Page 38 of Flare (Bearpaw Ridge Firefighters #17)

The cemetery was peaceful in the crisp November air, maple leaves in rusty red, bright yellow, and vivid orange crunching beneath Emily ’ s boots as she walked hand in hand with Ward down the winding path.

She clutched the bouquet of white chrysanthemums and purple asters—her mother ’ s favorites—in her free hand.

One year. It had been exactly one year since cancer had stolen her mother, leaving Emily alone in the world.

Except she wasn ’ t alone anymore, not with Ward ’ s warm, steady presence beside her, and their mating bond glowing like a small, steady beacon in her head.

“ It ’ s just up ahead,” Emily said softly, nodding toward a gentle slope where granite headstones caught the late morning sunlight.

Her heart squeezed in her chest as they approached the Clarke family plot, where her mother shared space with Dad and Emily ’ s grandparents beneath a mature maple tree now half-bare of leaves.

Ward squeezed her hand. “ Take your time, Em. I ’ ll be waiting for you right here.”

Emily went on alone, grateful for the space he was giving her.

When she reached the grave, Emily kneeled on the small patch of grass before the polished granite headstone that read “ Kathleen Marie Clarke, Beloved Wife, Mother and Daughter.” She arranged the flowers in the built-in vase before sitting back on her heels.

“ Hi, Mom and Dad,” she whispered, her voice wavering slightly. “ Ward ’ s my husband now.”

The word still sent a thrill through her every time she said it. Husband . The new gold band on her finger nestled comfortably against her topaz engagement ring.

“ We got married at the Lemhi County Courthouse in Salmon three weeks ago,” Emily continued, a smile warming her face.

“ It was perfect. I wish you could ’ ve been there, but it was just us and the Swansons.

They ’ ve been so good to me, and now they ’ ve become my family too.

You remember my friend Maggie, right? Well, she was my maid of honor.

And Ward ’ s cousin Matt was his best man. ”

Emily closed her eyes, remembering the moment she ’ d said “ I do” while wearing her mother ’ s pearl earrings. Ward had looked at her with such tenderness, such certainty, as he slipped the wedding band onto her finger.

“ Our reception was at Justin Long ’ s restaurant, the same place I used to work at.

You would have loved it, Mom. Everyone was dancing and laughing, and Annabeth Swanson made our wedding cake.

It was so beautiful.” Emily ’ s voice grew stronger as she spoke, the memories warming her from within.

“ I wish you could have been there in person. But I felt you with me, Mom. I really did.”

And she had. A warm, familiar presence had hovered nearby throughout the ceremony, and Emily had known in her heart that her mother was watching, approving, and celebrating with them. It wasn ’ t the same as when Sophie had communicated directly with her mother ’ s spirit, but it still felt real.

Emily wiped at her eyes. “ I ’ m happy. Really, truly happy. I ’ m right where I belong.”

She fell silent then, simply kneeling there with the cool November breeze rustling the remaining leaves overhead. She didn ’ t need words to communicate with her mother anymore—the connection between them transcended language, death, and time itself.

After several minutes, Ward approached, placing his large hand gently on her shoulder. “ Do you mind if I say something to them?”

Emily looked up at him, her heart swelling with love for this man who understood her so well, and nodded.

Ward ’ s expression was serious as he addressed the headstone.

“ Mrs. Clarke, thank you for raising such an incredible woman. I remember you, and I see pieces of you in Emily every day—her strength, her kindness, her ability to see the good in people. Mr. Clarke, I ’ m sorry you never saw Emily all grown up.

If we end up having a boy, we ’ ll name him after you. ”

Humbled, Emily leaned against him, drawing strength from his solid presence. A sudden breeze swept through the cemetery, swirling leaves around them in a gentle dance. Though it was probably just a coincidence, Emily believed it was her mother ’ s way of responding.

They remained for a few minutes longer before Emily finally stood, wiping the last tears from her cheeks. “ I ’ m ready to go now.”

Ward wrapped his arm around her shoulders as they walked back to his truck. “ To Wildflower?” he asked. He ’ d surprised her earlier with the news that he ’ d made dinner reservations for them.

Emily nodded. “ I can ’ t wait.

∞∞∞

Wildflower had been Emily ’ s favorite special-occasion restaurant since college, tucked away in a renovated Victorian house with intimate lighting and locally sourced ingredients.

It felt a little strange to be here with Ward instead of Andrew, but she wanted to make new, better memories here with the man she truly loved.

