Epilogue

epilogue

MARK

One year and eight months later

I could hear the enthusiastic pitch of Candace’s voice long before I reached the front steps of the Apple House. It was followed by a chorus of second graders’ cheers and shouts.

I bit down on my smile as I took the stairs two at a time, eager to see her. In the nearly two years we’d been together—a year of that married—I hadn’t been able to curb that desire to be close to her. And now, especially, the protective urge was strong.

A moment later, Candace came into view. She was in front of the information board in the back of the Apple House. She’d cleared off the space and put up materials about pollinators and the life cycle of the apple tree shortly after setting up her curriculum.

Her parents and Joan had fully supported Candace’s idea to start group tours and field trip visits, complete with educational talks followed by a tour of the fields. Kids got to ask questions and then pick their apples to take home.

“Make sure you lift, twist, and pull,” Candace said brightly .

Everything about her glowed. Not just because she enjoyed this part of her job on the farm most of all, but because once the second trimester had hit, she’d stopped feeling nauseous and miserable all the time.

I crossed my arms and leaned against a pillar behind the group while she finished up her instructions for the students, who were seated with their teachers hovering on the periphery.

Candace wore denim overalls with her Judd’s tee shirt underneath. The blue fabric was pulled slightly taut across her small belly. The bottoms of her jeans were rolled up above bright yellow rain boots. We’d had a stretch of rain, so things were a little soggy lately, but she must have slipped those on when she got to her office. She hadn’t been wearing them when we left the house together this morning.

Something about the combination of overalls and rain boots had me shifting restlessly on my feet. Maybe Candace had unlocked a new kink, because she looked so damn adorable. I wanted to pick her up and fuck her with the boots still on.

Just then, she caught my eye and winked. “Now, kids. Look for your teachers and follow them outside so you can get your apple baskets.”

Then she skirted the group of children rising from their seats and motioned me toward her office.

After stepping inside, I closed and locked the door, cutting off the noise of excited chatter as everyone filed out of the Apple House.

I met Candace in front of her desk and slipped my hands around her waist. “Hey. How are you feeling?”

She grinned and snagged my belt loop like I might get away. “Oh, I’m good.”

“Not too tired?” I confirmed. I didn’t want her to wear herself out.

“Nope.”

“I can take the kids out into the field. You can stay here and put your feet up.”

Candace shook her head. “No. Joan is actually coming up right now to get them. I only had to do the educational talk and intro. She has Georgie with her today, and you know he loves leading everyone through the fields.”

I nodded, relieved that Joan and George were handling things .

Then my hands shifted, as they often did, across the swell of her stomach. “How’s our little guy?”

Blissful happiness stole over her features, and I felt my own emotions answering in return. “He’s doing great. Just baking away.”

Candace’s pregnancy hadn’t been a surprise. We’d been trying since we got married, both of us more than ready to start our family. But it was a consistently exhilarating experience to see her like this.

“Good,” I replied and leaned down to press a kiss to her soft lips.

While my mouth moved over hers, my fingers drifted up to the straps of her overalls. I gave a little tug and murmured against her mouth, “I like these.”

I felt her smile. “Oh yeah?”

“Mm-hmm.”

Then I picked up her laptop and moved it to the chair behind me before lifting Candace and settling her on the surface of her desk. We’d finally replaced the battered desk and squeaky chair that she’d inherited when she moved into the space.

“I like these too,” I repeated and tapped the side of her rain boot with my hand before moving to graze the sensitive spot behind her knee.

She gave my bottom lip a quick bite and grinned. “I knew you would.”

I unclasped first one overall strap and then the other. “And how did you know that?”

“You’re so practical. I knew you would appreciate them.”

I pulled back and frowned a little. “That doesn’t sound like a compliment.”

“It really is,” she argued. “Plus I knew you’d want me to leave them on while you bent me over the desk.”

“Candace,” I groaned and dropped my head to the top of her shoulder.

She giggled, likely knowing how tempted her words made me. The image alone had me fully hard behind my zipper .

