Bootleg Springs Series Bonus Epilogue

by Claire Kingsley

  Bootleg Springs Series Bonus Epilogue

  Lucy Score

  Claire Kingsley

  Copyright © 2019 by Lucy Score and Claire Kingsley

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, places, or incidents are products of the author’s imagination and used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual people, places, or events is purely coincidental or fictionalized.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  A Bodine Christmas

  Where are they now?

  The Making of Bootleg Springs

  Behind the Scenes of Bootleg Springs

  About the Authors

  A Bodine Christmas

  A decade and change later…

  The SUV’s all-wheel drive ate up the snowy lane. Scarlett and Devlin’s lake house sprawled out in front of them in festive perfection. It was lit up for Christmas with a wreath and candle in every window—Devlin’s classy handiwork. The blinking colored lights plastering every square foot of roofline were clearly Scarlett’s.

  Gibson smirked at the dozen snowmen lining the drive, the work of his twin nieces, carbon copies of his little sister.

  God help Devlin survive the teen years.

  He peeked in the rearview mirror and felt the familiar warmth bloom in his chest.

  God help them all, he thought fondly.

  His wife squeezed his hand, and Gibson lifted Callie’s knuckles to his lips.

  They shared the sly smile of parents who’d already given each other their Christmas presents… naked.

  “We’re here,” Callie sang cheerfully. “Who’s ready for more Christmas?”

  “Meeeeeee!” The chorus rose up from three oldest.

  Gibson Bodine and Callie Kendall had beat the odds. Not only had they found their strength in each other, they’d started a family together. The family they’d both deserved when they were younger.

  He cleared his throat to dislodge the bright rush of emotion that seemed hell-bent on choking him. Callie gave his hand a final squeeze and bounced out of the car. His wife. His family. He’d gone from a loner who believed he was no better than the man who made him to a husband, a father, a Little League coach.

  A freaking hugger.

  Cash the faithful dog, gray in the face now, shoved his nose between the front seats and gave Gibson a slobbery Christmas kiss.

  He thumped the dog on the chest. “Thanks, buddy.”

  Together, they climbed out of the car, and the dog immediately snowplowed his face through the snow on the heels of the kids and their second dog, Potato—that’s what parents got when they let their four-year-old name the dog. The Bodine clan made the mad dash for the front porch where a menagerie of cousins waited for them in pajamas.

  Scarlett’s Rule: Bodine Christmas happened in pajamas.

  Dogs and Katherine the pig zig-zagged through the eight inches of snow that had fallen, adding a little Bodine chaos to the pristine winter morning.

  Gibson opened the back door and grinned. Jonah Bodine III, Joe for short, burbled happily up at his daddy from his car seat.

  “You ready for more family, little man?”

  His toothless, cheerful son slobbered out a happy reply as Gibson unhooked him and picked him up.

  “Want some help wrapping him up?” Callie offered. She’d changed her hair again. This time going for a soft silvery blonde that hung to her shoulders. Gibson knew from first-hand experience how spectacular it looked fanned out on the rug in front of the fireplace.

  “Just shove his feet through,” he said, putting on the baby carrier. “I’ll wear him until the kids and dogs calm down a bit.”

  “Good thinking,” she said, tucking their son’s chubby little legs through the carrier. Callie picked up the diaper bag and tote of presents. Together, with their treasures, they trooped through the snow in boots and plaid pajama pants toward the house. The kids had already raced inside and were oohing and ahhing over the tree, the presents, and the hot chocolate.

  “Merry Christmas,” Devlin greeted them on the front porch holding two travel mugs of coffee. Always just a shade too fancy for Bootleg Springs, he’d topped his fleece Santa pants with a navy sweater. It was part of Judge McCallister’s charm, Gibson supposed.

  “Merry Christmas, Dev,” Callie said, giving her brother-in-law a smacking kiss on the cheek. “Did you see which way the rest of my small army went?”

