“I can do that,” he says darkly, mouth covering mine. The gesture grounds me. Brings my heart back to life. Lets me feel the ache of being alive. A survivor.
Anson rests his chin on my crown. “Storm’s done, Lace. You came through it. And now, I’m never gonna let you go.”
As more officers gather to document the scene and make reports, Anson threads his fingers between mine, leading me carefully down the ladder and away from the dingy, old barn with the enraged bull. The open air feels like liberation.
Black clouds and stark lightning have given way to a soft drizzle. The world glistens, washed clean, renewed. Mud clings to my boots, water dampens my coat and hair, but it feels good. Like rebirth instead of ruin.
Anson lifts me into the truck, belts me in, grabs a blanket from the back to tuck around my shoulders. “We’ll get your car later.”
He knows what I need better than I do. His big hand palms my cheek, thumb stroking restlessly. “I shouldn’t have left you alone.” His voice is heavy and ragged.
“You didn’t,” I whisper. “You came for me. Like you always will.”
He presses a kiss to my forehead, jaw trembling against restraint.
“When I was with Cary … when I thought I might not make it,” I gulp. “All I could think about were all of the things I haven’t told you yet, like…” My voice trembles, but the near brush with death spurs me on. “Iloveyou, Anson.”
Emotion swirls in his stormy eyes, jaw tightening. “And I love you, Lace. My heart, my soul, myeverything.”
Behind us, a post-storm dawn splits the clouds. The barn stands quiet, spent.
Chapter
Twelve
ANSON
The road home gleams wet under the headlights, rain whispering against the glass, faint country music playing.
Lacey’s small hand stays wrapped in mine, her pulse still unsteady, but she’s breathing … she’s alive. That’s all that matters. Every time lightning flashes, I squeeze her hand—just to remind myself she’s real.
She smiles up at me in return, slowly coming back to herself. Shoulders dropping, face relaxing, eyes swirling amber and moss instead of numb and lost.
The ranch comes into view, clouds splitting open, light spilling across the land like forgiveness. Steam rises off the dirt, the air thick with rain, iron, and pine.
I kill the engine, come around to her side, and lift her out of the truck, blanket still around her. She’s light as a breath in my arms, damp hair sticking to her cheeks.
I pause in the doorway, breathing her in—the faint perfume of rain and fear, and underneath it, something clean and sweet. The scent of courage. Of her.
“You’re safe now,” I murmur against her temple. “You hear me? He can’t touch you ever again.”
Wood smoke and apples greet us inside the cabin. The hearth’s empty, but the warmth still lingers, waiting. I set her down on the couch, kneel to unlace her boots, my hands gentle as when I work with newborn calves or foals.
A knock at the door. Patrick and Ash, rain dripping from their hats.
Patrick’s expression says it all before the words leave his mouth. “Self-defense. No charges. Case closed.”
Relief rolls through me, slow and heavy. I lean against the doorframe, finally aware how taut I’d been wound. Wet leather and smoke drift toward my nose—fortifying. Proof the worst is over. For the first time, I believe it.
Ash claps my shoulder, gives Lacey a look full of brotherly concern. Like she’s a part of the family now. After everything that happened, I hope this is what she still wants. “Hell of a storm, Anson. Glad you both came out breathing.”
“Us too,” I manage, voice thick.
When the door closes, the quiet feels alive. The kind of silence that has weight and meaning. I build a new fire—warm glow, crackling warmth—filling the room with comfort, tranquility.
Lacey’s still trembling, hands folded in her lap, when I close the distance. “I don’t even know how to come down from that,” she whispers.
“You don’t have to. Not alone.” I reach for her, trace my thumb along her jaw, feel the shiver that runs through her.
