Epilogue

Chloe

Six months later . . .

Spring had come to Whittier Falls, and I sat on the front porch, relishing in the milder weather.

“Hey, Chlo, what do you say we take advantage of this gorgeous day?” Mason’s voice was like a warm breeze, coaxing me out of my shell.

“Sounds perfect,” I replied, the hint of excitement in my voice surprising even myself. Abigail’s grin was infectious as she clapped her hands together, her enthusiasm palpable.

“Yay! Horsies!” Abby squealed, already darting towards her room to get ready.

“Horsies!” I called after her.

“Come on, Chloe!”

“I guess I’m finished with this,” I said, holding up my coffee. Mason laughed and held the door open for me to head inside.

A flurry of movement, and we were out the door in minutes, the sun beaming down as if it too approved of Mason’s plan.

After a short drive to the ranch, the stables loomed ahead, rustic and comforting, the scent of hay and horse a welcome embrace.

“Okay, Abby, remember how I showed you to check the girth?” Mason’s tone was patient, his movements sure and gentle as he lifted his daughter up to her favorite pony, Buttercup.

“Like this, Daddy?” Abigail mimicked his earlier instructions with an earnest concentration that made her tiny brow furrow.

“Exactly like that.” Pride laced his words, and I couldn’t help but admire him. Here was a man who was not just muscle and charm, but a father so intertwined with his daughter’s world that they seemed to orbit each other.

“Good job, Abby.” My own words felt awkward, still getting used to being part of their duo. But Abigail’s smile told me I was doing okay.

“Thanks, Chloe!” She patted Buttercup’s mane, her small fingers entwined in the horse’s hair.

From the corner of my eye, I watched Mason secure the saddle, his hands strong and capable. He caught my gaze and winked, a silent promise of the fun day ahead. It was moments like these—simple, unspoken—that stitched the three of us closer, weaving a new tapestry from strands of laughter, shared looks, and the quiet understanding that bloomed between us.

I swung my leg over the back of Honey, my borrowed mount for the day, a mare with a coat as golden as her name. We’d bonded during therapy, and Honey had become a steadfast source of comfort for me.

The leather of the saddle creaked beneath me, mixing with the crisp morning air that promised an adventure. I glanced at Mason, who was swinging onto his own horse, a powerful chestnut named Duke, with easy grace. Our eyes met, and something unspoken zipped between us like the start of a spring shower .

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” Mason said, breaking into a grin that reached all the way to those stormy gray eyes of his.

“Better than good,” I replied, the words bouncing around in my chest like I’d captured a bit of the sky inside me. “It feels like freedom.”

He nodded, understanding lighting up his features. We were two kindred spirits craving the open trail, the expanse of nature untamed. With a gentle nudge of his boots, Mason led out of the stable yard and onto the path that wound through the heart of Red Downs Ranch.

“Ready to ride, cowgirls?” Mason’s question held the thrill of adventure, his gray eyes alight with a mischievous spark.

“Ready!” Abigail and I said in unison, and the stable echoed our joy back to us, a chorus of hooves and heartbeats setting the tempo for the day.

“Keep close, Abby!” he called over his shoulder. I twisted to check on the little girl keeping pace behind us, her ponytail bouncing with each trot of Buttercup’s hooves.

“Okay, Daddy!” Abigail’s voice carried, laced with glee, and I couldn’t help but laugh. Her enthusiasm was infectious.

We meandered through the trail, the horses’ hooves clipping a steady rhythm against the dirt. Wildflowers dotted the landscape, a patchwork quilt of blues, yellows, and pinks unfurling under the expansive blue dome above us. I breathed in deeply, the scents of pine and new grass teasing my senses.

“Look, Chloe!” Abigail pointed toward a copse of trees where a deer peeked out, its ears twitching at our presence before it bounded away. “Did you see it?”

“Sure did, sweetie.” My response came out softer than intended, a sense of peace settling over me like a well-worn blanket.

“Nature’s always full of surprises,” Mason added, his gaze sweeping the horizon as if he could uncover all its secrets with just a look.

The trail opened up to a wide clearing, rolling fields stretching out to meet the line of mountains in the distance. The world felt grand and endless, and I let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding, captivated by the beauty before us.

“Amazing, isn’t it?” Mason’s voice cut through my reverie, low and warm.

“Every single time,” I whispered back, though I wasn’t sure if I was talking about the view or the man beside me.

We rode on, the sun climbing higher as we shared stories and laughter, the land revealing its wonders with each turn. This place, these people—Mason and Abigail—they were seeping into the cracks of my guarded heart, filling spaces with light I thought had long dimmed.

“Race you to the old oak!” Mason suddenly challenged, his competitive streak flaring as a wicked grin spread across his face.

“You’re on!” I kicked Honey gently, feeling the rush of wind tangle my hair as we surged forward. Abigail squealed in delight behind us, her giggles trailing like music in the wind.

“Chloe’s gonna win!” Abigail cheered, and I dared to believe she might be right. Not just about the race, but about everything that lay ahead.

We pulled up to the edge of the serene pond, its surface smooth as glass and reflecting the clear blue sky. It had become our special place ever since that day Mason had first shown it to me.

Mason swung his leg over the saddle with that easy grace he seemed to carry everywhere, then reached up to help Abigail down from her pony.

“Picnic time,” he announced, a boyish excitement lighting up his eyes .