  Their host tilted his head in the direction of the tree. “I believe they are engaging their cousins in an epic game of ‘guess what’s in this box.’ Spoiler alert: No matter what anyone says, it’s not a pony.”

  Grinning, Callie went inside to ensure order was reasonably observed. With an eight-year-old, a seven-year-old, a five-year-old, and now Joe, order had become a relative term in their home.

  “Have a sec?” Devlin asked Gibson.

  “All the time in the world.”

  “Scarlett’s having feelings today.”

  “Oh boy.”

  “She’s down on the dock ‘taking a minute.’ It’s Bodine-related, so I thought you’d be a better ear than me.”

  “I’ll take care of it,” Gibson said.

  “These are for you and her,” Devlin said, handing over the mugs. “And this is for her.” He slipped a candy bar in the pocket of Gibson’s flannel coat, then gave Joe’s nose a boop and tickled under his chin. “Want me to take Joe?”

  “Nah, he’ll soften her up,” Gibson predicted. “We’ll be in soon.”

  He stepped off the porch and followed the path that carved its way through the snow-covered yard in the direction of the lake. Steam rose from the dark waters. Evergreens drooped under the weight of the white. The sky was a flawless, cloudless powder blue. The warm, loving chaos of family behind him and the pristine quiet of nature ahead of him.

  The perfect West Virginia Christmas.

  He found his sister perched on the edge of the dock. Her legs, clad in elf-print pants, swung back and forth above the water.

  “Don’t you come a step closer,” she said without turning around.

  He could hear the tears in her voice.

  Ah, hell. He hated tears.

  Ignoring her warning, he strolled up to her and handed the coffee over her shoulder.

  “Thanks, Gibs,” she sniffled.

  “How’d you know it was me?”

  “Your footsteps sounded grumpy.”

  “Who’s grumpy on Christmas?” he asked, carefully settling down next to her. Joe cooed and reached toward the endless stretch of lake in front of them. Scarlett swiped her sleeve under her nose. “I’m not sad. Just so you know.”

  “Mad?”

  She shook her head, and he noticed the pointer finger of her left hand was tracing the words carved into the wood.

  The Bodines had built this dock together the summer the house was complete. They launched decks and boats and kayaks, enjoyed picnics, sang songs, threw each other in the lake—all from this stretch of wood.

  In homage to their past and present, they’d carved the names of every single family member, pets included, into the wood.

  Jonah and Connie Bodine. They got top billing on the very last board. Scarlett’s gloved finger traced the letters over and over again.

  “Overwhelmed?” Gibson guessed.

  Scarlett shot him a suspicious glance. “It would seem that having a wife and two daughters has tuned y
ou into the female perspective.”

  “It would seem,” he agreed, tickling Joe’s socked feet. “Thinking about Mom and Dad?”

  She nodded, sipped the coffee, and stared out of the water.

  “We’re so fuckin’ lucky, Gibs. You, me, Callie, Bowie and Cass, Jonah and Shelby, Jameson and Leah Mae, Juney and George. Sometimes it just swells up inside me until I could just burst. Then I think how none of this would be possible if it weren’t for them. How it wouldn’t be this good if they were still here.” Her voice broke a little on her confession.

  Gibson wisely remained silent. He stroked a hand over her back. His sister’s biggest problem had always been how big she loved. It was his favorite thing about her.

  “They did the best they could,” he murmured. Becoming a father had given him a new and terrifying perspective on how damn hard raising human beings was. Even though he had a loving partner and had managed to make peace with his demons, being on, being good, staying focused on what was best for them all was fucking monumentally exhausting.

  “I know they did,” Scarlett said, wiping her nose with her other sleeve. “Just like I know we’re gonna do a hell of a lot better by our kids and our partners. I wish I could just say ‘thank you’ for giving us this life.”

  “You can. I don’t know if they’ll hear you, but there’s nothing wrong with carrying a little gratitude around in your heart.”

  She snorted. “All right now. Who are you, and what the hell did you do with my brother?”

