EPILOGUE
In the veritable sea of blissfully happy couples, Jonah Ferguson stood alone, ever the observer. In all their wedding finery, Brax and Mia led the crowd in the “Cha Cha Slide” on the dance floor set up out in the new yard at the house they still weren’t quite done renovating. Even a jaded bastard like him hadn’t been unaffected by watching his friends make their vows all over again. They’d come through so damned much to find their way back to each other, and even though it hadn’t been deliberate on his part, Jonah was still pleased about his own role in putting Brax back in Mia’s path. His friend was whole again. It was the only way Jonah could think to describe the change he’d seen in Brax.
Holt had succumbed in his own way, taking to married and family life like a duck to water. He had Maddie on one side, Cayla on the other, all of them laughing as they stomped and shook to the music. They made a sweet picture. Not that he’d ever admitted it, but Holt had been thirsty for family, for connection. The brotherhood of the military and the one they’d forged since they all got out only fed a part of him. Cayla and her daughter filled the void in a way no one else could’ve.
Hell, even Jonah’s sister Sam was shaking her very pregnant belly at the edge of the dance floor. Her husband Griff danced beside her with a vaguely terrified expression, as if he was certain all this exercise was going to send her into labor at any moment. Jonah thought it was a valid concern. His baby sister seemed big as a house. Not that he’d tell her that on pain of death. She’d been so deliriously happy since she eloped with Griff—and who the hell had seen that coming? Or the fact that they’d secretly eloped in Vegas before when they’d been twenty-two. Jonah still hadn’t quite squared that in his mind, but since Griff seemed to practically worship the ground Sam walked on, he couldn’t find a reason to complain.
The people he loved were happy. And Jonah was willing to do a hell of a lot to protect that happiness. He was more and more certain that there was something to protect them from. Ever since Holt had brought up the idea that all the problems they’d faced had been targeting them rather than Mia, Jonah had been chewing on it. He’d reviewed the security footage of the latest vandalism and Holt’s meeting with Arthur Raynor. They weren’t the same guy. They carried themselves differently. And whoever had been the vandal was right-handed. Raynor was a leftie, something Jonah had confirmed with Cayla. The more he thought about, the more he suspected Holt was partly right. Except it didn’t make sense that anyone would target the three of them. Brax and Holt were new here. The trouble started before they’d been around long enough to make any enemies.
No. Now that alternative explanations had been ruled out, Jonah was pretty damned sure it all had something to do with his father. He’d had nothing to do with Lonnie Barker from the time Rebecca had divorced his ass when Jonah was eight, so it had been a big surprise when he’d left the bar to the kids he’d basically abandoned. While The Right Attitude had been popular among a certain hard-drinking set, it certainly wasn’t any kind of mass money maker. Over the years, Jonah and his mom had theorized that Lonnie had to be into something else to make money. Jonah hadn’t given the specifics of that much thought for a long time. But he was thinking about it now. The man who’d nearly killed Mia had been ranting something about a flash drive. Everything he’d done had been in search of information. If his dad had somehow been involved in something less than above-board, it was entirely possible that whoever his targets or associates had been were worried that the new owners were going to somehow stumble upon the information. Information on what, Jonah had no idea. Blackmail? Money laundering? Drug running? Either way, it made more sense that this had something to do with Lonnie and the less-than-reputable crowd he’d run with most of his life.
“Ten bucks says they’ve got a bun in the oven by the end of the year.”
Startled out of his thoughts, Jonah turned his attention to the tall, gorgeous blonde beside him. “Huh?”
With a half-empty glass of champagne, Rachel gestured toward the dance floor where Holt and Cayla were slow dancing to whatever Ed Sheeran song was playing, completely oblivious to anyone else around them. “Look at them. If looks could cause pregnancy, she’d already have twins.”
Jonah eyed her. “How much champagne have you had?”
“Mmm.” She sipped more. “Not enough.”
It occurred to him that as a widow, this whole vow renewal thing would probably be bringing up a lot of memories. “I guess weddings are kind of hard on you, huh?”
She shrugged slim shoulders. “Yes, and no. I love love. I’m ecstatic to see them happy. And of course, I remember being that happy. It’s bittersweet. But every day is a little easier.” Making an obvious effort to throw off her mood, she sipped more champagne. “So why are you over here propping up the wall?”
“Somebody’s gotta do it.”
Her gaze slid up to him with a teasing smile that had his pants going tight. A tall woman to start, in the heels she wore, she didn’t have far to go. “Why aren’t you out there cutting a rug with a date?”
Jonah shifted subtly to ease the pressure. “I’ve been too busy with shit since we got down here to worry about finding a woman.”
With a pointed glance at their friends, she just arched her brows. “Is it that you don’t want a woman in general or that there’s just not one you’re interested in?”
The woman he wanted was standing right here. But Jonah wasn’t going there. He hadn’t touched her for the year he’d been in Syracuse because she was a widow and still grieving. As she’d healed, he still hadn’t touched her because the life he was building wasn’t in New York. She was a forever girl, one who deserved more than long-distance. They’d become close friends. A friend was what she’d needed all this time, and he’d been absolutely determined to be that for her.
Since he wasn’t about to give her an honest answer to that question, he turned the tables. “What about you? You didn’t bring a date either.”
With a grimace, she sipped more champagne. “Dating as a widow is hard. Dating in Syracuse is even harder. There are memories everywhere. So I haven’t done it.”
“Do you want to date?” Jonah told himself the answer didn’t matter.
“I don’t even know. John and I were high school sweethearts. I’ve never dated as an adult. And the whole idea of navigating that is… exhausting. I signed up for online dating and got so many dick picks in twenty-four hours, I deleted my account.”
“Stay far, far away from the bottom feeders.”
“Believe me, I intend to.” Rachel spun the stem of her glass between two fingers. “That said, I know John wouldn’t have wanted me to be alone and grieving him the rest of my life. I’m working my way around to doing something about it.” She took a bigger gulp of the champagne and sucked in a deep breath. “I was hoping you could help me with that.”
Please, God, no.But Jonah kept his face neutral. “You need me to screen some guys? Make sure they’re worth your time? That they’ll treat you right?”
“No, I’ve already done that. He is, and he does.”
She turned to him, blue eyes searching his face, her own full of something that looked an awful lot like hope and expectation. Except it couldn’t possibly be that.
“Then how can I help?”
Her shoulders straightened. She tipped back the last of the champagne and set the glass aside with a thump. “Maybe this will help clarify.” And she curved those strong, slender fingers that had taught him everything he knew about baking around his nape, closing the distance between them to lay her lips over his.
Stunned to the marrow, Jonah didn’t move as she settled her mouth more firmly against his in a soft, questioning kiss. Rachel McCleary, the object of his every fantasy for the past two years, was kissing him. His brain spun, trying to analyze all the possible actions and outcomes and what the right move would be. But its computing power was hampered by all the blood in his head draining south.
And then she pulled back, far enough he could see the color burning high in her cheeks, distress etched in those bluebonnet eyes.
Jonah opened his mouth to say—he had no clue what—when his sister’s voice cut through the sudden silence between songs.
“Oh, my God! My water just broke!”
* * *