Slowly she slipped off the desk and stood. Her overalls dipped low in the front as her straps fell away.

“You’ve got to stop treating me like a delicate flower,” she insisted.

But I did worry. And I wanted to be gentle with her, especially when she was carrying our son.

Reaching up, Candace cupped my cheeks and gave me a slow, deep kiss. “I promise you’re not going to hurt the baby and you’re not going to hurt me.”

My hands tightened on her hips as she fished out the hem of her orchard tee shirt and peeled it up and over her head. Her bra was black and lacy, and I liked it on just as much as off.

As if she could see my resolve crumbling, she smiled.

I sighed and demanded, “If you get uncomfortable, you’ll tell me to stop.”

She nodded earnestly but ruined it a second later by smirking. “I don’t anticipate being uncomfortable at all.” Then she shimmied the remaining denim fabric over her hips and took her underwear with it.

That devilish smirk stayed firmly in place as she pivoted and leaned over her desk, elbows braced beneath her shoulders.

Instinctively, my hands rose to skim over her backside, my rough palms leaving gooseflesh in their wake.

Subtly I reached around her, feeling for the edge of the desk.

“I’m fine, Mark,” Candace said, exasperation and amusement fighting for dominance in her tone.

Then she wiggled back against me and I slipped my hand lower, eliciting a soft moan as she tried to spread her boot-clad legs wider, making room for my touch.

My gaze snagged on the fish mounted over her desk, but I didn’t stop my ministrations. “You know I hate that fish watching us. Are you ever going to get rid of it?”

In the last year, she’d updated nearly her entire office. I’d helped install bookshelves along the back wall. We’d stripped off the wood paneling and painted the room a cheerful pale yellow. There was new furniture. And Candace had picked out some art prints for the wall from some artist out in Colorado. We’d even cut out a window so she had some natural light. Thankfully, the shades were drawn now.

Candace gasped dramatically. “Get rid of Lance Bass? Never.”

Then I dipped my middle finger low and pushed inside her. She gasped again for an entirely different reason.

I smiled at the sound and bent, pressing a lingering kiss to her shoulder blade. As my finger stayed busy along with the heel of my palm, I knew I’d never get enough of moments like this—secret and stolen with my achingly beautiful wife.

But as much as I liked hiding ourselves away and fooling around in her office, I craved the life we were building together even more. One that was embroiled in the community and supportive of one another. We were part of a family, a legacy, and a team. The Judds had already been mine, but now it was official. I was grateful for the parents I had in Nick and Amy, and for the brother and sister I’d gained in the process.

Candace had made me her world, but, truthfully, I was just happy to have a place in it. One with the love of a woman I deserved.

I’d spend the rest of my life showing her just how much.

The fun in Kirby Falls continues with Leaf and Let Die , c oming May 27, 2025 to Kindle Unlimited. Scroll down for a sneak peek of MacKenzie and Brady’s enemies-to-lovers romance. I can’t wait for this one, y’all.

Want more of Mark and Candace? Check out a bonus epilogue for Leaf It to Me when you sign up for Laney’s newsletter HERE!

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Leaf and Let Die

Chapter One

*Mac*

Every single day in Kirby Falls had the potential to be a class reunion, especially when half the people I’d graduated with never bothered to leave.

It was the first Friday in September, so I knew, without a doubt, that the bonfire on Cole Abernathy’s property would be full of former classmates. The bonfire happened every week, no matter the weather, but, without fail, this particular seasonal shift meant Kirby Falls High alumni would be out in droves. There was just something about September when the setting sun meant chilly nights. People were more than ready for the choking humidity of August to give way to crisp, clear skies and cozy flannel.

Obviously, I wasn’t immune as I parked my Jeep in the bumpy field beside Abby’s barn and grabbed a six-pack and my maroon flannel from the passenger seat. The smell of wood smoke permeated the air as soon as I opened the door. My boots sank into the dry ankle-high grass, and I heard the sounds of people gathered, laughing and talking—folks I’d known my whole life. The bonfire was a tradition born out of boredom and familiarity, one that was as reliable as death and taxes and Connie Hixson’s hummingbird cake taking home the blue ribbon at the county fair.