When they arrived, Emily was surprised to be greeted personally by Chef Artemis, a tall woman with wildly curling salt-and-pepper hair beneath her paper hat.

“ Emily,” she said warmly, clasping both of Emily ’ s hands in hers. “ It ’ s been too long. Your husband called ahead and told me that the two of you are celebrating your honeymoon. I prepared a special tasting menu for you both.”

Emily glanced at Ward, who looked slightly embarrassed but pleased. “ You did this?”

“ I wanted tonight to be perfect for you,” he said simply.

They were escorted to a secluded corner table lit by candles, with a bottle of sparkling local cider already chilling in an ice bucket.

She wondered why Chef Artemis had subbed the cider for champagne, but it didn ’ t matter.

The tart, dry cider paired perfectly with course after course of exquisite food.

Ward watched with obvious pleasure as Emily savored each bite.

Hours later, they returned to their hotel room, Emily feeling pleasantly full and emotionally at peace. As Ward closed the door behind him, he beamed at her.

“ Em,” he said. “ I have some wonderful news to share with you.”

Emily returned his smile. Whatever it was, he was clearly overjoyed. “ What? Tell me!” she demanded, intrigued.

Ward stepped closer, his eyes brightening with an intensity that made her heart skip. He placed his hands gently on her hips, then slid one up to rest on her belly. “ You ’ re pregnant,” he whispered.

“ What?” Emily gasped, her hand automatically covering his. “ Are you sure?”

Ward nodded, a smile breaking across his face like sunrise. “ I ’ m sure. My bear can smell it. We ’ re going to have a baby, Em.”

Emily felt her knees weaken as the reality of his words sank in.

They ’ d agreed they wanted to try for a baby right after their engagement. She hadn ’ t noticed any changes yet, but the certainty in Ward ’ s voice left no room for doubt.

“ A baby,” she repeated, her voice breaking. “ Oh, Ward.”

He pulled her into his arms, his chest vibrating with that deep, rumbling sound that emerged when his bear was happy.

“ I can ’ t imagine anything I want more than to have a family with you,” she breathed, tilting her face up to his.

Their kiss was tender at first, then quickly deepened with passion fueled by their shared joy.

They made love with exquisite slowness, Ward treating her body with reverent care, as if she had become even more precious now that she carried their child.

Through their bond, Emily could feel his wonder, his pride, his fierce protectiveness—emotions so powerful they brought fresh tears to her eyes.

Later, as they lay curled together in the hotel bed, Ward ’ s hand possessively splayed across her belly, Emily marveled at how much had changed in just a few weeks.

The Brunborn case, which had loomed so large in her life since last spring, had ended with unexpected swiftness. Andrew, faced with the overwhelming evidence from the files Emily had copied, had struck a desperate plea deal for a reduced sentence with federal prosecutors.

His testimony had brought down his grandmother and her entire criminal organization. And Emily had been spared the ordeal of testifying, of facing Andrew across a courtroom.

And then, in a final twist that still felt surreal, Andrew had died in custody. It was officially ruled a suicide, but Emily had to wonder whether his grandmother hadn ’ t gotten her revenge for her favorite grandson ’ s betrayal.

Emily felt a complicated mixture of relief and sadness about a life so thoroughly wasted. But she couldn ’ t deny the peace that came with knowing she was truly, finally safe from him. That her child would grow up in a world where the Brunborns held no power, posed no threat.

“ What are you thinking about?” Ward asked, his voice drowsy as he pressed a kiss to her shoulder.

Emily snuggled closer to him. “ Just how lucky I am. How different everything is from this time last year.”

Ward ’ s arms tightened around her. “ We ’ re both lucky, Em. You and this baby are everything to me.”

“ I love you,” she whispered, feeling sleep beginning to claim her, warm and secure in Ward ’ s embrace.

His response followed her into dreams: “ I love you, too. More than I have words.”

∞∞∞

Grizzly Creek Ranch Thanksgiving Day

Emily slipped out onto the wide back porch of Elle ’ s Victorian ranch house, letting the screen door close quietly behind her. She needed some fresh air and a quick break from ironing an endless succession of vintage table linens.

From inside the house, the sounds of the Swanson family preparing Thanksgiving dinner spilled out like music—Annabeth directing traffic around the double ovens, Maggie laughing at something Matt said, Elle instructing the table-setters on the proper way to fold napkins into turkey shapes.

Emily smiled, wrapping her cardigan tighter around herself as she leaned against the porch railing, taking in the stunning view of snow-dusted mountains beyond the ranch ’ s sprawling grounds.