If You Ask Me To: A Highland Romance - Book 3

Epilogue

Epilogue

Inveraray, Scotland

I put little Jamie down for his afternoon nap and go down to join Ian in the back yard. He wraps his arms around me from behind and caresses my round stomach, resting his head against mine as we indulge in our daily ritual of gazing out over Loch Fyne.

In the three years we have been back in Inveraray, the little town has indeed become home to me. I love being close to my sisters again, and we now have well-established quarterly family get together time. We actually only live a few minutes away from each other, which makes it nice.

Instead of getting his job back as a policeman, Ian built a small shop on the side of the house where he continues to sell his paintings. He does well, especially during tourist season. He also ships paintings to Utah for our friend to continue selling in her shop. Some of her customers even pay in advance for his work. Ian has also done quite a few outdoor paintings of Jamie and me, telling me we are now his favorite subjects.

All in all, my world is pretty amazing, and I find myself daily giving thanks to God for the wonder of my life. Yes, there have been major life-altering trials that I would never wish on anyone, but I am grateful for them. I think God knew I needed some shaking up. I had needed a change, and my life is definitely not the one I imagined for myself – it is better than I could have hoped for.

Mama is never far from my thoughts, and though I still miss her, I imagine she is always near, and she is happy for all her daughters.

"'Twill be summer soon," Ian says, rubbing my arms as a cool breeze flows around us, his large hands smoothing the goosebumps from my skin.

"I love highland summers," I say, pressing back against him.

"As do I." He kisses my cheek. "I look forward to taking Jamie fishing this year. I went every summer with me da when I was his age."

Turning in his arms, I wrap my arms around his neck. "I'm so glad I could give you a son. And now, with another child coming, I feel . . . I feel like I am . . ."

"You feel what, love?" When I hesitate to answer, as usual, he guesses what I don't say. "Ah, Yvonne, yer value as a woman . . . 'tis beyond price. I am happy ta be a da, aye, but to be your husband brings me happiness beyond measure." Taking my face in his hand, he murmurs, "I love ye, my own," then presses his mouth to mine.

And here, in this moment, everything is perfect.

As it should be.