The faces had changed a bit over the years as former classmates went away to college, paired off and got married, or had kids. But they usually cycled back around as they came home for the summer or found babysitters. The crowd around Christmas was usually the biggest as folks returned to celebrate the holiday but managed to sneak away from their families long enough to get drunk in a field with their friends.

The invitation was always open for Friday night bonfires at Abby’s. It had been a tradition since high school, and I didn’t see it changing anytime soon.

You could count on familiar faces and the usual suspects. Hell, I wasn’t one to talk. I still showed up at least once a month.

After all, I’d never bothered to leave Kirby Falls either.

I slipped through the crowd easily, greeting friends and acquaintances, slapping backs, and giving hugs. Then I dropped off my six-pack of Firefly cider in one of the coolers beneath the covered awning on the other side of the barn, snagging one of the bottles for myself.

My cousin, Laramie, was busy hanging out with her best friend, so I was on my own until I found someone I wanted to join around the fire. Or there was always the off-chance that my sister Bonnie would show. She was two years older than me, but everyone knew her and loved her.

I spied an open camp chair on the opposite side of the massive blaze and changed direction to try to nab it before anyone else.

Most of our graduating class got along pretty well. There’d been Lara Dillon, head cheerleader and colossal bitch, but she’d gotten married in college and moved away and never came back. And Floyd Ellerby had turned out to be kind of a dick. Although he still lived in Kirby Falls, he rarely came around. The last time I’d seen Floyd at a bonfire had been a few years back, and he and Brady Judd had gotten into it about something. I’d never seen Brady so worked up. The guy was annoyingly friendly and unflappable—unless I was the one doing the flapping.

A devious smile had the corners of my lips twisting upward as I rounded the corner. Yes, irritating Brady was one of my talents. Like Beethoven and his symphonies. Leonardo da Vinci and his art. Some people played an instrument or could sing real good. There’d been a girl in our graduating class who’d become a famous dancer and performed all over the world. And much like Mandy Jessup, I’d found my calling. Unfortunately, it wasn’t anything as lucrative or notable as being a principal ballerina. I was Brady Judd’s nemesis and no one could get his goat like I could.

The vacant camp chair I’d been eying came into view and my black and white Converse halted as I pulled up short. A body attached to a pair of long jean-clad legs slid onto the dark green nylon just ahead of me.

Speak of the devil and he shall appear.

Unfortunately, the nemesis thing seemed to work both ways. As much as it pained me to admit, Brady was just as talented at getting under my skin. He was a tick on my backside and had been for as long as I'd known him. We’d been gleefully torturing each other for decades at this point. It probably (definitely) wasn’t healthy, but grudges were seldom rational. And while most of our childhood and adolescent battles had been good-natured teasing interspersed with occasional hell-raising, the spring after I’d turned eighteen, I’d sworn I’d never forgive him.

Maybe it was juvenile to keep a promise I’d made to myself ten years ago, but no one had ever accused me of being the most mature.

Brady glanced up then, the smirk already fully formed on his surprisingly full lips. The orange glow from the fire cast his features in harsh relief, making him look demonic, possibly rabid. His smirk widened into a grin as he watched me stand there, frozen, two feet away. The asshat had probably stolen the chair on purpose.

“Hi, Mac Attack. I didn’t see you there.” His voice was delighted, the good-ole-boy-Southern-accent dialed up to ten.

Sure, I lived in the mountains of Western North Carolina too, but Brady exaggerated his twangy drawl and sounded more like an inbred yokel than anyone else. One time, in second grade, he missed “wash” during the spelling bee. He’d spelled out “w-o-r-s-h” because that was literally how he said it. There was country and then there was Brady Judd: shameless flirt, unrepentant annoyance, and backwoods-sounding hillbilly.

