Page 300 of Silent Target

EPILOGUE - JULIETTE

Eight months later

The case cards at Latte Da! have my name on the cinnamon rolls now.

Nora added a tiny heart underneath. Working here delights me, coming in before the town is properly awake, tying on my apron and making something from scratch. I love experimenting with new fillings and pretending not to notice when Holt appears at the counter ten minutes before closing because he was apparently just ‘passing by’.

Eight months, and the sight of him filling the doorway still makes my stomach flip.

Life is quiet up here, and that’s wonderful when you get to choose it.

Corbin left me alone, exactly as promised. The possibility of the Rotmere Corporation discovering just how creatively he handled their money was apparently enough to cure him of his desire to control my life. My father lost the merger, the Vance money, and, according to Daisy, most of his golf partners.

Daisy came to Wildwood three weeks after I did to collect her car. She took one look at Holt standing behind me with his hand settled possessively on my hip and Six sitting beside him and burst out laughing.

“Jules. You absolute legend. You ran away from a wedding and straight into a romance novel.”

She wasn’t wrong.

My wedding dress is a christening gown now. Nora’s daughter Mayla brought her baby up from High Vale for a fitting last month, and the church sewing circle spent three weeks arguing over who was responsible for which piece of lace.

I didn’t mind seeing it. That surprised me. Maybe because when I look at that dress now, I don’t remember Corbin. I remember headlights and rain and a huge man climbing out of a truck. Silver eyes looking at me like I was something precious before he even knew my last name.

I remember Holt.

Which brings me to this morning and the absolutely terrible lie my mountain man thinks he's getting away with.

“It’s a supply check,” he says.

I look up from lacing my boot. “A supply check?”

“The overlook cache needs restocking before summer.”

He shoulders his pack without looking at me.

What Holt doesn’t know is that I’m aware there is no supply cache at the scenic overlook. I know this because I have been there five times, including once when Holt carried me halfway home because I got a blister and he reacted as though my foot might require amputation.

Also, there’s been something small and square in his jacket pocket for approximately a month. Every morning, he moves it from yesterday’s jacket to today’s jacket, when he thinks I’m not looking.

Another giveaway is that Six has been wearing his good leather collar since breakfast, which now has a tiny leather pouch attached. But I haven’t said a word. Because I have all the time in the world for this wonderful man.

He’s kept me warm through the winter; I wake up wrapped around him, his huge hand finding mine under the blankets. My morning coffee appears beside me exactly the way I like it. He gives me foot rubs after long shifts at Latte Da! and kisses against the back of my neck while I bake.

He never decides for me. He asks; always.

So I want this moment to be his. Some choices are yours, and others you give to the person you trust to hold them. I lace my boots and follow the man I fell in love with almost before I knew him up to the lookout point.

The trail that once looked scary doesn’t anymore. Maybe I’m stronger. Or perhaps it’s because everything is easier when Holt’s broad back is ten feet ahead of me and every few minutes he turns around to make sure I’m okay.

The morning is beautiful, one of those perfect May mornings when the mountain seems to be apologizing for winter. Everything is green and sunlight filters through the trees. Six races ahead, then doubles back to check on us.

Holt reaches for my hand on the steepest part. He always does. His fingers close around mine, and there it is. That stupid little leap inside my chest.

“You good?” he asks.

I smile up at him. “Perfect.”

His eyes stay on mine for a second too long before he leans down and kisses my forehead.