Chapter 29 Abigail
Chapter twenty-nine
Abigail
Iwake slowly.
For a few hazy seconds, I’m still suspended in that soft, half-dream space where everything feels safe, close, and unhurried. The light filters through the curtains in golden streams, the kind of morning light that only exists on the weekends when the world is practically screaming at you to rest.
Saturday mornings have come to be my favorites.
The first slow rise at the end of a long, hard-worked week is something I find myself craving.
The guys hire ranch hands so the four of them can have weekends off, and that includes me now, too.
Judging by how light it is outside, it’s safe to assume they’re well through morning chores, hence why it’s so quiet.
I love it.
Then I reach out, and the bed beside me is empty.
My heart stutters, a sharp little jolt of panic cutting through the calm. I push myself up on one elbow, scanning the room like maybe he’s just stepped into the bathroom, like I’ll hear the creak of the door or the sound of running water.
Nothing.
The space where Lawson slept wrapped around me is cool now, the sheets only faintly rumpled, and a knot tightens in my chest before I can stop it.
He left, right?
The thought lands heavy. I know it doesn’t make sense. He told me he wasn’t leaving, not until morning. But old instincts don’t care about logic. They care about patterns. About the past. About what usually happens when something good feels too close.
I’m just starting to spiral when I hear it.
A low voice, warm and familiar, drifting from down the hallway. “Easy there, Lucy. I see you, girl. You don’t get people food, so don’t even bother lookin’ at me like that.”
There’s the soft clink of ceramic, the low hum of the coffee maker, and Lucy’s tail thumps against something hard enough that I can hear the even beat from here.
Relief washes through me so fast it makes my eyes sting.
He’s here.
I sink back into the pillows for a moment, letting my breathing even out as the reality of last night settles in. The tightness in my chest dissipates and warmth takes its place.
Lawson didn’t just stay.
He chose me. Every step. Every pause. Every kiss. Every touch.
The intimacy of last night hits me harder now than it did in the moment. Not just the closeness of our bodies, or the way my body came alive beneath his hands. But the way he listened. The way he waited. The way he made space for me to decide what I wanted, and then stood steady when I did.
It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t taken.
It was shared.
Eventually, I roll out of bed, the hardwood cold under my feet, so I tug on a pair of fuzzy socks from my dresser and twist my hair up into a messy bun, not bothering with anything else. This version of me feels oddly right this morning.
When I step into the kitchen, Lawson’s standing at the counter with his back to me, mug in hand.
He’s already showered, hair still a little damp at the nape of his neck, and dressed in the now dry clothes he had on last night.
Lucy is planted firmly at his feet, tail wagging like she’s won the lottery with him being here this morning.
He turns when he senses me, and the look that crosses his face stops me in my tracks. It’s slow. Appreciative. Soft in a way that makes my stomach flip.
“Morning,” he says quietly.
“Morning.”
He sets the mug down and crosses the space between us in three long strides. One hand cups my jaw, thumb brushing along my cheek like he’s memorizing me all over again. “You look…” He exhales, forehead resting briefly against mine. “Jesus, Abigail.”
I laugh softly. “I just woke up.”
“Yeah,” he murmurs. “I stand by my reaction.”
His arms slide around me, and my body melts against him. His body is solid and warm and unmistakably here. The kiss he presses into my mouth is slow and unhurried, the kind that doesn’t ask for anything more than the closeness of the moment.
“Sleep okay?” he asks quietly.
“Yeah,” I reply. “Thought you left.”
His grip tightens just a little. “Told you I wasn’t goin’ anywhere.”
I tilt my head back to look at him. “You’re really not.”
“No,” he says, firm and sure. “I’m not.”
I smile against his lips. “You’re awfully smug for someone who hasn’t had coffee yet.”
He chuckles. “Oh, I’ve had coffee. Just thought I’d wait to enjoy the rest of the mornin’ with you.”
“Enjoy how?” I ask, raising a mischievous brow.
His eyes darken. “Behave, Honey.”
I groan dramatically. “You’re the worst.”
“And you’ll survive.” He pecks me quickly on the lips. “Go get dressed. We’ve got things to deal with this mornin’.”
It hits me.
The barn.
The break-in.
My body tenses before I even realize why, and Lawson feels it immediately.
“Hey,” he says softly, pressing a kiss to my forehead this time. “What’s goin’ on in that pretty head of yours?”
“I-I forgot,” I answer. “Last night, I mean. Everything with the offices. I was so caught up in… you… us.”
His expression doesn’t harden, but something resolute settles into it. “That’s alright,” he says firmly. “You were safe. That’s what mattered most.”
“But—”
He cuts me off gently, forehead still resting against mine. “We’re not lettin’ it slide anymore. Whatever’s goin’ on out there, we’ll handle it. Together.”
The certainty in his voice eases something tight in my chest.
“You don’t have to carry it,” he adds. “That’s on us. Let us.”
I nod, trusting the promise more than I probably should, but not questioning it anyway.
He smiles. “Now,” he says, brushing his thumb along the slope of my jaw, “we get dressed. Head over to the main house. And figure out what the hell someone thought they were doin’ on our ranch.”
Our.
The word burrows deep in my chest before reality snaps back in.
Lincoln.
Jasper.
Beau.
My stomach tightens.
They’re going to know. Of course they are. These men miss nothing. Not the way I move, not the way I look at them, not the way that something has changed inside of me. And it’s not that I regret what happened with Lawson. God, I really don’t. But worry curls sharp and fast anyway.
Because I feel something for them too.
And what if this ruins that?
What if they look at me differently this morning, like I chose between them? Like I took something that was never meant to be mine? What if I’ve been selfish without meaning to be?
Lawson’s hand stills against my jaw. His eyes sharpen, not with anger or jealousy but with understanding so precise it makes my throat ache. “Hey. It’s not about the break-in anymore, is it?”
I swallow but can’t bring myself to answer.
He exhales softly. “You’re worried about the boys.”
Of course, he knows.
“I don’t want this to mess things up,” I admit. “With them. With… us. Any of it.”
Lawson brushes away a strand of hair from my face that didn’t make it into my bun. “It won’t.”
I pull back just enough to look at him. “You can’t promise that.”
“Trust me, I can,” he says without hesitation. “They’re not gonna be mad. Not at you. Not at me. And they’re damn sure not gonna look at you any different than they were last night. Than they have been since you got here.”
His thumb traces a slow, grounding line along my jaw again. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Abigail. You didn’t ruin a damn thing.” My body begins to relax. “They care about you. All of ‘em. Same as I do. And whatever this turns into, we’ll—we’ll handle it. Together.”
He gives me a small but sure smile. “Now come on. Let’s get you dressed before they start thinkin’ I’ve lost my damn mind keepin’ you to myself this long.”
I laugh softly, nerves easing just enough to breathe again. As we turn toward the bedroom, cups of coffee now in hand, the worry doesn’t disappear. But it doesn’t own me anymore, either.