Page 113 of Last Wish Wedding

Then the night exploded with light and sound—headlights sweeping the cliff edge, car doors slamming, voices calling out.

“Kelsey!” A voice she knew better than her own heart. A voice that couldn’t possibly be there.

“Mac?” she gasped, unable to turn, unable to look away from Jennifer’s terrified face.

And then he was beside her, his strong hands closing over hers, helping her hold Jennifer’s weight. “I’ve got her. I’ve got you both.”

More hands appeared—uniformed officers, firefighters. They secured Jennifer and pulled her to safety. Only when Jennifer was fully on solid ground did Kelsey allow herself to collapse, trembling with exhaustion and delayed shock.

Strong arms caught her. Mac’s arms. Impossible, miraculous arms that somehow held her when they should have been an ocean away.

“You’re here,” she whispered, and reached up to touch his face, needing to confirm he was real. “She said you were… that there had been an accident.”

“I’m here.” He held her tightly as emergency personnel swarmed around them with medical kits. “I came back. I should never have left.”

On the periphery of her awareness, Kelsey registered Jennifer being handcuffed, heard her still babbling about bloodlines and legacies as officers led her to a patrol car. But all that mattered was the solid reality of Mac beside her, his heartbeat strong against her ear.

“Noah,” she remembered suddenly, pulling back to look into Mac’s face. “Is he…”

“He’s fine,” Mac assured her. “He’s with Amy. They called 911. Smart kid.”

Relief flooded through her, followed immediately by the adrenaline crash. Kelsey sagged against Mac.

“You need medical attention,” Mac said, his voice tight with concern as he tenderly assessed her blood-matted arm.

“In a minute,” she murmured. She was unwilling to let go of him yet. “How are you here? Your boat—”

“I was at the island airport when Davey, he’s driving one of the taxis now and also volunteers with the fire department, got the call about an emergency at Widow’s Point. When he heard your name…” His voice broke. “Kelsey, when I thought you might be—”

She silenced him with a finger to his lips. “I’m not. I’m here. We’re both here.”

As paramedics approached with a stretcher, Mac reluctantly loosened his hold on her. “I’m not leaving your side,” he promised. “Not now, not ever again. If you’ll have me.”

Despite everything, Kelsey felt something like hope unfurling in her chest. “That sounds suspiciously like a real marriage proposal, MacCormack.”

His smile, though strained with worry, was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen. “Maybe it is. We can negotiate terms later.”

Epilogue

The late September air carried a hint of wood smoke and the sweet decay of fallen leaves. Kelsey drew her cardigan closer around her shoulders as she settled deeper into the Adirondack chair, cradling a glass of pinot noir. The expansive lawn of the mansion stretched before her, its emerald green beginning to accumulate the first golden offerings of fallen oak leaves.

Mac sat beside her, his chair pulled close enough that their elbows occasionally brushed, each casual contact sending a pleasant warmth through her that had nothing to do with the wine. Across from them, Amy was gesticulating enthusiastically, a half-drawn sketch of the mansion’s east wing renovations balanced on her knee.

“So, if we take down this non-load-bearing wall,” Amy traced a line on her drawing, “we create one large, open studio space with southern exposure. Perfect for painting workshops, or yoga gatherings,”

Mac leaned forward, studying the plans with genuine interest. “Have you had the historical society weigh in yet? That section might be part of the original structure.”

“That’s where Kelsey’s new best friend comes in,” Amy said with a wink. “Mrs. Callahan from the historical society seems much more amenable to ‘thoughtful updates’ now that Kelsey’s joined the preservation committee.”

Kelsey smiled into her wine glass. “I wouldn’t call us best friends. She just appreciates someone who does their homework before proposing changes.”

“She appreciates the sizeable donation we made to the island’s historical society,” Mac corrected, his eyes crinkling with amusement.

“That too,” Kelsey admitted.

Out on the lawn, Noah’s delighted laughter rose above the rustle of leaves as he threw a tennis ball for the two dogs: Ollie, Amy’s terrier, and Pilot, the golden retriever puppy Mac had brought home three weeks ago. Pilot bounded after the ball with more enthusiasm than coordination, tumbling in a heap of gangly limbs and golden fur.

“Careful with him, Noah!” Mac called. “He’s still learning his legs.”