Pumpkin patch pack, p.18
Pumpkin Patch Pack, page 18
32
Epilogue
“Maple! Don’t you dare eat that tablecloth!” I call out, balancing a tray of freshly-baked apple cider donuts while I navigate the farmhouse porch; the delicate china wobbles precariously as I sidestep a pumpkin display that Theo insisted would look “charming” but creates an obstacle course.
The sweet, spicy scent of donuts wafts up, making my stomach growl. It’s been almost a year since that fateful Halloween night, and life at Harvest Home has transformed in ways I never could have imagined.
Maple looks up from her attempted sabotage, completely unrepentant. Her eyes meet mine with that familiar rectangular-pupil’d defiance that says, “I do what I want, human.” Her swollen belly makes her waddle rather than prance these days, the white fur stretched tight over her rounded form.
According to the vet, she’s due any day now. The father is a handsome black goat from the neighboring farm—a romance that blossomed during what Theo dramatically calls “The Great Spring Goat Escape.”
“You know she’s not going to listen,” Liam says, appearing in the doorway. He smiles as his eyes meet mine, a sight that once was rare but now graces his face regularly. His delicious wraps around me, making my inner omega hum with contentment. He takes the tray from my hands, his fingers brushing mine in a touch that still sends electricity racing up my arms. “The babies are making her even more stubborn than usual.”
I give him a peck on the cheek, inhaling his scent deeply. “As if she needed any help in the stubborn department.”
Liam chuckles, the sound rumbling from his chest. “True enough.”
I follow him inside, where the farmhouse is alive with activity and warmth. The kitchen windows are fogged from Theo’s baking, and the whole place smells like cinnamon, sugar, bourbon, apples, and home.
“The social media campaign for the harvest festival is ready to launch,” I tell Liam, brushing past him to check Theo’s progress. “Our follower count doubled after Maple’s pregnancy announcement.”
“Of course it did,” Theo laughs from the kitchen. He’s up to his elbows in flour—a streak of it across his forehead where he must have pushed his hair back. “People are obsessed with that little troublemaker.” His cinnamon scent mingles with baking, creating an aroma that makes my mouth water. Despite his flour-covered hands, he leans over and steals a kiss when I walk past, his lips warm against mine. “They have no idea what they’re in for when those little demons arrive.”
I dip my finger into the bowl of apple filling, earning a playful swat from Theo. “Hey! Baker’s privilege only!”
“Mate’s privilege trumps baker’s,” I counter, licking the filling from my finger with exaggerated pleasure.
Rowan enters from his office, tablet in hand, his burnt sugar scent announcing him before I turn around. “Ticket pre-sales are up seventy percent from last year,” he announces, his face lighting up with pride. “The expansion is paying for itself already.”
The expansion was my idea: turning one of the old barns into a year-round event space for workshops, classes, and community gatherings. In spring, we host gardening workshops; summer brings craft fairs and farmers’ markets; and winter will see holiday markets and cozy gatherings. Theo’s idea of goat yoga already has a waiting list, with Maple slated to be the star attraction once she’s back in shape after delivering her babies.
Harvest Home Farm is becoming known as more than just an autumn destination; it’s a community hub, a place where people come to connect with the land and each other year-round.
Rowan sets his tablet on the counter and wraps his arms around me from behind, nuzzling into my neck where his claim mark sits. The gentle press of his lips against the sensitive skin sends a pulse of want low in my belly. “How are you feeling today?” he murmurs, his hand splaying protectively over my still-flat stomach.
“No morning sickness yet,” I reply, covering his hand with mine, feeling the warmth of his palm through my thin sweater. “But according to Dr. Mitchell, that might change any day now.”
The pregnancy was unexpected but not unwelcome. We’d planned to wait another year, but my unexpected heat three months ago had other ideas. I don’t know which of my mates is the biological father, but it doesn’t matter. This baby will have three devoted fathers and one fiercely loving mother.
“I’m voting for twins,” Theo says, rolling out pie dough. “Or triplets. Balance things out around here.”
“Don’t even joke about that,” I groan. The thought of a large family, of children running through the pumpkin patch, fills me with a joy I never thought possible.