“I bet you didn’t,” I challenged.

Brady’s grin went full-blown megawatt. His even white teeth appeared to glow in the firelight like some sort of deranged maniac.

I eyed his smooth jaw and styled hair. The brown strands were longer on top and artfully arranged. I imagined if I ran my fingers through it and gave it a good yank that my hand would come away sticky with product. Beneath the scent of crackling flames and wood smoke, I got a good whiff of cologne—probably Axe Body Spray.

“What?” Brady asked when I’d clearly been staring too long.

I sniffed and crossed my arms. “Nothing. I just don’t see why you feel the need to get all gussied up?—”

“Thank you,” he interrupted like I’d complimented him.

“—It’s just a bonfire at Abby’s. Same one you probably came to last Friday and the Friday before that.”

“If this lowly bonfire is so beneath you,” he replied, unoffended, “why do you keep showing up? You must not mind hanging out with all us peasants when you have such an engaging social calendar, Your Majesty.”

I scowled in response, not bothering to explain myself to him.

I just meant I didn’t feel the need to curl my hair and put on a bunch of makeup to impress the same people I saw all the time. Most of them knew me back when I had a mouth full of braces or that obsession with Legally Blonde in the fifth grade.

My gaze shifted to the chair he occupied, and I sighed. No fireside seat was worth this.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Did you want this here chair?” He wiggled his butt a little like I didn’t know what folding camp chair he was referring to. Then he spread his thighs wide to get comfortable, and I swallowed and looked away.

My eye roll was instinctual at this point—a conditioned response to this idiot. I might as well have been Pavlov’s dog . . . but with better hair.

“There’s a seat right here,” Brady said, patting his thigh.

I made sure my glare was baleful and unflinching. “Not a chance.”

As if I would ever lower myself—literally—to sit on his lap. I couldn’t imagine a scenario where that would ever happen. Two broken ankles? Nah, I’ll pass. Just finished a marathon? I’d rather stand, thank you very much.

With a huff of annoyance, I tightened my hold on the neck of the bottle in my hand and turned away. I’d find another damn seat. Hell, even the uncomfortable logs positioned around the perimeter would be a better option than spending my evening arguing with Brady.

However, before I’d made it a single step, I felt a hand close gently around my wrist. I didn’t get the chance to threaten violence or demand he unhand me, Brady released his hold immediately and stood in one fluid motion.

I hated how tall he was. I was a respectable five feet six inches, but Brady towered over me at six-three. He was long and lean from years of running and playing soccer. While I wasn’t intimidated, per se, I didn’t like how small and insignificant I felt standing in his overgrown shadow. I much preferred our interactions nonexistent, but if I had to pick, I’d rather he be sitting down.

“Here you go, Mac Mac,” he said, sweeping an arm out to the camp chair. I ignored the nickname. It was one of many he cycled through, and I’d learned a long time ago not to give him the satisfaction of challenging him on it. If you cracked the door even the barest amount on your annoyance, Brady would come strolling through it with a two-hundred-piece marching band.

My eyes narrowed suspiciously. “What are you doing?”

Shrugging, he stuffed his hands in the pockets of his gray puffy vest. “I can be a gentleman when I want to be.”

My gaze drifted to the chair and then back to Brady, trying to decide if there was a catch. We’d played plenty of pranks on each other over the years. It wouldn’t be unheard of for him to yank this chair out from under me or sabotage it in some way that had the nylon collapsing or the whole thing folding up with me in it.

He chuckled at my obvious distrust. “Just take it, Clark. I swear I’m being good.”

With that, he shuffled forward to slide around me. I didn’t make it easy on him. I stood my ground in the pathway that formed the perimeter of the fire. His tall body curved by, just shy of touching me. As he passed, his head dipped low and he said quietly in my ear, “But something tells me you prefer it when I’m bad.”

Leaf and Let Die is coming May 27th, 2025! Pre-order your copy today . Buckle up, it’s going to be a fun one!