Chapter 11 Abigail
Chapter eleven
Abigail
Dinner settles warm in my stomach as Lincoln walks beside me like he’s been drafted into the service. His shoulders tight, jaw working, hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans. But, he’s doing it. And I’m almost positive it’s because Lawson told him to.
It’s been obvious since the moment I walked in.
He’s trying to keep as much distance from me as possible.
I don’t know why, and it’s not my place to ask.
We all have a past. Every person’s affecting them in different ways, that much I know for certain.
So I don’t prod. Instead, I’m just following his lead.
As he walks us through the spacious living room first, his voice low and steady, like his older brothers’, he gestures to the stone fireplace dominating the main wall.
“We kept the mantle from the old farmhouse,” he says.
“Dad carved it with our grandpa when he was nineteen. Mom refused to let us start over without it.”
The room is warm and masculine. Like the embodiment of this house.
Just from what I’ve seen so far, I can tell everything is a blend of new and old.
Wide-plank floors. Heavy beams overhead.
New appliances. A well-used dining room table.
Worn leather furniture that looks like it’s been through decades of stories and nights spent in.
Lincoln walks a little ahead of me down the hall, but every once in a while, he glances back like he’s checking to make sure I haven’t run off with the others.
“So,” I say softly. “Did Lawson assign you the role of tour guide, or did you volunteer to show me around out of the kindness of your heart?”
Lincoln snorts, and it’s the first real crack in his armor. “Yeah, kindness. That’s totally my thing.”
“Really?” I ask with a raised brow. “Because from where I’m standing, you’re practically a giant ball of sunshine.”
That earns me a ghost of a smile before he notices and schools his face again. “Needed someone responsible to show you around, is all.”
“Meaning someone who wouldn’t flirt with me?”
“Meaning someone who wouldn’t flirt with you,” he repeats, but the edge of humor in his voice tells me he’s full of shit.
Grinning to myself, I pretend not to notice the way the tips of his ears pink.
He shows me the small den, the office Lawson and he share when they’re doing ranch paperwork and don’t want to go back out to the office over the barn, and the mudroom covered in pegs of jackets and a variety of hats, and then the pantry that smells like spices, flour, and all the makings of a delicious meal.
Everything in this house feels lived in, curated, loved.
Like the four of them carved pieces of their past into the bones of this new place to make it all theirs.
Lincoln gestures to another doorway. “Guest bathroom. There’s another upstairs, but this one’s the closest if you ever need it.”
I glance inside. The bathroom is spotless. Much like the one in the guesthouse, white shiplap covers the wall, contrasting off of black steel fixtures and the soft amber lighting. “You guys keep your bathrooms cleaner than most hotels,” I say.
Lincoln huffs a laugh. “Beau’s a clean freak. Might drive the rest of us insane most days, but it tends to work in our favor.”
“Ahhhh. So he’s the reason this house doesn’t look like a frat-boy den?”
“Pretty much,” he says as he side-eyes me. “Well, that and Mama didn’t raise us to be a bunch of slobs.”
That makes me smile. “Where are your parents? Yours and Lawson’s, I mean. You inherited this ranch from them, right?”
“We did. They, Chris and Billie, are their names, they wanted to retire a few years ago, and knew Law and I were ready to take over, despite our age. Especially with the help of Jas and Beau. Told us it was time to tear down the old farmhouse and build something better. So we did. They have a small home, kind of like yours, on the other side of the ranch, but spend most of their time traveling now. They should be home in a couple of weeks, but honestly, who even knows anymore. Every time they plan on coming back they find somewhere else to go. Not that any of us mind. They’ve worked hard and deserve to have some fun. ”
His smile beams as he talks about his parents, and it takes up the entirety of his face. And despite the war he’s raging with himself, the sight of him smiling so wide is… well, he’s beautiful.
Dressed in a cream-colored Henley and dark blue jeans, he looks too good to be true.
The shirt clings to shoulders that, despite being the ranch lawyer, look like they’re the result of anything but a casual gym visit.
And when he pushes his hand through his light brown hair, the muscle in his forearm flexes in a way that has absolutely no right being so distracting.
His beard is a shade darker than his hair, framing a jaw that I just know could cut marble, and a mouth that’s far too expressive for someone who tries, and often fails, to act so controlled.
But it’s his eyes that might be my undoing. Bright green. Striking, sharp, almost startling every time they land on me. Like the greenest forest after an afternoon of rain. They remind me of life. Something I’m so desperately trying to cling to.
And then theirs his nose. Slightly crooked. Imperfect. Humanizing. He mentioned during dinner that Lawson broke it when they were younger, and Jasper just laughed and said, “You deserved to get your shit rocked. You don’t steal another man’s girl.”
Lincoln just grumbled something about being kids and shoved another forkful of his dinner into his mouth.
He clears his throat beside me, catching me staring at him, and his eyes soften for a moment. “You okay?”
Now it’s me who blushes as heat washes over my face. “Yeah. Just… taking everything in.”
