Page 78 of Her Remarkable Protector
Ethan leans back in his seat, calling over his shoulder, “Take it easy, Ramirez! We’re not styling them for an 80s rock album cover!”
The men chuckle, and Ramirez shakes his head with a resigned smirk, muttering something I can’t catch but that earns another laugh from the group.
So that’s Ramirez. Oakley’s talked about him more than once, always with admiration. A retired Marine, just like the others here. This isn’t just a farm—it’s a fortress disguised as pastoral bliss.
Halfway up the hill, Ethan slows his ATV to a stop and strides over to my car. He leans in, giving Laramie a little wave. For a moment, the baby’s cries falter, her wide eyes locking onto the stranger with cautious fascination.
“Look, Honor,” Ethan begins, his tone measured. “Would you rethink this?”
I sigh, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter. “I’ll talk to Oakley,” I reply. “If he wants to stay, it’s his decision.”
He studies me for a beat, then nods, satisfied for now. Without another word, he heads back to his ATV, and we resume the climb.
The house looms larger as we approach, all sturdy wood and wide windows. The front door opens before I can even park, and Oakley bounds out to greet us, his smile bright.
“Honor!” he calls, wrapping me in a hug the second I step out of the car. “So good to see you.”
“So good to see you too, kiddo,” I say, pulling back to take him in. His face is clear, his posture confident, and there’s a lightness about him I haven’t seen before.
He turns his attention to Laramie, still squirming in her car seat. “Hello, Laramie,” he coos, gently brushing a finger along her cheek. “Why are you crying, huh?”
“She’s been cranky all morning,” I admit, unbuckling her.
“Can I?” he asks, his hands already half-raised, eager but careful.
“Of course.” I lift her into his arms.
The change is immediate. Laramie’s cries taper off, her tiny fists relaxing as Oakley sways with an easy rhythm. “See?” He flashes me a teasing grin. “Told you I’ve got experience now.”
I laugh casually. “Looks like you do.”
I watch him with her. The boy standing before me isn’t the restless, unsure kid I used to know. He’s steady, responsible, even glowing with that fresh-faced energy that comes from finding your place in the world.
After a while, I take Laramie back into my arms, watching as Oakley leans back. I can’t help but notice he’s bulked up a little—just a hint.
He catches me looking and grins, flexing dramatically. “Ethan’s been training me. You should see the gym. It’s awesome.”
The gym—that tugs at a memory.
“Where’s Chase?” he asks, shifting the conversation.
“He’s not here,” I reply simply.
“Oh?”
I quickly redirect. “Where are the Connors?”
“In town,” he answers with a shrug, clearly picking up on my attempt to change the subject.
“Can we sit?” I ask, breaking the moment.
“Of course! Sorry—rude of me not to offer.”
“Don’t get all formal on me now,” I tease as we move to the living room.
We settle in, and for a moment, the room feels still. This is the hard part. “Oak,” I begin carefully, “you’ve heard about your parents?”
His expression doesn’t shift much, but his voice is quiet. “Yeah. They’re in jail. It’s over, right?”
