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Thanks to Delilah.

Hassie has a pop-up hat bar across the field. Whiskey barrels have been rolled out as high-tops. Locals stuff donations in an empty whiskey bottle next to the small animal rescue Wells set up. Waldo and Jelly Belly, our distillery cats, slink between boots. My raisers, Cy, Bo, and Leon, enjoy the day with their families. The Moonshiners play mellow country music. In the tasting room, Warren unveils his new cowboy cocktails. Syd and his biker crew hold court at the western game booth, where they help kids with the balloon toss.

A long dining table adorned with cowboy-chic decor and whiskey boards sits in the center of the field. There’s even a mechanical bull. I told her she was crazy, but she insisted.

We sell out in an hour.

Every last drop of Weston Whiskey Darlin’ Edition gone from our distillery.

But all five of us each kept a barrel to last the rest of our lives. I plan to drink mine at each big event in my life. My wedding. The birth of our babies. Solving my mother and father’s murders.

Our parents’ legacy, this whiskey, is one I’ll treasure forever.

Thanks to Delilah.

She honored their memory with this launch party. They’d be so proud. They’d love her as much as I do.

My gaze snags on Delilah, who’s escorting the editor from the Whiskey Enquirer. Enthralled expression on his face, the real Nolan Kraus snaps photos and samples flights. Nothing fazed the man, not even being tied up in his apartment for two days by Marcus D’Angelo. He’s here, ready for a story. Apparently, any press is good press, even where Tempest is concerned. It doesn’t hurt that Delilah’s the one to show him around.

I watch as she pours Nolan the whiskey, occasionally lifting a hand to wave to the locals. Multitasking and charming as only my girl can do. Locals stop to chat her up, a few small business owners that Delilah used for the launch party dropping off flowers for her.

There’s no question she’s been accepted by Tempest.

Delilah’s eyes shift to mine, and our gazes lock. I tilt my hat, watching the luminous blush rise in her cheeks. She blows me a kiss, and my heart wrenches. The wave of love, of possession that crests over me threatens to take me to my knees.

Here. She’s here. She’s chosen me and Tempest. We plan to build a life here, which means no more running. My goal is to right Tempest. Put it back to what it used to be. Make it a home.

Tonight, we celebrate. Tomorrow, I buy a ring. Anything to make her mine.

I take a step toward her but am quickly intercepted by Ezra. “Cole, you got someone here to see you.”

“Who is it?” I grumble, following Ezra’s finger to search the crowd of guests.

“A couple who says they’re friends of yours.”

“Well, I’ll be goddamned.”

I chuckle when I see a woman wearing a long fishtail braid and a pissed-off scowl. Fallon McGraw. The too-tough-for-her-own-good bull rider who was hurt by Jack’s manager on one of her rides. She was the impetus I needed to take him down, while also giving me a run for my own money when it came to bulls.

I immediately recognize the cowboy behind her too. Wyatt Montgomery, the former pro bronc rider, Fallon’s husband, and the guy who saved her life when they were kidnapped by some psychopath last fall.

I grin as I stride toward her. “Friends, huh? I didn’t get the memo.”

Fallon laughs. “Oh, fuck off, Weston.”

“How you been?” My eyes take her in, my chest tight seeing a familiar face amid the celebration.

“Mostly a pain in his ass,” Fallon quips, nodding toward Wyatt.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” Wyatt drawls, hooking an arm around her shoulder. “She convinced me droppin’ in unannounced was the only way to surprise you.”

I shake my head at her ability to continuously raise hell. “No cane.” My gaze flicks over her.

“No cane.” She extends her arms, the whiskey glass glinting in her right hand.

“You look good,” I say, happy to see she’s tamed that fierce darkness inside of her.

“You too.” A lift of Fallon’s brow. “Saw your announcement on your socials and thought we’d come check out all the fuss over Weston Whiskey.” She lifts her hand, flashing the wedding ring tattoo on her finger. I notice Wyatt has one of his own.