybe seventy. Eighty. Forever."
Her smile softened, real and pure. “I like forever."
Louisa appeared beside us, beaming, tears running down her face. "Welcome home, honey."
"You were all in on this," I accused, staring at my family—every single one of them grinning like they'd pulled off a bank heist. Even Owen was smiling. Actually smiling.
"Every last one of us," Maggie said, absolutely unashamed. "She called last night. We’ve been scrambling ever since. You’re welcome."
"Last night," I echoed, stunned. "You all found outlast night?"
Clay snorted. "And it was still the longest damn twenty-four hours of my life. Do you know how hard it is to keep a secret from you? You hover."
"I should arrest all of you for conspiracy."
"Arrest us later," Ivy said, waving him off. "Let the woman sing another song."
The crowd was chanting “Encore!”—loud, rhythmic, unstoppable—and Stephy turned toward me, eyebrows lifted in a question that hit me straight in the chest.
"One more," I said. "Then we're going home."
She kissed me quick, tasting like promises and forever, then bounded back onto the stage. "This one's not mine, but it seems appropriate. It's a little bit hokey, and it's for everyone who's ever found their way home."
She started playing "Your Still the One” by Shania Twain, and I stood there watching her, this woman who'd chosen me, chosen this life, chosen to come home. The bar was swaying along, couples holding each other, and I saw Tim's brother wiping his eyes.
Wyatt appeared at my elbow. "You good?"
"Better than good."
"She gave up everything for this."
"No," I said, watching her sing, her face glowing with joy. "She gave up nothing that mattered for everything that does."
"You gonna marry that girl?"
"As fast as she'll let me."
When the song ended, she came back to me through a sea of congratulations and welcomes home. The whole town wanted to hug her, tell her how glad they were she was back, how perfect we were together. She handled it all with grace, but I could see her getting overwhelmed.
"Time to go," I announced, wrapping my arm around her protectively.
We left together, my arm around her, her guitar in her free hand. The whole pub cheered as we walked out, and someone started playing "Wagon Wheel" on the jukebox, and I could hear the party continuing without us.
In my truck—our truck now—she took my hand, interlacing our fingers.
"I bought out my contracts," she said as I drove us home. "All of them. I'm free."
"What did that cost you?"
