“I’ll kiss it better later,” she whispered, not wanting anybody else to hear.
He laughed this time, the skin at the corner of his eyes crinkling up. Taking her hand, he lifted it to his lips, kissing her palm, her fingers, the ring he’d just slid onto her.
“Sounds good,” he whispered back, his eyes full of humor. “I’m going to hold you to that.”
Epilogue
Pouring a glass of cool lemonade, Courtney cradled her son against her chest with her right arm, picking the full glass up with her left and carrying them both out to the porch. The evening air always smelled sweet at this time of year. Corn dust wafted in from the fields, heralding the start of harvest time.
Not that she needed reminding. Her whole body ached from working eight hours on the farm today. Mary had watched George for them, her smile wide when Courtney had walked through the door that morning, gently taking him from her arms as Courtney and Ellis made their way out to the fields.
It was still hard to be away from her child, no matter how many times she went back to hug him or feed him during the day. But now it was the two of them, sitting on the porch of their new home, overlooking the full waters of Hartson’s Creek as they made their way toward the river.
They’d moved in here right before George was born, and had spent those final few weeks of her pregnancy decorating his nursery. All of Logan’s family had come to help – Becca turned out to be a maestro with the paintbrush, Gray and Tanner were pretty nifty with a screwdriver when it came to building all the nursery furniture, and Logan would tidy up everything each evening, making sure that Courtney didn’t lift a finger.
“You’ve got enough to do,” he’d murmured when she protested that she wanted to help. “You’re growing our baby.”
And now that baby was in her arms, staring up at her with wide blue eyes. George Cameron Robert Hartson had been almost two weeks late. Born on July 4th of all days. According to Logan, the waiting room had been like a party full of their families, the Hartsons and the Roberts, as well as Lainey who’d turned out to be a rock when Courtney needed her.
But the only two people who’d mattered to her that day were Logan and George. Though the birth had been hard, she’d expected that. What she hadn’t expected was the rush of bliss that came over her as soon as George was delivered. And the expression of sheer wonder on Logan’s face. As the two of them had sat and cradled their son, counting his fingers and toes, while remarking on who he looked like most, she’d felt this overwhelming sense of completion. As though that was where she was supposed to be.
That all the twists and turns in her life had led up to this.
In the two months since they’d brought George home from the hospital, those emotions hadn’t left her. Not through the pain of breastfeeding and mastitis, and not even when Logan had to fly back to Boston to complete the sale of his company to the new investor, and she had to face a sleepless night with George alone.
But Logan always made it up to her. The last time he’d insisted she have an evening out with Lainey, followed by a bubble bath when she returned home, then he handled baby duty for the whole night. When he wasn’t working – either overseeing the construction of their new restaurant on the site where Courtney’s cottage used to be, or helping her and Ellis in the fields as they worked from early morning until dusk bringing in the harvest – he was constantly with George, his eyes soft, his strong arms cradling their son as though protecting him from all the world.
It made her heart ache to see him whisper to their son. Tell him about all the hopes and dreams he had for him. If Logan as a restaurateur was sexy, Logan as a father made her want to explode. It was a good thing her ovaries were taking a rest right now while she breastfed.
George let out a cry, his lips smacking as he looked up at her with his big blue eyes.
“You hungry again?” she asked him, as he wrigged in her hold. She unclipped her nursing bra and lifted him to her breast, holding his head gently as he easily latched on. His eyes closed, as his lips moved rhythmically.
The rumbling growl of an engine cut through the quiet of the September evening. She looked over, seeing dust kick up from the road as a black SUV turned into their driveway. She bit down a grin at the sight of Logan’s car. It was the safest vehicle he could find, according to the salesman, who’d raved about the roll cage and bullet proof windows.
She’d laughed, asking him who the hell needed bullet proof windows in Hartson’s Creek.
“They’ll protect me from Hester,” Logan had told her when he took her on a tour of the car. “I figure bullet proof means beak proof, too.”
George’s eyes fluttered open as the door of the SUV opened, and Logan climbed out. She stroked his soft head.
Damn, Logan could still take her breath away. He was wearing one of his suits – a rare occurance nowadays, when his uniform was usually jeans and a t-shirt. His tie was gone – no doubt rolled up in his pocket – and his white shirt unbuttoned at his throat. His pants were perfectly tailored, smooth against his taut stomach, and over his slim hips.
He took his sunglasses off, his gaze soft as he smiled at her and George. That sense of completeness washed over her again. He was home.
“How was your day?” she asked, as he walked up the steps to the porch. He sat down on the swing next to
