Epilogue

But the winds are stirring.

Clouds are rushing in, and darkness rides the earth.

And when the storm comes, furious, fast, and violent…

will those in its eye, when the pieces fall…

…be left standing?

* * *

She walked out into the field, days later. The sun was barely up, but already that robin’s egg, blue sky was everywhere. Simply everywhere.

She ambled through the grassland, curiously forgetting the day’s to-do’s, the long list she added to, regularly. Edits. Layer in description. Check with Jaclyn re publishers. Submit to a new publishing house. Clean up kitty barf. Check account for royalties. Pay bills I can. Look for paying work. As in paying…now.

It was a crazy, long list.

But out here? It fled from her mind, no matter how hyper-focused she was on it the rest of the time. Moochers couldn’t rest, right? Had to be working, had to be proving themselves all the damn time.

Now? Treading the stubbly grass with space on all sides of her, she struggled to bring all those haranguing lists into focus and couldn’t.

She was a good distance from the house. If they were watching…

…but why would they be? They had their own lives. Here, she was all alone.

But not. The wind teased her hair, her sleeveless shirt, her cotton skirt. Rifled the hem, tugged at the elastic in her hair. Laughed at her, gently. Let it go. Let it go free!

She yanked the offending restraint off, jammed it in her pocket. Hair cascaded down her back, and the breeze got in there too, messing up the careful tresses she’d curated.

She marveled at the lack of annoying noise out here. No traffic, no raucous din. No masses of people, carrying on loudly.

Quiet. Silence.

Yet, not. So much life everywhere, if one just looked. Motion, wind. Breath and determination, all around her. In the rustling leaves, the billowing grass. The staggered pines.

And everywhere, that huge, luminescent, blue, blue, crazy blue sky above her. Demanding she notice it. Putting on a show for her.

Hugging her.

Caught in the breeze and the blue, she threw her arms out to the side, took a few stumbling steps, then twirled. Damn it all, she twirled. Cares gone. The feeling she’d had once that she didn’t belong anywhere…had she ever really felt that way?

Here, she realized, she was one with this land. The trees, the grass, the dirt. But especially with the sun and the sky. They’d both claimed her as its own. Told her that here she could really be who she was, with no one legislating her worth. It had already been decided, and her portion had been presented to her, protected. Joyfully, with no one able to yank it back. Ever.

Her portion was freedom. It was Big Sky British Columbia, and it was all hers.

* * *

Cole Dawson stood by his pickup, thinking. The western sun was peaking over the horizon, painting stunning streaks on a pale sky, heralding a new morning. But there was a lot on his mind.

So much needed to be done to make sure this beautiful ranch prospered, and did well, to ensure it got over its current difficulties, but they were on their way. He was back, sorting out the sabotage and the threats, guaranteeing their home was safe and well taken care of, like a good man would.

And the blackness that weighed in on him from time to time, that had threatened to consume him when he’d come back from Afghanistan had been noticeably absent lately. A relief. Another check in the plus column.

Because of all that, he had something to offer the beautiful woman he’d just left, the one who was taking such a chance on him. Damn it all to hell, she’d had such a bad time, such shitty misfortune with that other asshole that passed for a man, that he was all the more determined to give her the life she deserved.

He would treat her like a queen. Show her what he could do for her, how he could provide for her.

‘That’s Cole Dawson’s woman,’ people would say. ‘Look at her. Lap of luxury, that one.’

In his mind’s eye, he felt the pride. They’d always helped the community. Now Tabby would be under his stewardship too, and know peace, finally. Deep, soul-filling peace.

She deserved it.

His woman would never have to lift a finger. Why even Mom had Dax. When she’d been too busy, overrun, years ago, Dad had contracted for the quiet Oriental to come and take over the kitchen and its administration. With hands to feed on site, and a growing, lively family, Ma had needed the help, and Dad had gotten it for her.

No one had known Dax would become part of the family, as much a part of it as his sisters and brothers. They’d all bleed for the man, and that was no lie.

But a man that loved his wife…okay, he was getting ahead of himself, right? His mind flitted back to last night—no, not by much. At any rate, a man that really loved his woman did treat her like royalty. Tabby was going to get that treatment from now on, because if he was anything? He was a principled, real man. The worries from Afghanistan crowded in. But no. That was in the past.

He was going to take damn good care of her. Because…

…she was his.

He could hardly wait to see her relax, get well. Heal from the nonsense that had been dumped on her. Here, in Dawson Ridges.

With him.

* * *

In a small bedroom, miles away, Raine Gradney inspected herself in the mirror of the antique dresser. Flawless skin and hair a man would kill for tumbled past her shoulders. The swell of her breasts, over her bustier, jiggled, inviting. Welcoming the right man to loosen the sexy corset, let those luscious beauties loose.

They’d made many a man thank his maker. It had all been fun, rather hot, and she’d learned a lot. Formed some interesting liaisons. But none that had ever taken, for the long haul. Either she didn’t want them, or they weren’t man enough to keep her interested, long-term. Or their assets, for what they’d been given to work with in life, were ridiculous and not worth her bother.

Now, she had her gaze set on the one man who had kept her interest. She’d waited while he went off and served his country, then made sure she was available when he came back, moody as a thunder-soaked sky. Kept waiting.

Now, he’d figured his shit out, and had her heart spinning in circles. She was smart, and shrewd, and knew he’d be a good catch.

But the way her heart buzzed, she knew it was more. And it made her all the more determined.

It didn’t matter what little city-rat he had an infatuation for. Cole Dawson was going to be hers. And that little joke of a sex-writer?

She’d kick her boring, puritanical little ass clear out of Dawson. Let her find new men to play with, or depend on her own two fingers if she’d rather. It wasn’t any skin off her nose.

