Tate (Mountain Men 3)

Only last month, I felt alone. Helpless. I watched my Clan under Leith’s leadership and mourned the loss of my brother. Knew we had to find the writer and end the exposure of my family, but unsure of where to begin.

And now… now I have a wife. And not any wife, but Fran, the most beautiful, witty, intelligent woman I know.

“Now, then, Mr. Cowen, you’ve got that devilish broody look about you again,” she says, coming into the bedroom with a tray bearing a kettle and a steaming plate of eggs and sausage. “And that means trouble when you get all broody.”

“I’m not brooding.”

She slides the tray on the bedside table, then climbs in beside me. It’s then that I realize she’s only wearing one of my oversized tees, and it barely covers her full, gorgeous arse. I give her arse an appreciative squeeze, which makes her hiss in a breath.

“Jaysus, but you underestimate your strength, sir,” she says, then she squeals when I flip her over and pin her beneath me.

“Do I?” I easily capture her wrists between my fingers and hold her in place, my eyes blazing into hers. “I think I know exactly what I’m doing.”

She flushes. “Now that I won’t argue with.”

Soon, the tea grows cold, forgotten, as I divest her of what little clothing she wears, kiss her until she’s teeming with need and slick against my throbbing cock, then glide into her with a groan. Perfect. Fucking perfect.

I make love to her as the sun rises, her body supple and pliant beneath mine, until we both groan in pleasure then collapse, our skin damp, our breathing mingled.

She curls up onto my chest. “Seems like you can’t get your fill,” she says, placing her hand palm-down on my chest. “Which is fine with me.”

“How could I? You’re everything to me. I thought I lost you, not once, but many times over. I won’t ever take this for granted.”

“What?”

“Everything.”

The girls and Mum insist on a renewal of our vows.

“I thought people didn’t do that until like decades later?” Fran asks, but Nan corrects her.

“Not when you’re Cowen stock,” she says with a grin. “We take vows seriously, lassie.” She winks. “You ought to know that.”

“Oh, I do,” Fran says. “Thought we’d just have a party or something though, since we’ve already taken vows.”

“You took vows under duress,” Nan says. “And believe you me, we’ll have a party.”

And do we ever. It isn’t just our wedding we celebrate, though, but so much more.

The end to the danger that threatened us.

The reunion of a family.

A brother come back to life.

The promise of starting anew.

“Now, lassie,” I tell Fran, as I kiss her pretty cheek. I watch as the Clan celebrates around us. Trays of food are passed around, and glasses clink, as we give ourselves over to a full night of celebration.

“Yes?”

I brush my lips against hers. “It’s time for you to write the next story.”

“But I’m not writing anymore, Tate. You know that. No more Scottish, anyway.”

I kiss her again. “No, lassie. It’s time for you to write ours.”

Epilogue

I fall into Clan life easier than I expected I would. And I have to admit, it’s everything I dreamed it would be. Everything.

Nan and I cause mischief, which earns her quite a few eye rolls and me a few trips over Tate’s lap, so in other words… win-win. I love the way his eyes give me that twinkling stare, the way he shakes his head from side to side, then pats his knee for me to take my comeuppance.

He knows exactly how to play me, and it always ends up with us tousled in the sheets, a mess of tangled limbs, panting, soaking up every moment as we delight in each other.

And being in such close proximity to my mates is bloody brilliant. Islan and Paisley spend a few nights having a sleepover at our place. Tate’s a patient sort. We paint each other’s nails, eat way too much chocolate, and watch chick flicks until the wee hours of the morning. There still isn’t a bloody television in this place, but we make do with our laptops.

It’s a fair trade-off, I think. For I can see the appeal of coming home to a tech-free living room, nothing but the warmth of a fireplace and a frequent visit from Bailey at the door, wagging his tail and licking our hands in greeting.

I love this home. It’s the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen, and to get to spend my time here is nothing short of perfection.

The living room, with its double-sided wood-burning stove, sprawls out to the kitchen. I work from home, working on my writing. Tate doesn’t want me to stop, and I don’t either.

Slowly, over time, people forget about the Clan Chronicles. And I’m okay with that. As Tate says, we’re writing our own story now, and this one is better than any fiction ever could be. I needed a change from the genre, anyway.