Page 46 of Taken By the Bounty Hunter

I laugh at this lovable fool that I married. The tender protector that I married. The hero that I married.

I look down at the house key in my hand and smile. “Let’s go take a look at our new life.”

Epilogue

TEN YEARS LATER

Jefferson

I trace my fingers over the marks on the door jamb.

“Georgeanne,47 inches.”

Below that:

“Nellie, 39 inches.”

There are so many more milestones that the marks don’t show, but I keep them all in my head to ground me.

It’s been 3,681 days since I met Georgie.

Three thousand six hundred and hundred and fifty days since we were married.

Our daughters are now ages 9 and 5, and it’s time to measure them again.

The house is quiet, which can only mean one thing.

I find my girls in the greenhouse with their mom.

Standing on her stool, Nellie wears safety glasses and rubber gloves while she watches Georgie pour a spicy-scented soap mixture into molds. Nellie has to be involved in everything Georgie does. We don’t let her handle the ingredients, of course, but wearing the proper safety equipment makes her feel important, and that’s what matters.

Georgeanne, meanwhile, sits cross-legged on the old magic sofa while reading a book. My wife has made extensive accommodations for our daughters’ comforts, as she spends so much time in the greenhouse and our little garden.

My wife loves having them near, but I try to lure the girls away occasionally, so Georgie can concentrate on her work.

“Hey, girls. Guess what time it is?”

The easily distracted Nellie turns toward me and hops off her stool. I laugh as she jumps up and down. “Is it time for the anniversary cake!”

“Almost. Aunt Olivia is bringing the cake in an hour, so you’ll have to wait just a little bit longer.”

She goes limp with disappointment. Georgie, finished with the soap for now, pulls off her gloves and safety glasses and laughs at our dramatic five-year-old.

Georgeanne rolls her eyes.

“I was going to say, it’s Sharpie time.”

Nellie perks up once again. “Sharpie time!”

Georgeanne sets down her book. “I guess I won’t be finishing my book before everyone arrives.”

“Come on, G,” I say. “I’ll let you ride on my back.”

“Sure, old man,” she jokes, lumbering past me as if I’ve asked her to pull weeds in the hot sun.

Nellie grabs Georgeanne’s hand and drags her out of the greenhouse. We follow them outside across the freshly mown backyard, already set up with balloons, tables, and chairs for the tenth-anniversary party.

“Our oldest is quickly turning into a pre-teen, and I don’t know if I’m ready for it,” Georgie says when the girls are out of earshot.

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