Maple’s insistent bleating suddenly cuts through our domestic scene. I turn to see her in the doorway, her eyes wide, making sounds I’ve never heard from her before.
“Liam?” I call, concern rising as Maple sits awkwardly on the kitchen floor. “Something’s up with Maple.”
Liam is at her side instantly, his large hands gentle as he examines her. His expression shifts from concern to excitement. “It’s happening! She’s in labor!”
The next few hours pass in a blur of activity. Liam takes charge, and his experience with farm animals proves invaluable as he creates a comfortable birthing area in the living room. Rowan calls the vet for advice while Theo runs back and forth with clean towels and warm water. I stay by Maple’s side, stroking her head and murmuring encouragement as she works to bring her babies into the world.
“You’ve got this, troublemaker,” I whisper, wiping her face with a damp cloth. “Just like you’ve handled everything else—with attitude and determination.”
One by one, they arrive: first, a tiny white baby with Maple’s cute expression. The second follows quickly, another white one, but with a small gray patch on its ear. And then, to everyone’s surprise, a third, completely black from head to tail, with bright eyes that seem to take in everything at once.
“Three,” I breathe, watching in wonder as Maple begins cleaning her babies. “She had three.”
“Just like us,” Theo says, squeezing my shoulder. “Three mates for one very special omega.”
“They’re healthy,” Liam confirms after checking each kid carefully. “Strong heartbeats, good lungs.” The black one lets out a surprisingly loud bleat to prove his point.
“Maple 2.0,” Rowan laughs. “Just what we need; another troublemaker.”
We move to the porch swing, leaving Maple to bond with her babies peacefully. My head rests on Rowan’s shoulder, my feet in Theo’s lap, while Liam sits close enough that I can feel his warmth against my side.
“A year ago, I was running,” I say softly. “Afraid of everything. Afraid to trust, to hope, to love.”
“And now?” Theo prompts his fingers, gently massaging my ankle, working out the tension from a day spent on my feet.
I smile, looking out at the farm, our farm.
“Now I’m home,” I say simply. “With my pack. My family.”
Liam’s thumb traces the bond mark where all three left their claim. The touch sends a pulse of connection through our bond. “Forever,” he says, the word a promise.
Rowan kisses my temple, his scent mingling with mine until it’s impossible to tell where he ends and I begin. “Forever,” he echoes, his voice a rumble I feel more than hear.
Theo’s smile is bright enough to rival the setting sun, his eyes crinkling at the corners in the way that never fails to make my heart skip. “Forever and ever,” he adds with a wink that makes me laugh.
I am no longer running from something.
I am running toward everything that matters, with three men who love me unconditionally, a farm that sustains us, and a future brighter than I ever imagined possible.
As the air grows crisp with the promise of autumn, I look forward to the season ahead: to pumpkins and hayrides, hot cider and bonfires, and sharing our home with visitors seeking the joy we’ve found here.
But mostly, I look forward to countless nights like this one, wrapped in the arms of my mates, our bond humming with contentment, our future stretching before us like an endless harvest of happiness.
Alpha-Away:
The 40-something omega who beat the odds and built an empire.
Was love the cost?
Thank You For Reading!
This book was written fueled by too much coffee, not enough sleep, and an unhealthy obsession with fall aesthetics.
If you enjoyed this book, thank Maple. If you found typos, also blame Maple.
She was very distracting during edits.
Thank you for reading and for supporting indie authors.
About The Author
J. Ever writes paranormal stories with big hearts, big laughs, and even bigger... well, you know ;-)
She's been writing for years but never had the courage to publish, and she's truly grateful to everyone who takes a chance on one of her books.
When she's not creating stories, she's reading (obvs), drooling over book boyfriends, laughing at her own jokes (which happens a little too frequently), and very often (especially since this book was published), doing uncoordinated dance moves while cradling her fluffy cat because she's so happy to be writing full-time.
Thank you for being here, taking a chance, and helping her dream of being an author come true.
www.jeverauthor.com
J. Ever, Pumpkin Patch Pack