“Best part of the day,” I agreed, dismounting and stretching out the kinks from the ride. The smell of wildflowers mingled with the earthy scent of the pond, promising a feast for more than just our stomachs.

Mason fetched a blanket from his saddlebag, spreading it with a flourish on a grassy patch near the water’s edge. We all pitched in, unloading baskets of food—sandwiches, fruit, and something wrapped in foil that had my mouth watering. He caught me eyeing it and winked.

“Got some of my famous barbecue chicken in there,” Mason said, pride evident in his voice.

“Your ‘famous’ chicken?” I teased. “I’ll be the judge of that.”

“Prepare to be amazed,” he shot back with a chuckle.

Settling down on the blanket, we dug into the feast. Abigail chattered away about the flowers she’d spotted on the trail, pink-cheeked and full of life. It was easy to laugh with her, to let the simplicity of this moment wrap around us like a warm embrace.

“Chloe, try the potato salad. Made it myself,” Mason said, passing me a bowl with a hopeful expression.

“Another secret talent?” I asked before taking a bite. It was creamy, tangy, just the right amount of crunch. “Okay, that’s delicious. You’re full of surprises, Mason Bridges.”

“Wait till dessert,” he replied with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

Abigail clapped her hands, eager and curious. “Is it cupcakes?”

“Maybe,” Mason said, drawing out the word in a playful sing-song.

The laughter came easily, mixing with the sounds of nature around us. Birds singing, insects buzzing, the gentle lapping of water against the shore—it was a symphony of peace, underscored by the hum of connection between us .

“Days like this . . .” I started, looking at Mason and Abigail, feeling an overwhelming sense of contentment. “They’re what life’s all about.”

“Couldn’t agree more,” Mason said, raising his sandwich in a mock toast before taking another hearty bite.

“More chicken, Daddy!” Abigail demanded, waving her tiny hands with urgency.

“Coming right up, princess,” he replied, dishing out another generous serving onto her plate.

The sun shifted, casting a golden glow across the pond, and I found myself lost in the reflection, in the perfectness of a simple day spent with people who mattered. The kind of day that whispered promises of many more to come.

“Ready for dessert?” Mason asked, his voice laced with a hint of a secret just waiting to be shared.

“Always,” I replied, curiosity piqued by the way his lips curled into a knowing smile.

“Me too!” Abigail cheered, bounding over with the energy only a six-year-old could possess after a full meal.

Mason reached into the picnic basket, rummaging around before producing a box from Sutton’s bakery. It was simple, but something about it felt charged with intention. He flipped open the lid, revealing an array of cupcakes topped with swirls of frosting in shades of pastel — a miniature canvas of sugary art.

“Wow!” Abigail gasped, her little hands hovering over the confections, itching to grab one. “They’re so pretty!”

“Go on, pick one,” Mason encouraged her.

She chose a cupcake with violet icing, peeling away the paper with eager fingers. I followed suit, selecting a soft pink-topped treat. The air between us filled with the rich, sweet scent of vanilla and buttercream as we dug in.

“Look, Daddy, look!” Abigail squealed suddenly, holding up a small object she’d unearthed from beneath a dollop of frosting. Dangling from her fingers was a dainty necklace, a silver horse pendant catching the sunlight and throwing tiny rainbows across her delighted face.

“Your very own horse,” Mason said warmly, pride threading through his words. “For my little cowgirl.”

“Thank you, Daddy! I love it!” She threw her arms around him, cupcake momentarily forgotten.

My heart swelled watching them—a beautiful snapshot of father-daughter love. Then my gaze drifted back to my own cupcake, where something glistened amidst the pink. I plucked it free, my breath catching at the sight of a diamond ring, its facets winking at me like tiny stars.

“Chloe,” Mason began, his voice a tender rumble, and I lifted my eyes to meet his. There was a depth there, a silent promise that echoed in the space between us.

I didn’t need words to understand what this ring meant, what he was offering without saying it aloud. My hand trembled slightly as I held the ring between us, a symbol of a future I hadn’t dared to hope for, until now.

Mason’s hand reached for mine, grasping it with calloused fingers. He took a deep breath, eyes searching mine with a nervous energy that was both endearing and completely out of character for the usually unflappable man.

“Chlo,” he started, voice carrying the twang of our small town and the gravity of his next words. “There’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you.”

He dropped to one knee, denim meeting grass, and it felt like the world just . . . paused. The pond rippled lazily in the background, birds held their songs, and even the sun seemed to hold its breath, waiting.

“Chloe Beecham, you’re the most amazing woman I’ve ever known. You make our lives happier, our home more loving, our hearts full. Will you make me the happiest man alive and be my wife?”

Tears. They came without warning, spilling over like the spring rains that turned fields from brown to green. Joy bloomed in my chest, vast and wild, unable to be contained.

“Ye—yes.” My voice cracked. Eloquent. But it didn’t matter. This wasn’t a movie or a glossy magazine. It was real life. Messy, painful at times, but so full of love. “Yes, Mason, I will marry you.”

“Yay!” Abby squealed, and dive-bombed us. We laughed and tickled her, leading to another round of laughter.

When we calmed down, Mason slipped the ring onto my finger, a perfect fit, and stood, pulling me into his arms. Our kiss was a seal on a new beginning—a promise made under the open sky, amidst the quiet strength of the land we both loved. It was sweet and as deep-rooted as the towering oaks around us.