by Alta Hensley
“Is that a greenhouse?” I’d asked.
“It is,” Nolan said.
“But you’ve given me so much already. The orchard—”
“Which we’ll need to move inside during the winter,” Rogan said.
“Another reason we planted them in pots,” Cal offered.
“And why I wasn’t worried about the goats stealing your fruit,” Derrick quipped, a grin on his face. “But, if you’d rather we—”
“No, no,” I said, cutting Derrick off. “Perhaps I spoke too quickly. I’d love a greenhouse.”
And I did love it. My beautiful trees lined the side walls. It had a long row of tables down the center filled with growing seedlings, ready to be planted in the ground with the coming of spring.
But of all the gifts they’d given me, none was more precious than the one cradled in Cal’s arms. We’d been blessed with our first child, a daughter, a month ago. We had no idea which of my husbands was her father, nor did we care. In our hearts, in our souls, they all were.
“What took you so long?” I teased when they finally reached me.
“I’m carrying very precious cargo,” Cal said, looking down at our baby.
“And you shouldn’t be running ahead,” Rogan chided. “You just had a baby.”
I rolled my eyes and laughed. “If by ‘just’ you mean weeks ago, then yes. But I’m fine, and it is such a glorious day. I just had to run.”
Derrick grinned as well, pulling me to his side and bending to kiss my cheek. “I seem to remember someone getting her ass striped for insisting she just needed to run.”
I felt my body respond, remembering the night I’d climbed out the window, yet pretended ignorance. “Hmmm, I don’t seem to remember that.”
“Then, perhaps a visit to the woodshed is called for,” Derrick said.
“Definitely,” I agreed, reaching up to kiss his cheek. Ever since I’d given birth, they’d tended to treat me as something fragile. It was time to remind them I wasn’t… that I needed my men a bit rough. My daughter’s little coo reminded me of why we’d come, and I turned to look at the others. “Shall we?”
They nodded, and the four of us walked the remaining short distance to our destination. Derrick laid the bouquet of lilacs and pink roses at the foot of the headstone as Rogan helped me to kneel, the others kneeling as well. Reaching out, I laid a hand on the marble.
“Hi, Alana,” I said softly. “It’s your family.”
Cal had knelt on the opposite side of the grave from me, and I watched his expression. We’d come often to his sister’s grave to pay our respects or to simply sit with her, allowing the peace of the setting to fill us. But today, his face didn’t only show pain. For the first time, Cal appeared at peace. He looked up and caught my eye and I smiled and nodded.
He looked around the circle and then at our daughter and finally at the headstone where Alana’s name was engraved.
“We brought someone to meet you,” Cal said. “We’ve told her all about her aunt, how very much she was loved, how very special you are to all of us.” He paused, reaching down to draw back the afghan a bit. It was the afghan Alana had been working on but hadn’t had a chance to finish. I’d spent many an hour, crochet hook in hand, not caring that I often had to rip out my stitches and redo them. Every moment I spent in the parlor, with the afghan in my lap, I’d felt close to Alana. It was as if she’d known there would be a baby born one day, a little girl who’d be wrapped in the soft yarn in various shades of pink.
The baby cooed again, and I imagined she was thanking her aunt for the gift. Cal smiled and held his daughter in one arm and reached out to lay his other hand on the stone. “Alana, we wanted you to meet your niece, your namesake. Our daughter, Alana Guinevere O’Shea.”
I wasn’t a witch; I had no powers other than the power of love. And that was the most powerful thing of all. Love for their little sister had brought these men back to Ireland to build a new life. Love for me had allowed them to begin to heal, to accept they were not the bad men they’d seen themselves as for so many years. Love for their daughter had taught them that though we’d always miss those we lost, life went on. And, my love for them had changed me in so many ways, had filled my heart. But that love had filled my soul the moment I’d decided to become their bride to keep.
The End
Letter To Our Readers
To our readers –
First of all, thank you for reading Bride to Keep. Without readers, authors have no one to share their stories with and it is our honor to know you’ve chosen to spend time with our book. It is our hope that you not only enjoyed the story, but that you loved every step of the journey. We hope you felt our characters were more than details on a page… that you felt the struggles, the fears, the joys, the sorrows, but most of all, the love shared between this family and the woman who chose to give not only her heart to the four O’Shea brothers, but her very soul as well.
We enjoy writing together and if you’d like to take another journey, we’d love you to meet the Steele brothers who wage their own battles in our Black Stallion series. You’ll find the three books of the trilogy on Amazon. Maddox, Book 1, Stryder, Book 2, Anson, Book 3 and the women they are willing to die for are just waiting to meet you.
Thank you again and, as always, happy reading!
Alta and Maggie
About Alta Hensley
USA TODAY Bestselling Author in Dark Romance
Alta Hensley is a USA TODAY bestselling author of hot, dark and dirty romance. She is also an Amazon Top 100 bestselling author. Being a multi-published author in the romance genre, Alta is known for her dark, gritty alpha heroes, sometimes sweet love stories, hot eroticism, and engaging tales of the constant struggle between dominance and submission.
Check out Alta Hensley:
Website: www.altahensley.com
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Twitter: @AltaHensley
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About Maggie Ryan
USA TODAY and #1 International Best Selling and Multi-award Winning Author.
Maggie Ryan is a USA TODAY bestselling author in Victorian/ Historical, Contemporary, Western, and Paranormal Romance. As a multi-published and Amazon Top 100 bestselling author, she brings you stories that are always sweet, extra spicy, and a little taboo. She writes about strong, stern alpha males and sassy, capable women who discover that life without a bit of fire isn’t worth living. Maggie hopes you will curl up in your favorite chair and take the journey with her. Happy Reading!
Check out Maggie Ryan:
Website: www.authormaggieryan.com
Facebook: facebook.com/authormaggieryan
Twitter: @authorMRyan
Instagram: maggie.ryan.writes