Page 198 of Knotting the Cowboys

"Pack," River murmurs, and the word resonates through all of us.

"Family," Austin adds, pressing a kiss to my temple.

"Forever," Mavi confirms, hand warm on my ankle.

"Home," Cole completes, still locked inside me, surrounded by our chosen pack.

The heat finally, truly breaks, leaving me exhausted but profoundly complete.

I'm covered in sweat and marks, thoroughly claimed and knotted, carrying twins from this pack that chose me as much as I chose them. Six months ago, I arrived here broken and running. Now I'm whole, rooted, surrounded by men who see strength in survival and beauty in the broken places.

"Sleep," Cole murmurs as his knot finally begins to soften. "We'll clean up later. For now, just rest."

And surrounded by my pack—my family, my home, my everything—I do exactly that.

The last thought before sleep claims me is of Celeste, and how she knew. Somehow, she knew these men could offer what I needed most: not just safety, but belonging. Not just protection, but partnership.

Not just survival, but a life worth living.

Epilogue: The Perfect Legacy Of Hope

~WILLA~

The kitchen smells like contentment—coffee brewing strong enough to wake the dead, bacon crackling in Cole's cast iron skillet, and the faint sweetness of the cinnamon rolls Austin insisted on making from scratch.

I lean against the counter, hands wrapped around my favorite mug, watching my pack move through their morning dance with the easy rhythm of a life we've finally learned to trust.

Three months since the fire, two months since Blake's sentencing, six weeks since the last nightmare that had me checking Luna's crib at 3 AM. Time measured now in small victories and quiet mornings instead of survival and fear.

"More?" River appears at my elbow with the coffee pot, already reaching to top off my cup before I can answer. He knows my rhythms now—the way I need that second cup before I'm fully human, how I take it with just a splash of cream when I'm happy, black when I'm stressed.

Today definitely calls for cream.

My stomach flutters with more than just the secret I'm carrying. The pregnancy test hidden in our bathroom trash confirmed what my body's been whispering for weeks—the tenderness, the heightened senses, the way certain smells suddenly make me queasy. But standing here in our sunlit kitchen, surrounded by the men who've become my everything, the words stick in my throat like honey.

Luna bangs her spoon against her high chair tray, sending pureed peaches flying. "Mama! More!" Her vocabulary has exploded lately, though her table manners remain decidedly baby-like. Maverick swoops in with a damp cloth, cleaning her face while she giggles and tries to eat the washcloth.

"Little monster," he says fondly, tweaking her nose. "What are we going to do with you?"

"Love her unconditionally while teaching appropriate boundaries," Austin supplies from where he's pulling his cinnamon rolls from the oven. The smell hits me like a wall—usually my favorite, but today my stomach does a slow roll that has me setting down my mug.

Cole notices immediately, because Cole notices everything. "You okay, sweetheart? You look a little pale."

And there's my opening, served up on a silver platter by the universe and Cole's perpetual protectiveness. I take a breath, let it out slowly, and square my shoulders. "I'm pregnant."

The kitchen freezes like I've hit pause on reality. Cole's spatula hovers mid-flip over the bacon. River's coffee pot tilts dangerously. Austin stands holding his tray of cinnamon rolls like he's forgotten what hands are for. Even Maverick stops mid-wipe of Luna's face.

Then Luna breaks the spell with delighted squealing, clapping her peach-covered hands together. "Babies! Babies!" She bounces in her chair, somehow understanding even at barely-talking age that this is celebration-worthy news.

"You're—" Cole starts, then stops, his eyes dropping to my still-flat stomach like he can see through cloth and skin to confirm.

"About six weeks along," I confirm, watching their faces cycle through shock, joy, and then—inevitably—turn toward Cole with suspicious synchronization.

"It can't be me," Cole protests immediately, defensive before anyone's even accused him. "We've been careful. We've all been careful."

"Your father had twins," Maverick points out with investigative precision. "And your uncle. And your cousin in Wyoming."

"That doesn't mean?—"

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