Raine Althea Gradney was going to win this one, and Cole Dawson—her heart quickened just at the mention of his name—was going to be hers. For good.

* * *

Molly Dawson looked around her quiet kitchen, the lights in it dimmed the way they always were in the evening, as it was now past ten o’clock. Dax was in his suite relaxing or enjoying one of his many hobbies. Funny. She never felt like she’d given up her domain with him here, just that she shared it with someone who loved and cherished it as much as she did. A helper. A gentle, yet stalwart helper.

Her hand curled around her mug, the warmth of the cinnamon tea in it welcome. Only what wasn’t welcome was that letter that had come from the bank today.

It had been missed, mixed up with circulars and flyers and whatnot, but had finally made its presence known when it tumbled to the ground as she rifled through the papers, ready to toss what they didn’t need into the bin. Now it stared at her. The bank manager had previously told her they were good, and she wouldn’t hear from him unless something had gone badly awry.

She stared back at it. Grimaced.

She didn’t want to lose her home. They’d all fought so hard to keep it, through the reversals of the past few years. Jack—the man she still adored, Cole, Aggie, Krys, the hands. Marla. Dax, too. Even her four other big, strapping sons—the ones who’d struck out into that big world —had done what they could from afar.

Now the letter taunted her.

Well, the hell with it, she thought. She’d formed one of her many useful life principles years ago, and that was to never go to bed mad, plus never invite a fresh worry with her into that bed. Damned if she’d open it now. Maybe it was nothing.

But if it wasn’t…

How much more could they take? What would it do, to all of them, if they lost Dawson Ridges?

And most especially…what would it do to Cole?

He’d fought harder than the rest. Perhaps Dawson Ridges meant more to him because of what he’d gone through in the war. She wasn’t sure. But in the absence of his brothers and with his dad’s illness, he’d taken all the responsibility on him to make everything work out alright.

If it didn’t and they lost it all, unceremoniously, would he go dark again? She’d seen the flickers in him, since he’d come back. He did his best to hide it, to continue on as before. But that war had changed her baby boy and left marks her baby boy hadn’t had.

Most important, would he still welcome that beautiful woman he’d brought to the ranch, into his heart? It seemed as though she was the one to save him, truly, once and for all. Caring for her already seemed to bring back the boy she loved, the one with the sweet heart. The one who saw the goodness in life, and welcomed it.

She shook her head. If they lost it, despite all his efforts…

No. She spoke emphatically with herself. She couldn’t be responsible for the lot of them, right?

But even she knew, where her heart was concerned, that didn’t really matter.

Too much to think about at the end of a day. She called to Baxter, the little pug who’d scrambled up onto the small, upholstered footstool in front of her, crowding the one foot she’d been able to find room for, once he wiggled and found his spot. “Come on, Baxy-Boy. We’re off to bed. Dad’ll be calling soon, to give us his nightly report, and you’ll want to be in place for that. To hear him tell us stories about Chloe and the big, bad, trucker nurse.” She chuckled, barely able to wait to hear his voice.

She padded off, down the long hallway toward her bed, and said a quick prayer for her home, her son, and for all the rest of the people she loved.

* * *

Back in his office in Dawson over the bagel shop, Joel Satie poured over the correspondence that had come in during the day. The mail, the many emails that had landed in his inbox, the voicemails. The day at the Weber farm had been long…now he had his real work, his PI and detective job, to catch up on.

One guy thought his wife was cheating on him. Interestingly, the wife had come to Joel as a client as well, thinking her husband was doing things with their money he wasn’t telling her about. Man, did those two need to talk. Joel had decided he wouldn’t keep their money, but figure out a way to get them talking instead. Maybe a surprise meeting where he’d invite both of them, open a box of onion bagels with cream cheese from downstairs and a couple of grandés, then abscond for a half hour?

Good grief. People. If he ever had a wife, he’d damn well make sure they talked.

The case of the Dawsons, though, was real, and an actual concern. He liked the Dawsons, and for the most part, they made the community better. He hadn’t caught a break yet on that one. Recurring sabotage, or ill fortune? It really pissed him off, not knowing. And Dawson Ridges not being in the Dawson family anymore? Unthinkable.

A letter he’d been waiting for jarred his eyesight. He grabbed it, opened it, and whistled.

Okay, settle down, he told himself. There is no proof.

But if any of this was true, the information sourced by his sister Hetty, over in Golden, it was almost certain more sabotage was on its way. If the trouble came from the source she suggested, the Dawson family might be in more physical danger than they’d ever thought possible.

* * *

Back in Stable One, the lights were dimmed, and only one electric light was on, in one corner. The horses were settled in for the night, and they’d all been fed and watered and brushed. Loved.

Damn horses were treated better than he’d ever been. Damn them all.

Knowing they hadn’t installed that new security system yet, he skulked around, confident no one was near enough to see him. The fools guarding the building had been called away for a few minutes, and they assumed everything would be just fine.

Well, it isn’t, jerks.

He walked the building, committing important details to memory. Determined that when he made the fatal strike, nothing would thwart the plan. He slipped out the back, confident no one had seen him, as the voices of the hands loomed closer.

They’d all know soon. He was a damn sight more important than a stupid horse. More important than this huge spread that they managed like overlords, counting on it for their personal pride and standing in the community. More important than all of it.

And when he did, those Dawson bastards—and everyone they loved—would know what it was like to have their faces shoved into the dirt, to depend on someone else for their next breath. Their last breath. They’d know.

They’d damn well know what it was like to grovel, and wonder…

…if that next breath would ever come.

And if it was up to him?

It never would. For any of them.