Buttons undone, I opened her coat and stared at the place she’d been shot. The bullet had lodged directly over her heart, stopped by the metal jewelry pinned there: the purple orchid. For a second my mind didn’t compute what I was looking at, my fingers reaching out to touch the pin, the bullet embedded in the center, trying to understand through touch something that my brain couldn’t.
She reached up, bending her head and looking down, our fingers touching over the now-bent and twisted petals.
The flower that had saved her life.
“I put it on before I went to my parents’ house,” Belle said thickly, apparently only having been knocked out by her fall. The bullet hadn’t touched her. The blood on the floor was all mine? Her eyes filled with tears, overflowing. “It made me feel close to you. It made me feel as if you were with me. I wasn’t alone.”
I let out a breath on a loud gasp, pulling her into my body, rocking her again, only this time in enormous gratitude. Belle clutched at my shirt, pressing her face into me as she cried. I glanced at my father to see him watching us, tears running down his ruddy cheeks. He nodded, relief and pride shining from his eyes. “You’re going to be okay. Both of you are going to be okay.”
I pulled my father into my side and he grasped me back, the three of us forming a sort of circle.
The sirens were right outside now, doors slamming, the sounds of help arriving. Hank burst into the room first, obviously not having driven far before the call came in. His wild eyes took in the scene and he lowered his weapon, deep relief flashing in his eyes as his gaze hooked on Isabelle. It was the second time he’d seen her just as she’d come back to life.
Isabelle tipped her chin and though her eyes were teary, there was a smile on her lips. I glanced at her stomach, the place where the precious life we’d created was growing. Yes. Yes. We were going to be fine. We were going to be better than fine.
We had each other. All of us.
EPILOGUE
Brant
Our daughter giggled as I lifted her into the saddle. She clutched the reins in her hands, looking so small and fragile sitting on the horse. Naturally, I’d chosen the gentlest mare. “Let go, Daddy. I want to ride.”
I breathed through the anxiety, unwilling to let the fear inside guide the way. Rather I focused on the love filling my heart for the little girl with the Talbot blue eyes and hair that glinted red in the sun like her mother’s. I took a breath and let go, walking alongside the horse as my daughter laughed, the sound sweet and free—unabashed, unafraid. After a moment, I stepped away, allowing Amelia to guide the horse slowly around the small, circular fence line. She was a natural, with her mother’s same intuitive understanding of the animal’s nature. But she also exhibited the fearlessness I’d had as a boy and was now rediscovering, embracing. Someday she’d want to ride fast and far, and I’d have to figure out how to stand aside and allow her the freedom she’d crave.
But for now, she was only four. For now, she was my little girl.
“Hey there, cowboy,” my wife said, coming up beside me and looping her arms around my waist. I shot her a quick grin, then moved my eyes to our daughter.
“How are you?”
“Huge.”
I laughed, my hand running over her very pregnant belly as pride shot through me. It was a boy this time and her due date had been three days ago. “Any sign he’s ready to come out and play?”
“No. This little man is apparently a bit too cozy.” But her tone held happiness. She liked being pregnant, and we were both overjoyed about expanding our family. Belle had experienced an early miscarriage when Amelia was three and it had been hard and painful. Life held no guarantees, and what I’d told her once in a barn in Amish country in the waning twilight was true: I couldn’t protect her from everything, but I could love her through it. And that’s exactly what I’d done.
It’s what I’d always do.
I’d been afraid once of submitting to love, afraid of losing myself, but in fact, I’d been set free when I’d finally found the bravery to love without limits.
It was the scariest thing I’d ever done. And the most rewarding.
It had taken time for Belle and me to move past what had happened with Paige—the disbelief, the betrayal. Perhaps, Belle ruminated in the dark of night in the safety of our bed, she would have picked up more clues on Paige’s false façade if she hadn’t been in the midst of such terrible grief for so long. But Belle had been determined to let herself off the hook for not recognizing Paige’s manipulation. It was Paige who deserved the blame, no one else. Of course, even when that particular wound was fresh, we had a very important reason to do the work necessary to move on: our daughter—the reminder that small miracles happen every day and that each one is worth fighting for. Each one is a gentle reminder not to give up.
I felt sure my father continued to be proud of us. God, but I missed him.
Harrison Talbot died on a frigid day in February, too stubborn to listen to the doctors who’d told him he only had six months left. He’d lived to see Belle and me marry and his first grandchild born. He’d lived to see those barrels of Caspian Skye bottled and sold in the establishments Edwin Bruce ran in New York. Lived to see collectors lose their minds over obtaining one of the bottles we released for sale. Lived to see me create twenty more barrels from the recipe my grandfather had perfected—perhaps the recipe that had been created hundreds of years ago on the blustery cliffs of Scotland. If the legend were to be believed.
My father had saved Caspian Skye for me all those years in the possibility that someday I’d come back, those barrels signifying the hope that his prodigal son would return. And I had. My father passed from this world with those he loved around him, my head on his chest, his hand on my head as I told him again and again how much I loved him and how lucky I was that he was my father.
In the end his deepest wishes were honored: Belle managed the horses they’d both loved so much, and I made bourbon. Bourbon, I imagined the clans of Caspian Skye and Glasblair would have been damn proud of.
Belle had also expanded Graystone Hill’s equine therapy program. The program served individuals with special needs, wounded soldiers, troubled teens, and those suffering with grief. Belle often helped with the classes for those struggling with loss, encouraging the students—a symbol of hope herself—her smile a promise that though they were in a dark place, the sun would shine upon them once again. If anyone could make that assurance, it was my wife. She named it The Elise Marie Equine Program. And she honored her firstborn daughter every single day.
Aaron opened up a new investment firm, and I moved several of my accounts pertaining to Caspian Skye to his business. He was a good man and certainly hadn’t deserved what had happened to him. He’d been a victim of Ethan and Paige’s greed and deceit as well. The story of his personal sacrifice on behalf of his clients came to light when the story of Ethan’s theft and Paige’s crime broke, and he receiv
ed the respect he deserved, earning his good name back. Emotionally, it would take him time to heal, but I had faith that would happen. In the wake of the devastation, we’d grown closer to Aaron, and considered him part of our extended family.