~Epilogue Two~

~Thirty Years Later~

~Dakota’s Point of View~

“Now what have I told you about hitting your sister,” I snap, as I scold my grandpup Braxton.

He looks at me with the sad eyes that an innocent seven year old can have, but I’m not buying it. He’s the worst manipulator!

“You know better! I just knew when I saw you had my birthmark you were going to be trouble and always have been,” I say, wagging my finger. Dex seems to appear out of nowhere, scoop him up and blow on his belly. I frown, irritated that I always have to be the bad guy.

I sigh, turn on my heel then barrel through the packhouse, tired and aching. Age is really catching up with me, and yet I don’t feel all that old. When Dex and I moved into the packhouse about ten years ago, I was more than ready to be in the thick of things. I welcomed the way the entire place just felt alive with activity day or night. I told myself I was done with the day to day of babies; my kids were grown and could care for themselves.

But they never … E