by L. L. Muir
She shook her head, not daring to smile. Not daring to hope. “I still don’t understand.”
Her Highlander grinned and a dozen lines rippled out around his smile. He took a hold of her head and pulled her close until their foreheads were mashed together. “The noble deed was yers, lass. Ye’ve won.” He shook her shoulders. “Ye’ve won!”
She finally dared to smile, but only a little. “But what did I win?”
He threw his head back and laughed, then brought his forehead back to hers and whispered, “Me.”
EPILOGUE
Fitz’s chest tightened as he watched the Muir sisters traipse through the flowers on their way to his front door for the third time that day.
“Are ye certain, Grace,” he called toward the kitchen, “ye wouldna prefer a larger house before my son is born?” He lowered his voice. “Perhaps one without witches for neighbors.”
“Be careful,” she whispered and set a plate of cookies on the coffee table. “They can hear through walls.”
“I have no doubt of that.” He’d been in enough trouble to know.
His wife moved to the front door before the bell was rung. “Are ye sure, wife, ye’ve not wee dram of Muir blood in ye?”
Grace laughed—his favorite sound in the world—and opened the door. “Don’t be silly, Fitz. I saw them coming from the kitchen window.”
The sisters greeted her with a kiss as if they hadn’t just been in her kitchen an hour before. One of them crept between himself and the coffee table to take a seat beside him on the davenport—the seat he was hoping to save for his wife.
“When will ye learn to trust us, Fitzjames?” she said. “When we say it’s a daughter, you can bet money, it’s a daughter.”
Grace stepped toward the kitchen and he grabbed her gently and spun her around so she had no choice but to land on his lap.
“It can’t be a daughter,” he said, more to Grace than the sisters.
“Why is that,” his wife said, her green eyes peering deep into his own like she might find a lost treasure if she only looked deep enough.
“Because, lass. To have a wee copy of ye running about, stomping on the flowers and chasing the dog…”
“Yes?”
“I could never be so lucky.”
THE END
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About the Author
L.L. Muir lives on the Utah side of the Rocky Mountains with her husband and family. She appreciates funny friends, a well-fed campfire, and rocking sleepy children.
A disturbing number of plain m&m’s were consumed while writing PAYTON.
If you like her books, be a sport and leave a review on the book’s Amazon page. You can reach her personally through her website— www.llmuir.weebly.com , or on Facebook at L.L. Muir.
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