Chapter 27 Abigail
Chapter twenty-seven
Abigail
The truck feels smaller on the drive back. Like the air itself is wound tight, stretched thin between laughter that’s a little too loud and silences that buzz with anticipation.
I’m wedged into the back seat between Jasper and Beau, my thighs pressed against the denim of their jeans every time the truck hits a bump in the road.
Neither of them moves away, though. If anything, they shift closer, Jasper’s arm stretched across the back of the seat, fingertips grazing my shoulder, and Beau’s hand innocently resting right above my knee.
Beau’s knee bounces restlessly, his boot tapping against the floorboard in time with the song on the radio. Lincoln’s riding shotgun, forearm resting on the center console with his brother in the driver’s seat across from him.
“So,” Beau says, breaking the silence. “I’m thinkin’ we make Friday nights a regular thing.”
Jasper snorts. “You say that every time you sing.”
“Yeah, but this time I got to sing for the prettiest girl in town.”
I laugh before I can stop myself, and Jasper glances down at me, mouth tilting in a cheeky grin. “You have fun tonight, Red?”
“The most fun.”
“Good,” Lawson says as he glances at me in the rearview mirror. His eyes catch mine and hold for a second longer than necessary. “So did we.”
The ranch comes into view, lights glowing softly against the night, the snow glistening under the moonlight.
Once Lawson parks near the guesthouse, everyone climbs out at once.
The night air feels cooler out here than it did in town, quieter.
The kind of still that makes every sound, every move, feel important.
The four of them are halfway to walking me to my door, because, again, one person obviously isn’t gentlemanly enough, when Lincoln stops short. His eyes narrowed toward the barn.
“Is the door open?” he asks.
Jasper follows his gaze, shoulders squaring. “Wasn’t when we left.”
Beau’s grin is gone now. “I’ll go check it out.”
“I’m comin’,” Jasper says immediately.
Lincoln moves next. “Me too.”
Lawson hesitates, glancing between them and me. “I’ll walk her in.”
“You can go with them,” I clarify.
“Not a chance, Honey.”
The three of them head toward the barn without another word, their strides long and purposeful, tension rolling off them in waves.
Lawson opens the door for me, and Lucy barrels forward the second we step inside, tail wagging. I don’t even know where she just came from. But when we enter, she stops short, her ears flick forward, and her body stiffens.
“Hey,” I murmur, crouching next to her. “What is it, pretty girl?”
Lucy paces, once, twice, then lets out a low huff.
Lawson watches her closely. Before commanding, “Lucy. Search.”
Lucy takes off through the house, sniffing and checking every room before coming back to us and stopping in front of Lawson. When she sits in front of him, Lawson must take that as the “all clear,” and he bends down and scratches her head. “Good girl.”
“I-I didn’t know she could do that.”
“She’s a smart girl, and you can never be too careful. Taught that to her when she was just a puppy.” He straightens, then shuts the door behind him. Lucy finally relaxes and trots toward the living room before circling the dog bed I bought her and flopping down with a satisfied sigh.
“Guess she’s just tired,” I say, though something prickles along my spine.
“Maybe,” Lawson replies, but his eyes scan the space one more time before turning to me.
I smile softly as the two of us shrug off our jackets and Lawson his hat, and walk toward the kitchen, the adrenaline from the night still buzzing under my skin. I grab a glass, fill it with water, and take a sip.
But I can feel him watching me.
It’s not casual. Not polite.
Lawson leans against the counter, arms crossed, gaze tracking my every movement, like I’m the prey he was searching for mere moments ago.
Like he’s memorizing me in real time. The way my jeans hug my thighs, the way my hair falls over my shoulders.
The way my throat swallows as I take another drink.
The silence stretches, and I rub my hand over my chest. Hoping the beat of my heart doesn’t sound as loud to him as it does to me.
“You okay?” he asks.
I nod. “Yeah. Just… still buzzing from the night, I think.”
A corner of his mouth lifts. “The Busted Barrel will do that to ya.”
He takes a step closer.
Then another.
And another.
His movements aren’t rushed. They’re careful. Like he’s testing how close he’s allowed to be now that we’re in the silence of my home. My pulse starts to pound, heat pooling low in my stomach.
His hand lifts—stopping just short of touching me.
“Abigail,” he murmurs. He says my name like it’s both his saving grace and his undoing. He says it in a way that makes my chest ache.
And I know.
He wants this moment as badly as I do.
Then, his phone rings.
The sound is sharp. Jarring.
And I swear on everything that is holy, if I almost kiss one of them one more time, I’m going to scream.
Lawson curses under his breath, pulling his phone from his pocket. “Yeah?”
There’s a pause.
I feel it before he says anything else. There’s a shift. The way the air seems to thicken, turning heavy around it as it laces with something darker.
“You need me?” he asks. “Okay. I’m staying here tonight. I’ll talk to you in the morning.”
He hangs up, jaw tight, eyes blazing with something I’ve never seen on him before.
“What is it?” I ask.
“Lincoln.”
My stomach drops. Is he hurt? Are they hurt? Do we need to help them?
“The offices above the barn,” he continues. “They’ve been tossed.”
“But nobody’s hurt?” I ask frantically.
“No,” he clarifies. “Nobody is hurt.”
Oh, thank god.
“Do we—do we need to go help them?”
I can feel it as much as I can see it. Lawson’s anger. It’s rolling off him in waves. The need to protect takes over his very being as he walks toward me, forcing me to take two steps backward until I’m pushed against the counter.
“No, Abigail,” Lawson says, voice low and final. “You’re not leaving this house. You’re staying right here.”