This future—this life—she would treasure every single day for as long as God gave her breath.
EPILOGUE
The winter sunlight streaming through the great room windows caught the delicate lace of Rose’s dress. His mother’s dress. The sight of it stung James’s eyes more than he’d expected, a sudden burn that made him blink, hard, before he could quite steady himself.
A week. Only a single week since his leg had been broken in two places instead of one, Vincent had been locked away, and they’d returned to the ranch. Doc Morrison had urged him to wait longer before their wedding. To rest. To let his body mend before daring to stand so long.
But no. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t.
He would stand for his bride. Would speak his vows on his own two feet—broken leg and all—because Rose deserved all of him. His full attention, his steadiness, his stubborn, unrelenting devotion. If it took every bit of strength he had, so be it.
The walking sticks bit into his armpits as he shifted his weight, trying to ease the pressure on his splinted leg. The pain was there—a constant throb—but it felt distant somehow, unimportant compared to the woman moving toward him through the great room.
Rose.
His Rose, finally.
Mrs. Wang had worked a kind of magic with the alterations, taking his mother’s wedding dress and somehow fitting it to Rose’s smaller shape so perfectly it looked as if the dress had always belonged to her. The cream silk shifted and shimmered with every step Rose took. The scent of pine boughs and red berries, gathered from the same forests where he and Rose had played as children, filled the air with the scent of the mountains they both loved.
Her auburn hair had been arranged in soft waves that framed her face, and someone—Mandie, probably—had woven tiny white flowers through the strands. But it was Rose’s eyes that held him captive. Those green eyes that had haunted his dreams for eleven long years looked at him with a love so fierce it took his breath away.
No wariness. No fear. Just that fierce, clear love—real and nearly blinding in its strength.
She reached him, and his brother Enoch—who stood beside him as his best man—stepped back to give them space. The room fell silent except for the crackle of the fire and baby Catherine’s soft breathing from her cradle near Mandie’s chair.
James let himself sink into Rose’s gaze as Sheriff Hawkins began the ceremony. The words washed over him—familiar phrases about love and commitment, about choosing each other through joy and sorrow, through sickness and health. Each phrase circled them, settling in the hush, until all else faded except the promise passing between them.
When it came time for his vows, he had to clear his throat twice before the words would come. He’d warned Rose he planned to add a little to the end of the vows. A few promises especially for her.
He started with the old words, steady as the sheriff spoke them, repeating everything in turn. Then he pressed his thumb along the back of her hand and fixed his gaze on her. “Rose, I vow to love you for the rest of my life. To protect you with everything I have. To stand beside you through whatever storms may come.”
The words he’d practiced tumbled out. “I vow to never let a day pass without reminding you how precious you are, how deeply you’re loved. And I promise that no matter what the future holds, you will always—always—have a home with me.”
Tears spilled down her cheeks, but her smile never wavered. She repeated her own vows as the sheriff spoke them, then her sweet voice broke from the pattern, softer and even more certain.
“James Balfour, I vow to stay. To build a life here with you, to never run away again, no matter how frightening the truth might be.” Her fingers curled tighter around his, holding on. “I vow to trust you, to trust God, and to trust that the love we share is strong enough to weather anything. You’ve been my best friend, my protector, my home. Now you’ll be my husband, and I promise to cherish that gift every day for the rest of my life.”
So much love, so much joy surged inside him, his own tears wouldn’t stay back.
The sheriff’s final words—“You may kiss your bride”—barely registered before James was leaning forward, his walking sticks threatening to slip as he claimed Rose’s mouth with his own.
She tasted of contentment and sweetness and a future he hardly dared picture, and when she kissed him back, so gentle it hollowed out his chest, the pain in his leg faded to something distant, unimportant.
He could almost forget his brothers were surely grinning behind him, taking in every second. All that mattered was this one moment, the promise of her mouth against his, the way joy and ache collided so sharply he was left only wanting more.
The celebration that followed blurred together—Mrs. Wang’s feast spread across the dining table, Thomas’s toast that made everyone laugh and Rose blush, Robert’s more serious words about new beginnings and God’s faithfulness. And finally, Enoch’s quiet congratulations, softer than the rest, but somehow ringing truer, larger, echoing for him above all the rest.
But it was the quiet moments James treasured most. Watching Rose cradle Catherine while Mandie ate, the way his wife’s—his wife’s—face softened as she gazed at the sleeping infant. The wonder in her eyes when Catherine’s tiny fist wrapped around her aunt’s finger.
He couldn’t change the past. Couldn’t erase the years Vincent had stolen from them or undo the scars that monster had left on Rose’s heart. But he could give her this—a future filled with love and family and the promise of their own children someday.
He would spend every day forward making sure Rose knew just how loved and cherished she was.
As the afternoon wore on, the conversation around the table turned to the letter that had arrived from their father three days ago. Robert pulled it from his coat pocket and unfolded it, reading aloud the portion about their coming royal guest.
“A cousin of the king is planning a hunting expedition to the American West this spring. Father requests that at least one of us journey to Fort Benton to pay our respects on behalf of the family.”
An awkward silence settled over the table. Fort Benton was a week’s journey north, and with James’s broken leg and Enoch preparing to leave for England in the summer, the timing couldn’t be worse.
