Page 133 of Dirty Mechanic

“While we’ve got the judge here,” he calls out, eyes twinkling, “and everyone we love in one place…”

Caroline stiffens beside the altar, blinking. “Marty?—”

He steps forward, pulls a silver band from his vest pocket, and drops to one knee—not a bit winded. “Caroline Gnatz, you’ve been my North Star, my legal shark, and the mother of our maybe-someday bull rider. I know you agreed to marry me, but will you marry me today? Right here. Right now?”

Caroline stares at him—jaw slack, eyes shining—then barks out a laugh that makes half the crowd jump.

“Yes, dammit! But only because I’m too sleep-deprived to run and too proud to say no in front of baby Justice.”

That’s right. Caroline named her son, Justice.

Justice Thor Boone.

She adjusts the apple blossom crown someone stuck on her son’s head. He scowls deeper, like a tiny judge preparing his first objection.

“Let’s make it official,” she adds. “Before our future bull rider starts chewing legal briefs.”

Marty grins, and someone thrusts a bouquet of apple blossoms into Caroline’s hand. Sheriff Simon volunteers to officiate this time, and ten minutes later, the orchard cheers again.

A few days ago, Caroline updated us that Rick’s burner phone pinged near the Nevada border and Cash is pushing for a federal warrant.

It’s not over. Not yet.

But the net’s tightening.

And for now, Misty’s already out of reach.

I carry that knowledge the way I carry everything now—carefully, but not alone.

The wind ripples through the orchard. Beside me, Dere wraps his hand over mine, steady and sure. Across the field, friends gather. Family. And just beyond the rows of trees, the past lies buried in ash.

But the future? It’s standing right here, in the sun, holding on to me.

Tears prick my eyes, but they’re not the kind I used to swallow. These are clean. Joyful. Healing. Our annulment was finalized five months ago. The paperwork cleared and Derek’s name is inked beside mine for real.

Derek slips the wedding band onto my finger, nestling it against the apple blossom engagement ring, the diamonds glistening together. The tables in the orchard are stacked with pies, cider jugs, and bouquets wrapped in newspaper—offerings of a town that never forgot how to give.

Emma and Eric are sitting under an apple tree with baby Frederick—Fred for short—who hiccups like a metronome while little Albert naps on Eric’s chest.

I lean into Derek’s shoulder as laughter and cinnamon wrap around us. The orchard glows in the dusk behind him like a promise.

“We’ve come so far,” I murmur.

“And it’s just the beginning,” he says, kissing the crown of my head.

I pause, heart fluttering. I hadn’t meant to say it tonight—not here, not surrounded by pie and petals and people we love—but maybe there’s no better time. No better place.

“Derek?” I whisper.

He looks down, eyes soft. “Yeah?”

I take his hand, press it gently to my belly. “We’re not just starting over. We’re growing something new.”

He stills. Blinks. Then breaks into a grin that swallows the sunset. “You mean?—?”

I nod. “A spring baby. Apple blossom season.”

He lets out a low, choked laugh, pulling me close. “Home,” he says again—but this time, I feel it echo from the roots up.