  He bumped her shoulder with his. “Let’s chalk it up to a Christmas miracle. I promise to go back to callin’ everyone names and kickin’ puppies tomorrow.”

  “Maybe you’re feelin’ a little grateful yourself,” Scarlett mused.

  “Maybe I am. You’re the best sister I could have ever asked for, Scar,” he said, surprising them both.

  “Damnit, Gibs! Don’t you go and say stupid things like that when I’m trying to compose myself,” she wailed.

  Joe rewarded his emotional aunt a baby belly-laugh.

  Gibson’s throat tickled a little again, and he cleared it gruffly.

  “You know that you’re the reason I am who I am, don’t you?” she said. “Mom and Dad may have put us here, but you made me who I am. You raised me right, Gibs, and you’re doing an amazing job with those four little ones.”

  Now there was something blurring up his eyes. Must be a fog rolling in, he decided and wiped at the corner of his leaky eye.

  “There’s something else,” she announced in a rush.

  “Oh, hell, Scarlett. You didn’t up and murder someone did you? Shit. Misty Lynn didn’t give up her job singing at that diner in Kentucky and come home, did she? Where’s the body? Do we really want to put the next generation of Bodines through that?”

  Scarlett punched him in the shoulder just like he’d hoped.

  “I didn’t kill anyone, though if that Misty Lynn thinks she can show up here today with Jenny and Jimmy Bob for lunch, she’s got another thing comin’. I ain’t afraid to defend my home from a garbage bag human being like her.”

  “So what is it then?”

  “It’s about the next generation. I’m pregnant.”

  “No shit?”

  “All natural and accidental this time. Just like Mom and Dad. Haven’t even worked up the nerve to tell Dev yet.”

  Scarlett and Devlin’s twins had taken a lot of trying and some science. They’d made an adventure out of it, and in the end, they’d gotten their happily ever after with two tomboys who kept them on their toes.

  Gibson hoped for a boy. A calm one.

  “Scar, he’s gonna be over the moon.”

  “Oh, I know. But I don’t wanna just blurt it out like I do everything else. I wanna make it special.”

  “You’ll figure it out.”

  “If you tell him I told you first, I’ll call you a dirty liar and insist on cooking y’all dinner.”

  Gibson laughed softly. “I love you, Scar.”

  “Love you too, Bodine.” Her hand rested on her belly, a soft smile curving the corners of her lips.

  “Merry Christmas, Bodines!”

  Gibson raised a hand to the occupants of the canoe that paddled by. Santa was at the helm. Mrs. Claus held up a set of jingle bells.

  Scarlett blew them a kiss. “Merry Christmas, y’all!”

  They watched until Santa disappeared. Only in Bootleg Springs.

  “Ready to go back in?”

  “Yeah. The ratio of grown-ups to kids in there is a little scary right now before all the grandparents roll in for lunch.” They climbed to their feet and Scarlett gave Joe a quick snuggle. “Bet the tree’s been pulled down by a kid or dog and one of the cousins accidentally punched another one in the face.”

  “That’s how Jackson lost his first tooth,” Gibson recalled fondly.

  “My dear, sweet Calla didn’t mean to knock his tooth out,” Scarlett argued. “She was merely puttin’ on a sweatshirt, and he stood too close.”

  He put his arm around her shoulders and gave her a squeeze. “It’s good life, isn’t it?”

  “The best.”

  “Here, something to make it even sweeter,” he said, handing over the candy bar.

  “That Devlin,” Scarlett said, ripping off the wrapper. “I swear that man knows me better than I know myself.”

  “He’s too good for us,” Gibson agreed.

  “Let’s hope he never figures out that fact,” Scarlett said, taking a bite of chocolate and nougat.

  “Better?”

  “Perfect. Now, gimmie your baby, Gibs. I need to practice.”

  Gibson deftly freed baby Joe from the carrier—by his fourth baby, he was nothing if not experienced—and handed him to Scarlett. Joe squealed, and Scarlett gave him a kiss on the forehead.

