EPILOGUE

One year later…

The main street of Credence buzzed as elegantly dressed city folk rubbed shoulders with elegantly dressed town folk at the newly opened art gallery. The first ever exhibition of Phoebe Archer’s paintings since her untimely death twenty-five years prior had drawn quite the crowd. From critics to journalists to collectors, they’d come from all over the country, to this tiny speck on the map in far Eastern Colorado.

And Beatrice was at the center of it all.

As well as making her Cranky Bea cards an outstanding success, she’d spent the last year scouring the internet and buying every single one of her mother’s paintings she could get her hands on. Her father—he and Bea’s grandmother were both here—had also helped and between the two of them, they’d managed to recover over fifty of her paintings.

It had started out as a curiosity and fast become an obsession that had led Bea down all kinds of rabbit holes and taken her to obscure galleries, junk stores, yard sales, and inside people’s houses. And when it had got to the point that the space in their log cabin on the ranch had run out of room to store them all, she and Suzanne, who Bea had met that day out by the lake, had come up with leasing neighboring shops in town as an art gallery space.

But the exhibition had been Austin’s idea.

“Happy?”

Bea smiled as the man in question sidled up behind her, sliding his arm around her shoulders and dropping a kiss just behind her ear. His cologne mixed with his body heat to form a heady cocktail, and she inhaled deeply, letting the breath out on a sigh. “I never knew it was possible to be this happy.”

Which was a startling admission but true nonetheless.

She’d spent so much of her life trying to make her father and her grandmother and her colleagues happy, she’d thought external validation was the only way to achieve that state. It wasn’t until Credence and Austin she realized that true happiness came from within, from the people and passions that lit a person up from the inside.

“It looks great on you,” he murmured, his lips nuzzling at her temple now.

Bea smiled. Austin had been the best part of this last year. Being with him—living, laughing, loving—had been a revelation and the depth of her feelings for him had grown so big and so wide she honestly didn’t know how she managed to contain them inside her body.

Knowing he felt the same way was both humbling and thrilling.

“My dear.” Jasper Remington, a dapper elderly gent with gray hair and a curly, waxed moustache, approached from the left. “Are you sure I can’t tempt you to sell me Carrizo?”

None of the paintings were for sale tonight, and Jasper knew it, but as a renowned private collector he wasn’t known for taking no for an answer. Bea shook her head as she stared at it now, taking pride of place in the gallery, the connection with her mom flaring bright.

He had a great eye, but Carrizo would never be for sale. “Sorry, Jasper. That one’s coming home with me.”

Austin had hung it in their main living area in the cabin where Bea could look at it every day and remember her mom, young and passionate, utterly lost in the bloom of the wildflowers.

“You know where I am if you change your mind.”

Bea smiled. “I do.”

Austin’s low chuckle tickled her temple as Jasper departed. “Is it wrong to be turned on now?”

“Is that ever wrong?” she replied with a laugh.

“Good answer.”

Tucker, who had volunteered as waiter tonight, passed by with a drinks tray, and Bea swiped two glasses of champagne, handing one to Austin. “This place looks amazing, Bea,” Tucker said. “Any thoughts about what else you’re going to use the space for?”

“Suzanne’s going to have an exhibition next.”

“And then you are,” Austin said, repeating one of his favorite talking points.

“Maybe.” Bea had been painting for a while now, mostly landscapes, and she was gathering quite a collection thanks to the studio Austin had built her on the side of the cabin.

“I think Winona’s trying to set up a bit of an artist enclave out by the lake,” she continued, “so the gallery space might come in handy for any of her friends.”

Tucker raised an eyebrow at Austin. “Let’s not tell Arlo about that just yet.”

Austin chuckled. “I’m happy for him to discover that in his own time.”

Someone called to Tucker from across the room and he excused himself. “You should, you know,” Austin said, his voice low. “You’re an incredible artist.”

Bea knew her art was good in that way she assumed all true artists knew. She just wasn’t sure she was ready to share it yet. “And you’re not biased at all of course.”

He chuckled. “Not even remotely.” He held his glass up in front of her. “A toast,” he said. “To you.”

“No.” Bea shook her head and held her glass up to Carrizo. “To my mom.”

“To Phoebe,” Austin agreed. And they clinked.

The love doesn’t end here…
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