A hint of a smile pulls at his mouth, just to one side. Slow and oh so devastating. “Good. That’s the point of the tour.”
Yeah. He knows good and well how hot he is. They all do.
He doesn’t take me upstairs, and instead we circle back into the kitchen, where the other three men are still cleaning up dinner.
The kitchen is as beautiful as the rest of the house.
Dark cabinetry, stone countertops, and black metal fixtures work well with the rustic space, especially the huge farmhouse table.
Lincoln sees me admiring it. “Beautiful, isn’t it?
There’s been a lot of memories made around that table.
I think we’ll be using it until it collapses. ”
Jasper looks up from where he’s drying a pan. “It’ll outlive us all. That thing will seat our grandkids, I’m telling you.”
I think to myself, what a bold statement that is, considering there are four men who live together without so much as a single girlfriend to be seen.
Which I don’t understand how that’s possible, considering these are four of the hottest men I’ve ever seen, but what the hell do I know?
“So,” Lincoln says, “what’s the verdict so far? Planning to run in the middle of the night yet?”
I grin. “Only if I can hear all four of you snoring from the guesthouse.”
“Fair. Jasper’s the loudest.”
“Hey, fuck you!” Jasper yells.
Lincoln rolls his eyes. “See? Loud all the damn time.” I laugh, and for a moment he does too. A low, warm sound that seems to surprise him as much as it does me.
Beau moves to the counter, grabbing mugs from the open shelf. “Coffee?” he asks. “We usually all do a cup after dinner. Helps settle the—”
The mug slips from his hand, and it hits the floor.
Shatters.
And the sound…
It slices straight through me.
My vision snaps white around the edges. My pulse spikes. My lungs seize. Everything in the room becomes far away and too loud all at once.
For a second, I’m not here.
I’m there.
Cold floors. Raised voices. The crash of glass that always meant danger, always meant someone was about to be hurt. Sometimes that someone was me.
My breath stutters. Collapses.
But then—
“Hey,” Beau says quietly. The word is so gentle but so steady. He’s not rushing me. He’s soft. Grounding.
Jasper steps closer, not touching me, but close enough that I feel his presence like a shield. “Abigail.” His voice is soothing in a way I didn’t know was possible. “Look at me for a second. Just a second.”
My eyes lift to his face.
His green eyes are steady. Not an ounce of judgment to be found.
“Good,” he murmurs. “Now breathe in slow. Real slow. Hold it… good. Now out. That’s it. Good girl.”
Beau mirrors him, inhaling and exhaling with exaggerated slowness, giving me something to match. “Right there. That’s it. You’re okay, Darlin’.”
My lungs finally unlock, just enough for me to continue following their instructions. Breathe in. Breathe out.
Again.
It takes a few minutes to come back fully. To realize I’m standing in a safe place. With safe men. Men who didn’t break something out of anger.
“I’m—” My voice cracks. “I’m sorry.”
Lawson shakes his head. “No. Don’t do that.”
Jasper crosses his arms, but his tone is gentle. It’s then that I notice him and Beau still aren’t touching me. “You’re not apologizing for having a reaction. Not to us.”
Lincoln nods. “You’re safe here.”
The backs of my eyes sting at those three words.
They all exchange a look, another one of those silent conversations they seem to be able to have, and then Jasper grabs his hat from the hook by the door, runs his hand through his dark hair, before placing it on backward. “I’ll walk her back,” he says quietly.
The other three nod. Not questioning it for a moment.
I follow him out into the cool October night, internally scolding myself for not even thanking them for dinner. The air is crisp as we walk the path toward the guesthouse, its front porch glowing like a beacon under the porch lights.
Inside, Jasper waits by the door as I step in.
The sudden bark of a dog precedes a streak of red and white as it bolts in through the front door before curling up on the floor next to my couch.
I didn’t even realize Lucy wasn’t in their house until just now, but it’s clear she’s now claimed mine as her own.
“She usually eats dinner in the barn,” Jasper clarifies.
I turn toward him and take a deep breath, letting the stillness around the guesthouse settle me.
The memories still sit heavy in my chest. Constantly threatening to pull me under. But what just happened was different. Instead of violence and shouting and shattered glass leading to pain, four men stopped what they were doing to help me breathe again. To help me stay above the surface.
Four men who didn’t get angry.
Four men who didn’t see me as a burden or as a tool.
And that feels as terrifying as it is comforting.
Jasper leans in the doorway, the soft glow catching the edge of his jaw and the silver chain at his neck. There’s something in his eyes. Something I don’t understand.
But I see it.
And he knows I see it.
“Thank you,” I finally manage to whisper.
Jasper shifts his weight, and for the first time since I met him, there’s no teasing in his expression. Only truth.
“I knew what to do,” he says quietly, “because—”
He stops.
Swallows harshly.
His jaw flexes.
And his eyes drop to the floor.
Whatever he’s about to say, it’s heavy. It runs deep. It’s a pain I’ve grown all too familiar with.
His eyes lift, meeting mine once again.
“Because a sound like that once had that kind of effect on me.”