  Inside, in the warmth and chaos of the great room, they found Gibson’s older three at the large dining table custom-built to fit their growing family. The kids were happily dunking marshmallows into mugs of hot chocolate with their cousins. The dogs, bored with chasing Jedediah the cat, lurked nearby, ready to snatch up any dropped morsels.

  Bowie and Cassidy’s six-year-old daughter, a pretty little thing with the dark Bodine hair and the Tucker nose, sat next to Scarlett and Devlin’s pigtailed twins arguing about whether or not the table was level. Scarlett and Cassidy had been pregnant together completing their lifelong dreams of sisterhood.

  Jonah and Shelby’s two kids—they’d adopted a girl then, a few years later, a boy—were on the other side of the table stirring candy canes into their mugs of cocoa and eyeing the excitement of the younger cousins with amusement.

  Jameson and Leah Mae’s two girls—ages four and two—shared their daddy’s lap at the table. They both wore princess dresses over their pajama pants and had sparkly pink crowns on their heads. A very pregnant Leah Mae—due with their first boy just after the new year—lounged on the couch with her feet up.

  “Merry Christmas!” George called to Gibson. He and June stood near the fireplace. Their sports-obsessed daughter—a given thanks to her parents’ interests—was busy showing off her new hockey jersey to Uncle Jonah. Their son was tucked quietly in a corner of the couch under a blanket with a book and a headlamp.

  Gibson caught Devlin’s eye and gave him a reassuring nod. His brother-in-law raised his morning beer in thanks.

  “All right, y’all, who wants to open presents?” Scarlett demanded, raising her voice to be heard above the din.

  “Me!” every one of the kids seemed to shout at once.

  It sounded like a herd of elephants knocking over a roomful of furniture as all the kids scrambled out of their chairs and into the living room. Devlin and Bowie masterfully corralled the cousins and their volcanic excitement, placing them in a half-circle on the floor in front of the huge Christmas tree. Jonah joined them and the three donned red Santa hats to do the honors. Years ago, when the family had been smaller, they’d all taken turns playing Santa. Now that there were t
hirteen kids—and counting—Santa needed some extra helpers when it came time to open presents.

  The kids tore into their packages, flinging bows and wrapping paper everywhere. In no time flat, the living room looked like it had been hit by a Christmas tornado.

  Jameson sat on the floor with his girls, helping the youngest get the ribbon off her package while her older sister hung on his back. Jonah and Shelby’s son dutifully collected discarded paper and bags while his sister helped the littles unbox treasures. George darted in to break up an impromptu—and giggly—wrestling match that broke out between his daughter and one of Scarlett’s girls a second before the rolled into the twelve-foot white pine tree. It had been knocked over on two separate occasions.

  Gibson leaned against the kitchen island and sipped his coffee. The giggles and squeals from all the kids nearly drowned out the Christmas music playing in the background. The house smelled of that magic formula of pine, chocolate, fresh coffee, and cranberry orange muffins Millie Waggle-Newsome and her husband had dropped off earlier that morning.

  He felt a tug on his sleeve and looked down. His oldest, eight-year-old Jackson, held up a shoebox-sized package that he’d clearly wrapped himself in pink paper left over from his sister’s last birthday.

  “What’s this, buddy?” Gibson asked, taking the present.

  “It’s for you.”

  Gibson felt the weight of it and eyed his son with curiosity. He’d gotten used to kid gifts. Flowers picked on hikes. Rocks fished out of the lake. Scribbly pictures that held places of honor on the refrigerator or the big bulletin board they’d put up in the dining room of the new house they’d built on Bodine land. Then there were the presents obviously chosen by Callie for Father’s Day or his birthday. But he could tell this was different. Jackson looked up at him with big blue eyes full of hopeful expectation.

  So much like his mother.

  Carefully, Gibson popped the two pieces of scotch tape Jackson had used to secure the box. Inside, he found what looked like a big lump of hard clay surrounded by wadded up newspaper.