Wicked Whiskey Love

By: Melissa Foster


Bones followed her to the door.

Bullet joined him and said, “He’s not dead. But this was all you, dude. He was shaking in his boots the second he saw me.”

“Good to know. Thanks, man. I owe you one.”

“No, man. I owed you big-time. We’re even.”

Sarah opened the door, and her face blanched at the sight of Josie, looking waiflike on the expansive front porch, wearing a thick green coat with the hood pulled up over her head.

“Josie—”

Bones slipped an arm around Sarah’s waist just in time to feel her legs give out. He guided her onto the front porch.

“Dude, stop staring,” Bullet snapped at Jed, whose eyes were locked on Josie, and shooed Jed and the others away as he closed the door.

Josie held up a copy of From Homeless to Happy, her eyes shifting nervously between Bones and Sarah. “He gave this to me with this address and said to come by anytime. I didn’t know you were having a party.”

“We’re not,” Sarah said. “Stay, please. Scott is right inside and I know he’s dying to talk to you.”

Josie looked over her shoulder at a car idling in the driveway. “I can’t. My friend’s waiting with Hail in the car.”

“Invite them in,” Sarah suggested. “I’d love to meet them.”

The hope in Sarah’s voice had Bones praying Josie would accept.

“No,” Josie said quickly. “I just wanted to talk for a minute. I’m not ready to…” Her brows knitted. “I just wanted to say that I read your story. I didn’t know…I’m sorry.” She hurried down the porch steps, stopping abruptly on the walkway. Her shoulders rounded forward, and she shoved her hands deep in her coat pockets as she faced them again and said, “Merry Christmas. Maybe we can talk after the holidays.”

“I’d like that,” Sarah said.

Tears streamed down Sarah’s cheeks as Josie climbed into the car, and Bones gathered her in his arms as her sister drove away.

“She was here,” Sarah said with awe. “You brought Josie to me.”

“No, darlin’. You did, by being brave enough to share your story. All I did was deliver your message.”

“I’m so happy right now I want to cry,” she whispered. “I’m scared to hope and terrified not to.”

“Hope, baby. Hope is good. This is a start. She did the hardest part; she came to you, and she apologized. The rest will come.”

“She read my story. She knows I didn’t have a perfect life.” Sarah looked up at the sky as snow began to fall and said, “Maybe Thomas sprinkled a little extra miracle dust on us tonight.”

“Darlin’,” he said as her eyes found his again, “he must have been sprinkling miracle dust on me since the day he passed away, because my whole life has been leading up to you. Let’s go get our babies, bundle them up, and let them catch snowflakes on their tongues.”

“Catch miracles,” she said. “Because we can never have enough of them.”

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