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Page 35 of Roaring Fork Rooker (Roaring Fork Ranch #4)

JW

M y wife and I stood on Elk Avenue hand-in-hand, watching the Independence Day parade where our eyes had met for the first time in thirty years.

Where our second chance had begun. This year, it was a celebration of who and what we’d become.

Happily married and at peace. Both of us.

For the first time in either of our lives.

Echo stood beside me, her summer dress catching the morning light, her wedding ring glinting as she pointed out floats to the children who called us Grandma and Grandpa.

The haunted look that had shadowed her features during our engagement was gone, replaced by the tranquility of a woman who no longer carried secrets.

“Grandpa JW, look!” Luna’s voice cut through the crowd as she bounced between Victor and me, her small hands tugging at both our sleeves.

The high school marching band was approaching, their brass instruments gleaming in the afternoon sun.

At six years old, Luna’s leukemia was now in remission, and watching her dance to the music with such unbridled joy never failed to make my heart swell.

“I see them, sweetheart,” I said, hoisting her up onto my shoulders so she could get a better view over the crowd.

Down the sidewalk, I spotted the familiar chaos of the Wheaton family gathering.

They’d staked out the same prime real estate they’d claimed last year.

Flynn was doing her best to wrangle two-year-old Rowan and keep track of the twins, while Irish kept a protective hand on their seven-month-old baby boy, fast asleep in his carrier.

They’d named him John William, but called him Willie.

Nearby, Buck and TJ were dealing with their own handful as five-year-old Buckaroo darted between the adults, clearly looking for his next adventure. Nearby, Holt swayed gently back and forth, cradling a sleeping Scarlet with one arm while the other was around Keltie’s shoulders.

A little ways down, Cord and Juni had managed to find seats with Porter and Cici. Both Cici and Juni were expecting, their hands resting on their growing bellies that promised new additions to our family later in the year.

Echo and I had somehow become Grandma and Grandpa to this wonderful, chaotic bunch, and I couldn’t imagine anything better.

“Glad I could be here this year,” Bridger said, nodding toward Gisela, who was taking pictures with the enthusiasm of someone documenting her first small-town celebration. “She’s having a blast.”

Our daughter had flown in from California especially for the weekend, arranging her residency schedule around what she’d declared “an essential family gathering.” Watching her laugh with Cord and Juni as they explained the parade’s local history filled me with quiet pride.

The months since our wedding had brought a rhythm I’d never expected to find. We spent our summers here, in Crested Butte, me helping out at Roaring Fork while Echo trained Melanie to take over as Miracles of Hope’s new director.

In winter, we spent more time at Sangre Vista, where we were building a house on what had become our favorite ridge to watch both the sunrise and sunset.

“She amazes me,” Echo said, following my gaze to where Gisela was now showing Luna how to use her camera. “She’s so patient with children.”

“Gets that from her mother,” I replied.

“Both of them,” Echo corrected gently.

She was right. Dawn had raised Gisela with the same nurturing instincts Echo brought to every child she encountered through her charity work. Our daughter had been shaped by two remarkable women, and it showed in everything she did.

“The oncology program at Stanford is lucky to have her,” Dawn, who stood beside us, added, pride evident in her voice. “Though I worry about the hours she keeps.”

“All parents worry,” Mark said with a gentle smile. “But she’s doing exactly what she was meant to do.”

“She says the work energizes her,” Echo said. “Helping families through the worst moments of their lives—that’s her calling.”

I’d seen that dedication firsthand during Gisela’s visits to New Mexico.

She’d spent hours with me in the workshop, restoring an old piano while we talked about music and medicine and the strange paths that had brought us together.

She called me by my name rather than any paternal title, but the bond between us grew stronger with each conversation.

After the parade ended, Echo and I walked two blocks over to the house she kept saying she should sell and I kept saying was our love nest. “Happy?” she asked when we walked in the front door.

“Completely.”

“I’ll just grab the cake, then we can go.”

We were headed to the Roaring Fork for an afternoon of music and dancing, followed by a chuckwagon dinner and campfire.

The drive to the ranch took us along the same mountain roads where I’d first pursued her after she fled the night before our wedding, where we’d confronted decades of secrets and pain and emerged stronger for having faced the truth together.

As we pulled in, the whole crew stood waiting for us.

“We have been blessed with the most beautiful family, my love,” I said, pulling Echo close as we looked over at parents and children who would grow up knowing their history and understanding the sacrifices that had brought them to this moment.

In front of us stretched the valley where Patricia’s dream of her children finding happiness had exceeded even her most optimistic hopes.

“Sometimes, I wonder if I’m dreaming,” Echo murmured, leaning up to kiss my cheek. “We have quite a love story, JW.”

She was right. It had taken thirty years to complete, but the best stories, I’d learned, were worth the wait.

______________

Keep reading for a sneak peek at

the next book in Heather Slade’s

Roaring Fork Ranch Series,

Roaring Fork Bridger

He never got over losing her.

She never stopped loving him.

Together they'll fake a reunion that becomes all too real.

Bridger

When Lyric walks back into my life with questions about my bulls acting strange, every protective instinct I have kicks in—for my livelihood and for her.

She broke my heart when she left, but I never stopped wanting to keep her safe.

Now someone’s targeting everything I’ve built, and she might be the only person who can help me figure out who.

The problem is, working together means pretending we’re back together, and with Lyric, I’ve never been good at pretending.

Lyric

I’ve been covering rodeos long enough to know when something’s wrong, but approaching Bridger about it means facing the man I never got over.

Walking away from him was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but I had my reasons.

Now we need each other to uncover the truth about what’s happening to the sport we both love.

Going undercover as a couple should be simple—except nothing about my feelings for this cowboy has ever been simple.

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