Colt climbs in beside me, starts the truck, cranks the heat. He reaches over and laces our fingers together, his big, callused hand swallowing mine.
“You’re coming home with me,” he says. Not a question. “Cabin’s getting a new door tomorrow. New security. And you’re never sleeping away from me again.”
I squeeze his hand, fresh tears spilling but these are different—relief, joy, love so big it hurts. “I’m never leaving. I meant what I said last night. I’m moving in. Teaching in town. Building a life with you. Horses. Babies. All of it.”
His eyes shine in the dashboard light—green and fierce and soft all at once. “Good. Because I’m all in, Willa. I love you more than I knew a man could love. You’re my woman. My home. My everything.”
He leans across the console and kisses me—slow, deep, reverent. Not claiming, just promising. I taste salt from our tears and thefaint metallic hint of my own blood, but underneath it is us—cedar and smoke and forever.
The truck rolls down the mountain, following Hank’s cruiser. Behind us, the old fishing cabin disappears into the dark. Ahead, lights of Iron Peak twinkle like stars finally coming out after the storm.
I lean my head on Colt’s shoulder, exhausted but lighter than I’ve ever been. The fear is already fading, replaced by warmth. By certainty.
Matthew is gone. The evidence is safe. The future we whispered about while he was still inside me is waiting.
We’re going home.
Together.
And this time, no one is ever taking me away again.
EPILOGUE
WILLA
The library smells like old books and fresh crayons, the best combination in the world. Afternoon sunlight slants through the tall windows, turning dust motes into tiny golden sparks that drift over the long table where Evelyn, June, and I sit with our after-school crew. Eight kids today—Mateo with his gap-toothed grin, little Sofia clutching her favorite dog-eared copy of Charlotte’s Web, the twins arguing over whose turn it is to read the next page aloud. We’re halfway through our reading rotation, and the room hums with quiet voices, pencil scratches, and the occasional burst of laughter when someone gets a math problem right and gets a high-five.
I’m happy. Deep-down, bone-settled happy. The kind I didn’t know existed until Colt.
Six months since that night at the fishing cabin. Six months since Matthew and his friends were arrested, since the flash drive and every backup copy went straight to the feds and the state attorney’s office. Judge Harlan James retired “for health reasons” two weeks later, and the headlines called it a “sweeping corruption probe.” Matthew’s facing twenty-five to life. I don’tfollow the updates anymore. I don’t need to. That chapter is closed.
This one—the one I’m living now—is better than anything I ever dreamed.
“Miss Willa?” Sofia tugs my sleeve. “Can we do the silly voices again?”
I smile, already reaching for the book. “Only if Mateo does the spider this time.”
Mateo pumps his fist. “Yes!”
Evelyn laughs from the other end of the table, pushing her glasses up her nose. “You’re spoiling them, Willa.”
June catches my eye over Sofia’s head and winks. She knows. She’s known since the first time I came back to work with a faint bruise on my cheekbone that I tried to cover with concealer and a story about falling on ice. She hugged me so hard I cried in the staff room, then helped me rearrange my schedule so I could commute from the mountain three days a week. The other two days, I’m here full-time, planning lessons, running the tutoring program we rebuilt together. It’s perfect.
The clock hits four-thirty. Kids start packing up backpacks, chattering about soccer practice and what’s for dinner. I help Sofia zip her coat, kiss the top of Mateo’s head when he barrels into me for a hug.
“See you Thursday, Miss Willa!”
“See you Thursday, buddy.”
I wave them out the door, heart full in that soft, overflowing way only kids can make happen. Evelyn and June stay to tidy up—stacking books, wiping tables. June bumps my shoulder as she passes.
“He’s waiting outside again, isn’t he?”
I glance toward the big front windows. Sure enough, Colt’s truck is parked at the curb, engine idling, exhaust curling in the crisp February air. He’s leaning against the tailgate in his dark coat and Stetson, arms crossed, watching the library doors like he’s got all the time in the world. My heart does that familiar flip—still, after all these months.
I grab my bag, hug June and Evelyn quick. “See you Monday.”
“Go get your cowboy,” June teases.
